Wish Gone Wrong - Tumblr Posts

You can changes things.

I want to be as big as you.

That would be great.

Ok

How about I make you a bit bigger?

Yes!

There.

You are bigger than me.

By about 50 pounds.

Happy?

A New Daddy

Aaron sighed as he kicked another rock down the walking path. He found himself here a lot nowadays. It offered him some much needed peace and a place to think about his life. In reality, Aaron was overjoyed. His wife was due any day and he’d be a father soon. But Aaron was anxious. His dad was not much of a father and left the family when he was young. And because of that, the soon to be father was worried... what if he was a bad father? What if he messed up something? He never had a real role model. With another sigh, he sat down on the edge of a small pond and started skipping stones. As he looked out over the lake, he didn’t register the strange glow coming from the stone in his hand.

“I just wish I’ll be a good dad.” He whispered as he tossed the stone.

He watched as the stone hopped across the pond and with each hop glowing slightly brighter. He was fixated on the strange glow- it was perhaps one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. But his amazement quickly subsided as he felt a cool breeze pass over his bare skin. Wait... bare skin!? Aaron jumped up and looked down at his naked form. He quickly covered his junk and looked around in terror. Where’d his clothes go? What if someone saw him? Wait... since when did his chest hair look like that? Aaron watched as the light dusting of chest hairs that adorned his toned chest started to darken. And as they darkened, more started to sprout across his pale skin. He raised his hand to his chest, confirming that these new growths were real, but quickly yelped in surprise when he noticed the same wiry dark hairs sprouting across his arms.  

“I need to get help.” He whispered, turning his attention away from the thick pelt that was growing over him, “Where’s my phone? Fuck did that disappear to? I’ll just need to ask someone... anyone...”

Aaron took a step forward to start his search and cried out in pain as his foot touched the ground. It felt like all the muscles in his body were contracting. He watched through teary eyes as his calves and thighs exploded with muscle- thickening and becoming large like tree trunks. He winced as he raised his arms and watched as his previously thin and toned musculature started to thicken. His forearms were first, followed by his biceps and triceps, which were becoming padded with thick layers of muscle and fat. While incredibly painful, he was amazed. What guy doesn’t dream of having muscles like this? But this wasn’t natural and he couldn’t do anything as his body continued to transform against his will. Aaron watched as his flat, but now hairy abdomen, pushed out with layers of fat. He’d never be called “beanpole” again, he realized. But just as his stomach was blossoming into a firm muscle gut, his hairy chest was following closely. He packed on layers of muscle and fat to his previously toned chest. All the while, a pleasure was building from nipples, which were becoming larger and perkier. Aaron let out a silent cry as a cold sweat washed over him and his muscles relaxed.

“I... need... help...” He breathed out, flipping over and forcing himself up.

He stood unsteadily on his thickened legs. He was certainly taller than before. And as he tried to reorient himself, he became unbalanced and fell to his knees. He met his reflection in the still pond water. It was still him. His light dirty blond hair, kind eyes, and youthful face. But... but he couldn’t help but noticed that his stubble looked slightly darker. And before he could do anything, he watched with dread as his facial hair became darker and started to form into a manly beard. He couldn’t turn away as he watched his dirty blond hair fall from the top of his head, until he was completely bald. And then a new feeling washed over him as his skin became tougher and weathered as his body aged rapidly.

“No... fuck no.” He whispered as he turned away from his new reflection, “This... how did this?” He winced at how gruff and deep his new voice was. This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. He felt tears in his eyes as he looked down as his hairier, older, and thicker form.

And suddenly the world spun around him- shifting and changing rapidly. The now older man felt his head spin as the world around him changed. He was no longer in a park, but instead what looked like a home workout room. Weights and equipment scattered all around him. And as the world stopped spinning, he attempted to regain his footing, but fell with a loud bang.

“Fuck!” He shouted, his deeper voice again causing him to wince. He quickly looked around, but everything seemed to be tinted darker, “Sunglasses?” He whispered as he caught sight of himself in the gym’s mirror, “What am I wearing?” It looked like some type of leather harness wrapped around his chest, causing his muscular pecs to be more pronounced, “At least I’m not naked anymore.” He mused, looking down at the white jockstrap that covered his dick, “Where the fuck am I? I need to find Amy and get help...”

“Daddy?” Aaron froze when he heard the high-pitched, feminine, yet decidedly male voice. He turned and locked eyes with the man, “Oh my god, daddy are you okay?”

Aaron’s eyes widened as the younger man ran towards him, wearing nothing more than a light-blue jockstrap. Each step causing the platinum blond man’s ass to bounce. Aaron was mesmerized, his eyes fixated on the guy’s massive bubble butt. How perky and jiggly it was. How much he wanted to squeeze it. Wait? Squeeze it?

“I don’t need you.” Aaron spat, picking himself up, “Get away from me!” Wait... why was his cock growing? He wasn’t into men? Or their sexy asses. Sexy? Aaron gripped his head, “Wait... no... stop...”

“But daddy, I just want to help you.” The twink bit his lower lip and walked up to Aaron, “And you’ve been working so hard.” He traced his hands along Aaron’s hairy muscular torso, “Please daddy, just a taste.” He moaned as his hand slipped under Aaron’s jockstrap.

Aaron’s mind was filled with conflicting thoughts. He was going to be a father... but wasn’t he already a daddy? A daddy? A damn good daddy, right? But didn’t he like women? Wasn’t he married? Why would he be married? Since when was he ever with a woman? Since when did he ever want to be with a woman?

“Please daddy.” The twink moaned as he pulled down the jockstrap, freeing Aaron’s cock. And he didn’t protest.

As the twink wrapped his mouth around the older man’s cock, Aaron’s mind spun even faster. It felt so good, so much better than any time with a woman. And as he looked down at the slut on his knees, his ass jiggling with each thrust of Aaron’s monster cock, a new feeling washed over him.

“Deeper, boy.” Aaron commanded, gripping the back of the twink’s head and forcing his cock deeper, “Show daddy how much you want it.”

The twink obliged and Aaron threw his head back in pleasure. His spinning thoughts were settling down. His new identity taking hold. He was a dom daddy. A good daddy for his little slut. Nothing before this mattered- nothing ever mattered, just this. Even his old self was becoming content, quieting down and falling into a state of blissful pleasure. After all, he just wanted to be a good daddy? Wish granted, right?

“God damn, boy!” Aaron shouted as he came, sending torrents of cum down his slut’s throat. He sat down on the workout bench, while his slut breathed heavily.

“Oh daddy, thank you.” The twink moaned, “You’re the best daddy ever.”

Aaron smirked, “Damn right, boy.” He smirked at himself in the mirror. Fuck he looked good. A true man. His attention turned back to his slut, “Now boy, are you ready for round two?”

Alex Crockford ran a shaky hand through his dirty blond hair as he stared down at the small glass vial on his kitchen counter. It was silly, he thought, mentally berating himself for throwing down so much money for what looked like a few sips of water.

The fitness influencer had began to grow tired of seeing thousands of followers flocking to other fitness influencers who had advertised workouts very similar to his. He was built and extremely toned, his paper-thin skin stretching over his well-defined muscles. Alex was very attractive and the posts that he shared were always liked by numerous people who both were interested in his regimen and who lusted after his chiseled form. However, he was beginning to notice that he wasn’t attracting as many followers as his competition.

What pissed him off about that fact was that, despite having similar workout plans and muscles that were just as defined, his competitors were all over 6’0’’ tall. Alex never let his height get to him. Standing at 5’8’’, he never thought of himself as short. That being said, recent comments were posted mentioning how people were favoring the 6’1’’ Eric Janicki over him simply due to the fact that people prefer taller guys. At first, Alex had tried to shrug it off, opting to up his workouts and try to put on more mass. He even started to post more pictures of himself in tighter clothes, trying to not-so-subtly show off his bulging seven inches. He’d managed to get a few hundred likes on one of him clad in just his underwear, but it still failed in comparison to Eric’s posts.

What was worse was that it had gotten to Alex so badly that he’d actually sought out some help to rectify his situation. He’d spent hours searching online until he’d stumbled upon an obscure blog post from someone, who conveniently didn’t live too far from him, who’d claimed to be well-rehearsed in herbs and plants. The guy had claimed that for a few hundred, he could solve Alex’s problem. Alex was desperate, growing tired of hearing all the negative comments about how, although he was hot, he was too short. Hence he bought the little vial off of the guy, who’d given him some cryptic instructions:

“Take it before bed and when you wake up, something will contribute to your height.”

“Fuck it,” Alex grunted, pulling the tiny cork out of the vial and swallowing down the bitter liquid in one gulp like a shot. He grimaced at the nasty taste and at his foolishness, feeling as if he’d just gotten scammed. Still, a little gleam of hope flickered within him and the stud lumbered off to bed for the night, inwardly praying that he didn’t get fooled by some random dude online…

The sunlight started to filter in through the bedroom blinds, and Alex started to slowly wake up. His head was pounding like he was hung over, and he stretched out his limbs as he willed himself to get moving for the day. He immediately began to notice that his feet were feeling cold, like they weren’t underneath his covers.

The stud shot upwards and looked downwards, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull at his exposed calves and feet that dangled off the end of his bed.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, his heart starting to race in his chest out of sheer excitement. It worked! The vial had actually worked!

The fitness influencer rushed out of the bed and hurriedly stumbled over towards the long mirror in the corner of his bedroom, feeling a little unbalanced as he struggled to maneuver on lengthened limbs. Looking at his arms and legs, Alex could definitely tell that they were longer, but it was a proportional growth and not measly stretching. When he got to the floor length mirror, he nearly cheered in utter jubilation over the fact that he was now too tall to see his entire reflection, his clavicles being the stopping point. He tried to do the math in his head, estimating that he must’ve been at least 6’10’’ now, easily towering over Eric Janicki and the rest of his competitors. His t-shirt was plastered to his torso, looking like a cut off as it ended right in the middle of his torso, leaving his cut abs on full display. His basketball shorts, which used to come to his knees, now ended mid-thigh.

Ideas of pictures that he could post started to filter through Alex’s mind, but he decided to ultimately start off with a selfie of himself in his tiny clothes to illustrate just how much taller he was now than yesterday. With his phone tight in his clutches, he remembered just how popular his post with him in nothing but underwear was, so he opted to drop his shorts and just keep his cut-off looking shirt on. The basketball shorts fell to floor and Alex flexed his abs as he took a picture, immediately posting it.

A wide, triumphant grin on the stud’s handsome face, he couldn’t help but stare at his new picture that was on his account with pride. He looked so tall with his tight shirt and the #GrowthSpurt that he added on there. He was going to gain so many more followers now that he was tall. Now that he was… SMALL?!

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he screamed out in shock at the baggy and loose looking pouch in the front of his underwear in the picture he’d posted. Alex dropped his phone in shock and looked down at himself, wincing when he saw that it wasn’t just in the picture: the front of his underwear looked all baggy, like there was nothing in them at all.

With shaky hands, Alex tugged his underwear down, going pale white at the puny nub that barely poked out of his trimmed bush. It couldn’t have been more than an inch long, and even his balls had shrunk drastically in size, looking tight against his body.

“N-no, no, no!” Alex panicked, trying to grab onto it to stretch it back to its normal seven inches, but his puny cock was so tiny that he could barely even grip it with two fingers. As soon as he made contact with the nub, a shockwave of pleasure rippled through the addled stud, making his knees buckle. “What the fuck is happening?!”

He couldn’t let go, unaware that while his cock had shrunken, all the nerves in it had compacted, making his nub the most sensitive part of his body now. It didn’t take long before the stud let out an embarrassing shriek of pleasure as he shot his load which looked like just a few drops— but he was still left panting, having felt like he’d just blown the largest load of his life.

“…something will contribute to your height.” The phrase rang out in the micro-dicked giant’s mind, horror dawning on him that, although he was now incredibly tall, he was also incredibly small.

Alex Crockford was too busy panicking over how he was going to fix his tiny cock, too oblivious to the new comments that were filtering in on his new post— all of them commenting on how puny and small his bulge was and how Eric Janicki’s bulge looked a lot larger.

– – – – – 

This was a request. If you have a picture of a stud you’d like me to TF, then message me!

Brad Rowe sat in his truck, cocking his eyebrow as he stared down at his phone, wondering where the unknown app that was on his home screen had came from. He figured it must’ve been a virus or some kind of spam, but the golden-colored squared seemed to call out to him, especially with the glittery words “FREE WISH” written across it.

He shrugged his massive shoulders and tapped on the app, expecting his phone to crash. However, the bodybuilder was mildly surprised when instead of a black screen, he watched flashing colors flicker for a moment before the keypad popped up at the bottom. At the top of the screen was a simple text bar which read: Wish?

Brad chuckled to himself, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. Shaking his head at the ridiculous app that was definitely spam, Brad got out of his truck and stomped into the gym for his morning workout. Upon entering the building, he saw that it wasn’t too crowded, just filled with the usual bodybuilders who were all prepping for the upcoming competition next Saturday. A lot of them were performing their workouts in their posers, trying to get cut or pumped enough so as to make their muscles pop in the skimpy clothing.

Brad waddled into the locker room to change into his own poser, a grayish one that cupped his junk and thrust it forward, making him look hung. As he was changing, he fought hard not to roll his eyes when he saw fellow bodybuilder, Trevor, changing on the other side the locker room. It wasn’t that Brad didn’t get along with Trevor, he just wasn’t a fan of the younger bodybuilder’s overly cocky attitude. The twenty-three year old stud was already packing on enough mass to give any veteran bodybuilder a run for his money, and he always thrusted out his pumped chest to make himself look bigger than anyone else in the gym. Last time he’d checked, Brad only outweighed the newbie by approximately three pounds, giving him a hint of jealousy over how the young stud had such an easy time bulking up.

“How’s it goin’, Little Guy?” Trevor chuckled as he walked over towards his locker. The cocky guy wore a bright green poser which showed off his much larger package, making it look like he was smuggling a huge grapefruit.

Brad bristled at being called a little guy by his younger rival. “Oh hey, Trevor,” he mumbled, pulling on his posers. “Gonna get a good workout in?”

The younger muscle man lifted his right arm to flex a giant bicep, one that was easily on par with Brad’s. “Definitely,” he smirked. “I’m gonna win that competition. I’m not even sure why anyone would want to show up.” Trevor’s slight glance at Brad let him know that he was trying to psyche him out.

Brad just pursed his lips and nodded, closing and locking up his locker. “Right, well, good luck,” he muttered as he made a move out of the locker room.

Trevor snorted. “I should be sayin’ the same thing to you,” he said, crossing his buff arms in front of his pumped up chest. “‘Cause damn Brad, it looks like you’ll be fighting for second. I mean, I am kinda bigger than you in every way.” He gestured down at his bulge that was begrudgingly bigger than Brad’s.

The older bodybuilder rolled his eyes. “The judges aren’t going to be basing scores off of that,” he tried to laugh it off, not wanting his jealousy to show. Trevor always got on his nerves, strutting around the gym and treating all of the other guys there like they were less than him all because he was bigger than them, in more ways than one.

“Lucky for you,” Trevor snorted.

“Yeah, ‘lucky for me’,” Brad mocked, starting to get fed up with the younger bodybuilder’s attitude. “You win, you’re bigger than me in that department. There, I admitted it, happy? What do want? Want to be all like, ‘Oh Trevor, I wish I had your cock size because it’s obviously so important…’”

Brad heard a chime ring out from his phone and he felt a strong tingling sensation in his groin that made him shut up.

It was an odd feeling, kind of like he was getting hard. The thought of sporting around the gym, especially in front of Trevor, with a hard on was mortifying. Brad’s hands quickly moved to cover his junk, yelping loudly when he felt something wrong. The puzzled bodybuilder removed his hands and gasped loudly at what he saw.

His gray bulge was inflating right before his eyes. Although it hadn’t been tiny before, the bodybuilder now sported an enormous lump in the front of his tiny posers. Frantically, Brad yanked the top of his posers away from his waist, his eyes bugging out of his skull was his saw his cock length and widen. His balls were even inflating, spilling out the sides of the skimpy material that struggled to maintain his new girth. Shocked to his core, Brad let go of the top of his posers, blushing when he saw that his new cock (which had to have been at least ten inches soft) was so large that it pushed his posers out in front of him so far that the tops didn’t even touch his smooth skin. Instead there was a one inch gap between the bodybuilder’s posers and his trim waist, giving anyone close enough a peek at monster cock and balls which made it look like he was comically stuffing his suit. He stumbled back a little, blushing madly when his humongous bulge bounced between his massive thighs, seemingly on display for all to see. The back of his tiny posers wedged in between the cheeks of his bubble butt as they struggled to contain his inflated cock.

“What the fuck?!” he heard Trevor cry, snapping him out of his dazed inspection.

The younger bodybuilder’s mouth hung low in shock and terror as he watched his large green bugle seemingly shudder. Then, like a balloon, Trevor’s massive pouch started to deflate, getting smaller and smaller by the second. His posers remained the same size though, and it wasn’t long until what had looked like a grapefruit was now a bunch of loose fabric dangling in front of the panicking bodybuilder.

In his apparent shock, Trevor yanked his posers down, his face going ghost white as he stared down at the acorn-size nub and cherry tomato balls that had replaced his previously impressive package. His mouth opened as he tried to say something, but no words came out. With a shaky hand, the young bodybuilder easily cupped the entirety of his shrunken junk.

Brad, unsure of what to do or what to say, quickly turned around and fled the locker room, his giant bulge bouncing like crazy in front of him as he moved. All the while Trevor whimpered in the background, desperately trying to figure out what had just happened to him.

As Brad waddled out onto the gym room, he suddenly remembered the mysterious app that had downloaded itself onto his phone. In his frantic state, he unlocked his home screen and began to swipe through his apps, his stomach dropping when he couldn’t locate that obscure golden square.

“Hey there, Big Guy,” he overheard one of his bodybuilding friends comment as they clapped his beefy shoulder, gesturing at Brad’s obscenely huge cock and balls that were thrusted out in front of him for all to see.

Brad’s face turned pale as he envisioned himself trying to go through his workout with his sausage-like cock bobbing in front of him and threatening to burst through his posers at any second. He was about to run out of the gym and rush home when he spotted Trevor, red in the face as he tried to slip out of the gym, keeping his hands in front of his meager bulge.

Brad, although he knew that it was wrong, chuckled. He looked down at his tight posers which did nothing to conceal his dick from the prying eyes of the gym, a smirk forming on his face. He saw himself up on the stage during the competition, the judges in awe at the massive bodybuilder with the even larger package. He’d win first place for sure.

After all, he is the biggest all around now. It was like a wish come true.

31 Days of Derek Hale

Day 21: Centaur

Info │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08 │ 09 │ 10 │ 11 │ 12 │ 13 │ 14 │ 15 │ 16 │ 17 │ 18 │ 19 │ 20 │ 21

“Fuck!” Derek roared as he stormed into the yard, hands clenched into tight fists. 

The werewolf was irritated over having nearly lost control of his inner wolf, and nearly wolfing out in public. Derek and Stiles had been out on a simple dinner date, when stupid Jackson had to show up and be his usual douchey self. Normally, Derek was able to keep his lupine instincts in check; however, the second that stupid Jackson had placed his hand on a clearly annoyed Stiles’s shoulder, Derek had seen red. He’d shot out of his seat and had unleashed a fearsome snarl, even baring his massive werewolf fangs in the jerk’s direction.

It had managed to get Jackson to cut his crap, but the action had also accidentally caught the attention of other patrons in the restaurant, who’d only stared awkwardly/fearfully in Derek’s direction. The ceaseless staring had totally ruined the night, and Derek had dragged Stiles out of there early, much to his chagrin.

“Der!” Stiles called out after the stomping werewolf. “It’s fine, really!”

Derek was still seething. Sure he was irritated with Jackson, yet he was more so angry with himself and how his lack of self-control had ruined his date with Stiles. Thinking about it more only served to bring out an onslaught of more anger-inducing memories about how being a werewolf was a pain in Derek’s ass.

His jaw clenched, Derek just huffed in annoyance. “It’s not fine,” he pouted. “And this whole werewolf bullshit is something that’s just going to keep causing us trouble.”

Stiles frowned and placed a tender hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Sometimes,” Derek huffed, “I wish I wasn’t a werewolf.”

On cue, a streak of light flickered through the night sky as a shooting star bolted across.

Immediately, Derek flinched as he felt a warm travel throughout his body. The first thing he noticed was that his pants were starting to grow uncomfortably tight. 

“What the hell…?” Derek wondered aloud as he looked down at himself. HIs eyes went wide as saucers when he saw his altered bulge in the front of his pants. 

His normally proportional six inches had somehow elongated, creating what looked like Derek was stuffing a ripe grapefruit in his boxers. It was obscenely large, and between his thick thighs, Derek felt balls that had to be the size of lemons. Worse was that back of his pants felt as if they’s burst at any moment.

Looking over his broad shoulder, Derek gasped at the caricature of a butt that was attached to him. His perky cheeks had somehow managed to balloon out to a crazy size, pushing further out with each second.

In his panic, Derek ripped off his pants, his breath getting caught in his throat at what he saw.

Never being one lost for words, Stiles gasped out, “Holy crap, Der! You’ve got a horse cock!”

Derek’s cock had grown to at least fifteen inches, and it was nearly as thick of his beefy wrist. His balls had swollen up to resemble baseballs. The werewolf didn’t have time to focus on that as he felt his weight being yanked back due to the increasing size of his booty.

His legs stretched out longer, causing Derek to sprout up at least two more feet in height. All he could do was stare in disbelief at his changing body, his heart beat loudly in his muscled chest as he wondered what was happening to him. His throat went dry as he witnessed his toes fusing together, his nails hardening to form hooves. 

His butt grew so big that Derek stumble back and almost fell, but he was caught by something.

Stiles’s wordless gasp mirrored his own as he looked back and saw that he’d grown an extra set of legs to offset his elongated backside. Derek blushed at how he must’ve looked, having his regular-looking torso sitting atop a lower half that was stretched out with four legs needed to keep it upright.

Derek’s altered lower half began to itch as thick, black fur sprouted all over it, covering every inch. It was glossy and looked shiny underneath the moonlight. As a final touch, Derek winced when he felt his distended backside tingle as he sprouted a long tail that swished back and forth.

The warmth finally dissipated, and Derek also felt an odd calm inside of his head, like his inner wolf was finally silenced.

“What the fuck just happened?!” Derek panicked, taking an awkward step forward in his new body, his hooves clacking loudly on the ground as he struggled to get used to walking. As he moved, his huge cock dangled around freely, making his face crimson.

Stiles’s mouth was agape as he looked over his changed boyfriend. Derek’s long legs were thick with muscle, which flexed with animalistic power with every heavy step he took. “Der,” he gasped, “you’re a centaur!”

“A what?” Derek groaned, pinching his nose in irritation. “When I said that I didn’t want to be a werewolf anymore, that didn’t mean that I’d rather be a centaur instead! How the fuck am I supposed to hide this thing!?” He gestured at his horse ass and cock, which were humongous and definitely would prove to be difficult to keep from prying eyes.

Derek stopped and sniffed at the air, still maintaining a keen sense of smell. And a curious aroma was wafting off of Stiles in waves.

“R-really?” Derek asked incredulously.

Stiles bit down on his lower lip and shrugged. “I played a lot of fantasy RPGs, and always liked the centaur characters… like, a lot.”

Derek felt his shock slowly fade, and he couldn’t help but grin coyly at his boyfriend.”C’mere, I’ll give you a ride,” he chuckled.

Stiles eagerly took his hand and hopped up onto Derek’s new back, wrapping his arms around Derek’s human torso. 

Derek marveled at how weightless Stiles felt as he carried him, and he began to trot towards the house… his swaying horse cock getting harder and harder. He just hoped that Stiles knew some special stretching techniques.

I wanted to say how flattered I was to hear I inspired your first story, but it seems to me like you’ve had this TF magic in you all along 😉 You’re off to an incredible start, each of your stories has been so hot to read - I’m curious to see how you’d change me? You know how much I love writing about big, pussy obsessed straight men: I wonder if you’ll make me one or an item that a man like that uses and abuses. Have fun with it, bro!

First of all i really want to thank you and all the other people who've sent me nice messages. I've loved transformation for a while now, and i've been feeling like i wanted to give back so it's nice to hear that i've been able to do that so far.

Hearing that from you is especially gratifying because i really love your stories bro. They've really been an inspiration for me when writing my first ones. I guess that if this thing keeps working out for me and we keep writing about the same stuff… well we might have a bit of a rivalry on our hands haha…

"I wish i was joking … but honestly, i've really been thinking that. And honestly, you kinda offered yourself on a silver platter for me there. I'm sure you expected something fun with this but this is the perfect opportunity for me to take you out.

What's that look on your face ? This isn't what you wanted ? Well it's too late to turn back now bud. Besides, i already know exactly how you can be of use to me from now on"

With that, i snapped my fingers. You felt the effects instantly as your body wracked with immense pain. Twisting and distorting, your body adopted a new and improved form. You saw your skin become a pristine white as your flesh and bones restructured into a tightening weave of elastic fabric. You tried to scream at me to stop but you had already been silenced. Instead, your face reshaped itself into the front pouch of a pair of Calvin Klein underwear. As you fell on the floor, you struggled to take in your newly transformed world. Your mind was intact but all physical markers of who you once was were gone. Just a nice, brand new piece of clothing for me to ruin.

"Alright dude, just out of gratitude for the good times i had reading your stories, i'm willing you make you a deal. If you manage to keep your mind from breaking for one month then i will turn you back into a human. deal ? Well, i guess it's not like you have much of a choice anyway"

I took off my current underwear : a rank, soaked and yellowed thong. I threw it to the side on a pile of sportwear, all in a similarly perverted state.

"Don't look at the pile of used clothes over there bro. I promise you that it won't make you feel any better about what's coming for you" I stroked and jiggled my fat dick "And neither will looking at this huhu"

The literal gravity of your imminent fate set in. With a cocky smirk, i picked you up and slid you up my thick legs. Your wails of horror fell on deaf ears as your face pressed against my thick package, stretching and conforming to its every contour (click to see)

"Hehe, you hug my nuts so tightly bro. It's almost like you were always meant to be down there, servicing my musky balls."

And musky they were. An immediate sensory overload took over your brain. The instant warmth made you gasp for air but all you could inhale were fumes of sweat and dried cum. This masculine stench quickly permeated the entirety of your being, making you struggle to form coherent thoughts. To top it all, the moistness made your body stick tightly against my manhood, unable to get away from this reeking nightmare.

"Sorry about that dude. I should warn you; once i start wearing a pair of undies, i never change out until they're ruined. That means that 24/7 for the next month i'm going to wear you, work out in you, sweat in you, i'm even gonna cum in you. Oh bro, i'm gonna completely wreck you."

"I promise you that it shouldn't even take a month to completely break you. But try not to panic, there's a moment when you'll embrace your new purpose as my nice, sweaty underwear and it'll all become very pleasant. If or when that happens is completely up to you bro. You get to choose if this experience will be a disgusting or a pleasurable one. But remember, your humanity is on the line huhu."

The reality of your new life for the coming month fully dawned on you. Sweat. Piss. Cum. Constantly. What you had been writing and reading about on your blog for fun finally became your intoxicating reality. You were worried your brains were already melting. How the hell were you supposed to last an entire month ??? You were struggling and begging for mercy against my big … snug …. balls …

Your suffering psyche desperately tried to rationalize what was happening to you. Maybe this was possible … You could just … take care of my goods for a month and then … everything would be fine. You just had to …. not break…

I laughed in satisfaction as i pressed you further against my cock. Inspiration for a hot new story already struck me but i needed to go work out first. I wanted to get you all nice and soaked so that i could get you to enjoy this.

"No hard feelings bro." (click to see)

Amazing first few stories! Got any badass punk tf ideas? 😏

Oh i have lots of ideas anon. You want to be a punk uh ? You think that's "badass" ? You want to be different because you think that makes you cool. I know your type. Disruptive, disrespectful, and quite frankly useless to society. If you want to be a punk so bad, then you're going to be treated like one.

WHAM

You bedroom door flies open and three or four cops rush in. They start grabbing you and restraining you, and you're powerless to resist.

"Get your hands off off me pigs ! You can't do this ! I didn't do anything wrong !!!"

You scream in vain as a cop puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. You instantly start to feel woozy and light-headed and soon enough, you black out.

When you wake up, you find yourself strapped to a bed. You can tell that you're naked by the cold air you can feel on your skin. You'd try to scream but you were gagged.

The room you're in is completely sterile and white. You'd think you were in some super fancy hospital if it weren't for the ominous contractions above and around you. You hear heavy footsteps approach and a door open. A military man, clearly high ranking judging by his uniform, and a doctor enter the room.

"Hello young man. You must be a bit confused as to why you're here so i'll explain. As you're well aware, there's been a recent rise in social instability all around the country which has resulted in countless marches, violent protests and extremist riots. This has put both the police and the military under a rising amount of pressure that our current forces cannot deal with. The solution to that problem is .... you."

"The punks, the agitators, the dissidents. As part of our new program we take the likes of you off the streets, turn you into obedient law enforcers and then put you back on the streets to be put to a better use. Two birds with one stone ! You stop causing problems and we get a shiny new agent !"

"Now, i already hear you say "But i didn't even do anything. This is illegal." Well, thankfully our government is very pro-military and has fully endorsed this program. And thanks to a state of the art AI algorithm, we're able to predict crimes before they even happen ! Let me take a look at your file. It looks like you were 75% likely to cause trouble at a protest which is above the national's threshold to arrest you and put you through the program ! Lucky you ! You'll finally be of service to society !"

At this point you were in full panic mode. It was so surreal. This couldn't be a prank, it'd have to be a very elaborate one. It felt like you were in a horrible nightmare and were going to wake up any second. Except this was very real. How could this happen ?! What did you do to deserve this ?!

You struggled against your restrains, trying to escape. But it was no use. You were trapped. As you looked around you could see the doctor preparing his equipment.

"You don't need to worry tho. There won't be much of you left after we're done with the process. You'll be a mindless obedient drone who happily follows orders. Alright, let's begin !"

With that, the doctor pushed a button and a sudden beaming light blinded you. It must have lasted 30 seconds but it felt like forever as it left your skin with a sensation of painful stinging all over your body. Then, the doctor started spraying you with a clear liquid that left your skin looking glossy.

"These early steps are what we call the initial treatment. First, all your hair has to be permanently removed. We wouldn't want any of that pesky hair to get in the way of your new duties right ? That also means that your haircut had to go. It's shiny baldness forever for you now ! Your hair cells all got burned away by that light, so you'll be nice and hairless from now on"

You screamed through your gag as hard as you could, tears running down your eyes. This was wrong. Your hair that you were so proud of... gone forever... What they were doing to you as unfair. They were making you into a freak.

"After this the skin is treated with a special solution that makes it receptive to the next step: the suiting. With your skin primed, it'll now bond perfectly with our permanent latex coating. You can now say bye bye to your skin."

A shiny black liquid suddenly splashed on you from above. The liquid, as if it had a mind of its own, started spreading all over your body. Starting with your stomach, then to your torso and your groin. Your manhood quickly got encased into a smooth bulge.

The pitch black liquid filled all the pores of your skin. All the crevices and imperfections were gone. Your treated skin bonded immediately with the liquid on contact, leaving behind a featureless black latex exterior. It didn't feel so much like a tight garment had been put on you, but more like an actual second skin that was an extension of your own. The liquid then made quick work of your arms and legs, leaving your face for last.

Your head got covered first, making it a shiny sleek dome. As the liquid creeped closer to your face, the doctor removed your gag. You didn't have time to utter your final words as your mouth got sealed shut forever.

With your face blank, the suiting was complete. You were now fully rubberized. With no visible facial features, it was like you could have been anyone in there. Your personhood had been removed. Anyone looking at you could only see a sleek, black, featureless drone.

Inside, you were trying to grasp what had happened to you when you felt the liquid penetrate your rear. Your lurched forward at the sudden invasion.

"Don't struggle drone. This is the next step of the process : the erasure of your mind. Don't worry, it'll be very pleasurable for you. We find that our drones are at their most productive and obedient when they're in a state of permanent arousal. Pleasure becomes the driving force behind all their basic functions which makes for infallible and flawless soldiers. You're gonna enjoy this."

The invading liquid formed an airtight plug that stretched and fused with your insides, carefully connecting to all your nerve endings. Your mind was reeling from what the man had just told you. You couldn't let this happen, you had to resist whatever would happen. You didn't have time to finish your thought when your body suddenly lit up with extreme sensory pleasure. It was like your entire body was sensually stroked and caressed. Your wriggled and squirmed at the mental assault. This was more intense than anything you had ever done.

In fact, it was more intense that anything your mind could possibly handle. The pleasure was so extreme and excessive that it was all your brain could process, pushing all other forms of cognition to the back of your mind. It was like you were suddenly thrust in the passenger seat of your own body. The entirety of who you are as a person, watching yourself be wracked with pleasure.

But the pleasure only grew, it grew so much that it even started to take over the little corner you had retreated into. You tried to resist, you tried to push it back and keep some of who you are intact. But the intense arousal started to erode and whittle away at you. Like a bright all consuming light that got brighter and brighter, the pleasure was unstoppable and it gradually consumed the entirety of who you were.

It's pleasure. It's only pleasure. You try to resist, just because you know that what you have to do. But you don't even know why anymore. Because the only thing that exists is pleasure. It's so overwhelming. And just like that, your mind hits a breaking point and it all disintegrates.

If the men around you could see your eyes, they'd see the light that was in them dim and extinguishing forever. They see you go limp and that's all they need to see to know that all traces of who you once were are gone. Your entire identity got erased.

"Wow, it's always such a thrilling thing to behold... Seeing a person be wiped clean and a drone be born." Said the commander

"All that government funding certainly helped streamline the process. Things got quite ugly for some of the first test subjects. This one should feel lucky." the doctor replied

It didn't even react when the men started to outfit it in full tactical gear. Thanks to its new rubberized skin, it won't ever have to take its gear off.

The blank drone could now be reprogrammed into the perfect enforcer of the law. Connections directly to the brain started sending new signals to the drone. Signals of conformity and uniformity. Of law and order. Of authority and discipline. With its free will gone, the drone swiftly stands at attention, ready to receive orders.

Assimilation complete

One thought. One purpose.

Obedience.

Conformity.

Order.

"Time to go crack down on some punks."

I know it sounds strange but lately I'm in this whole black muscle phase & I keep having fantasies of going from a skinny fit white guy and turning into a buff black guy. I'm also into being a bit of a slob so I keep thinking of having a bit of musk or bo and maybe being prone to belching it'd be so hot if you could turn me into a buff black guy who's a bit of a slob.

"I get it bro. You see those black muscle gods going to the gym and hulking out and you wish you could be one of them. The stench doesn't even bother you that much so you feel like you'd fit right in ! I get you and i'm here to help you realize your dream !"

You suddenly start feeling a soreness spread across you body and, as you look down, you realize that your muscles are growing. Slowly but surely, you can feel your body buff up into that of a true jock : thick meaty thighs, defined abs, prominent pecs, nice round shoulders and biceps. Your developing muscles nicely filled out your once baggy clothes.

Too busy admiring your bulking physique, you don't even realize that your light hair darkens quickly, first into a dirty blonde, then brown and eventually jet black. Your straight hair even starts curling up into a curly black hairstyle with a high fade.

Your changing ethnicity only becomes clear to you once your pale skin gradually tans into a darker tone, eventually leaving you with glorious brown skin. Even your facial features begin to shift into that of a man of unmistakable African descent; with a wide nose and thick lips. You're feel elated. This is exactly how you wanted to look.

You start caressing and fondling your sculpted body, admiring every inch of it. Your hand glides over your skin and you notice a slight dampness caused by a thin layer of sweat all over your body. You raise your arm to take a whiff inside your armpit and smell a faint musk emanating from it. This was the perfect body.

"Fuck yeah bro" you said, in a deep husky voice that surprised even yourself.

But the changes didn't stop there. Your skin darkened even more into a deep dark melanated tone fit for true nubian king. Your muscles continued to swell and bulk up, putting on pounds after pounds of thick meat. Each of your muscle groups differentiated into glorious bulging muscles. Your jock physique was gone, changing into that of an imposing professional bodybuilder.

But along with those physical changes, your body's physiology also rewired. You noticed right away that your new beefcake body produced a much stronger stench than earlier. You didn't even need to sniff your armpit to smell the pungent bo that was emanating from them, instantly hitting your senses and clouding your brain. That's when concern started to creep in.

This wasn't really what you wanted. What you wished for was to be buff and a bit of a slob, not a noxious stinking sweat machine. This was starting to be a bit too much, even for you. A sudden feeling of bloatedness grew inside your tight stomach. You tried to protest what was happening to you, but the only thing that escaped your mouth when you opened it was a loud putrid belch.

BUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP

The room-shaking belch that just erupted from you kicked in the next phase of your transformation. A growing feeling of distress came over you as all of your glorious muscles bulged and ballooned. Your pecs got even heavier than they already were, thickening into a pair of juicy man boobs. You were now barely able to see past the bouncy meaty pectorals protruding from your chest.

All your other muscle groups followed suit, swelling up to absurd proportions and leaving you looking like a freakish tank. Your delts and biceps exploded in size, leaving your upper body looking like that of a disproportionate gorilla of a man. Your traps swole and bulged, making your neck look as thick as your head. Your butt expanded into a pair of jiggly globes. Your legs surged and became thick powerful tree trunks. Your once delicate feet enlarged into massive man feet that tore through your sneakers. Your tight clothes weren't spared either as your growing body shredded right through them.

You were swelling up like a beastly blow-up doll but, instead of filling up with air, your body filled with thick weighty beef. Your muscle's definition disappeared forever, merging together into thick slabs of meat. You now easily weighed over 300 pounds.

You were panting. The transformation was so intense that you were burning up, beads of sweat forming all over your skin. You breathed in and out, trying not to panic. How could i have done this to you ? This was never what you asked for. You never asked to become some caricature of a muscle-obsessed freak.

BUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRP

Your stomach grumbled loudly as another loud toxic belch erupted out of your mouth and, with it, one final change to your body. The belch seemed to go on forever and, with every second that passed, you felt your tight muscular abs distend and grow out into a prominent roid gut.

You refused to believe what you had become and you tried to suck your muscle gut in. But, no matter how hard you tried, it couldn't be hidden, exposing you as the roided out muscle beast that you were.

You tried to move but everything about your new body felt alien to you, incongruous. Your thick thighs rubbed and chaffed against each other. Your inflated pecs and bubble butt were visible through any piece of clothing you could possibly try. Your arm muscles were so blown up that you struggled to put on clothes or scratch your back. Your neck was so thick that you couldn't turn your head without turning your entire body. As you walked, you struggled to balance your immense bulk and your enormous feet made you move like a clumsy oaf.

Your new body was so big that any kind of physical effort made you exhausted. You burned so much energy that you needed to eat several hefty meals every day which made you feel bloated constantly. You were unable to go 5 minutes without letting out a room shaking masculine belch.

You were so sweaty that you looked like you had just gotten out of the shower at all time, not that you smelled like it. Your biochemistry was on perpetual overdrive, producing a constant stream of sweat that pooled at your feet wherever you went and engulfing you in a thick cloud of rank bo. No matter how many showers you took, you absolutely reeked at all time.

You tried to keep your former friends but they simply couldn't bear to spend any time with your new foul self. You tried to keep your job but your new condition made it impossible for your colleagues to work in your presence. You had nothing left, you were alone and distraught. This was too much ... too much muscle, too much bo .... You never wanted this...

The only place where you could possibly be accepted was the gym and, although normal people kept avoiding you there, you managed to make friends with other juiced up gymrats. Nobody wanted to be around you except them. Other reeking mindless gymrats were the only ones who could understand you now. You weren't a normal human anymore, you were a beast.

They didn't care about your constant sweat production or your inescapable aura of reeking bo or your nonstop belches. Your new bros accepted you as you were. They even encouraged you to not give a fuck, to go further and to just rip one out.

And so you gradually accepted your new place among them as a gym-brained roided out muscle bull. From now on, that was all you were good for.

"Damn bro, you reek."

This Halloween, I’m gonna stuff fabric under my shirt and into my underwear to truly feel like a bloated piece of bull meat, bulging hard all over. I hope the result would be realistic.

That’s certainly understandable to want to want all eyes on you, but purposely deceiving others by stuffing your shirt and underwear is certainly the wrong way to go about it. As such, I think that it’s only fair that you get a mixed bag in terms of your Halloween transformation.

So while wearing a long-sleeve compression shirt was great at having your friends believe that your bulky chest and biceps was real, it also backfired as it made you completely unaware of what was going on beneath the fabric. As such, you had no way to realize that the fabric was slowly merging into your body and leading to the formation of two glorious pecs that proudly jutted forth and demanded the attention from everyone just like you desired. On top of that, the fabric became truly strained while trying to contain those sizable biceps that you now had.

Yet while you were being blessed with an upper torso that would make any professional bodybuilder jealous, your punishment was quickly making itself apparent through your unrealistic-looking crotch. Stuffing a few pairs of rolled up socks into the crotch area of your tight leggings made it so the heft of the socks squeezing against your real manhood caused you to just feel constant pressure. As a result, you were blissfully unaware as your crotch lost all definition and shifted into a lumpy mound reminiscent of a bulky Ken doll. Of course, all of this would become quite apparent when you were able to successfully swoon a jock on the dance floor to head somewhere more private. 

While he pulled off his shirt and revealed your sizable pecs, you couldn’t help but try and play it cool about the reveal by winking and popping your pecs as if it was a mating call. Thinking the same thing occurred to the other area you padded, you felt no reservations demanding the man to pull down your leggings and get to work pleasuring you and your insatiable lust. Unfortunately though, it seemed as though you’d never find yourself reaching a much-needed climax as the man’s screams caused you to look down and discover the mound that would be your new crotch. Yet while this was certainly an unintended side effect of your Halloween costume, it wasn’t the worst possible scenario as you found yourself receiving some much-needed pleasure bottoming for said jock several times throughout the night…

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Just wondering if you can turn Gay Twink boy into a Fat Straight Guy I mean Girls do like a Funny Fat Guy

As you step into the Enigma Emporium, you're greeted by the faint, musky scent of aged leather and old paper. The dim light filtering through the dusty windows casts a warm, golden glow over the eclectic assortment of items that clutter every surface. The air is heavy with a sense of forgotten history, as if the shop itself is a repository for memories long since abandoned.

The walls are adorned with a patchwork of old movie posters, their edges curling and colors faded but still vibrant enough to hint at the glamour of bygone eras. Scenes from classic films mingle with faded band posters from decades past—rock legends and psychedelic fonts from an era when music was wild and unrestrained. The posters are tattered, their paper torn in places, and they form a mosaic of artistic rebellion and cinematic nostalgia.

Every corner of the store is a treasure trove of curiosities. Shelves overflow with old books, their spines lined with stories waiting to be rediscovered. Nearby, vinyl records are stacked in precarious towers, each one a portal to a different soundscape. The items are an assortment of intriguing knick-knacks, trinkets, and relics from a past that refuses to be forgotten.

Suddenly, from the shadowy depths of the shop, a figure emerges. He’s dressed in a striking crimson red suit that seems to shimmer as if imbued with a life of its own. The suit is impeccably tailored, the jacket's lapels sharp and the trousers perfectly creased. His presence is commanding, his demeanor exuding an air of theatricality and mystique. The man's hair is neatly slicked back, and his eyes, behind thin, stylish glasses, sparkle with an unsettling intensity.

"Hello, I'm Robin Morningstar," he says, his voice smooth and melodic. "It seems you've found yourself wandering a bit off the beaten path. Perhaps feeling a little lost or out of sorts?"

Before you can respond, Robin leans in and, with an unexpected gesture of old-world charm, plants a quick kiss on the back of your hand. The touch is oddly electrifying, and for a moment, you feel as if he's drawing something from you, a faint, intangible essence that seems to slip away into the ether.

Your thoughts whirl in your mind, a single phrase repeating like a mantra: "a straight fat guy." It loops relentlessly, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Robin’s gaze is penetrating, and he utters a cryptic line, “Twinkle, twinkle little twink. I'll give you the size you seek.” Before you can process his words, a rush of disorientation envelops you, and you suddenly find yourself alone in a small, dimly lit dressing room.

Inside, there’s an oversized t-shirt with a logo you don’t recognize and a pair of pants that seem absurdly large for your frame. Despite their enormity, you find yourself compelled to put them on. As you hold up the pants, they sag heavily in your hands, barely containing your figure. You slip them on, and as you struggle with the ill-fitting garment, a deep, resonant burp escapes you, echoing through the room. The air is thick with the lingering scent of old cheeseburgers, beer, and other fast foods.

A smile slowly spreads across your face. "Damn, a cheeseburger sounded pretty good about now," you think, as a fog of cognitive haze begins to cloud your thoughts. Each burp seems to deepen the fog, blurring your sense of self and reality. The room feels like it's closing in, the world outside becoming a distant memory as the fog thickens, and you find yourself enveloped in a sense of comfortable, yet unsettling, disorientation.

As you look into the mirror, laughter bubbles up uncontrollably at the sight before you. The reflection reveals a striking contrast: a delicate, blonde-haired twink swimming in oversized clothing that drapes comically over his figure. Yet, as you continue to chuckle, a strange sensation begins in your stomach—a deep, unsettling rumble that seems to ripple outward.

A darkening, coarse hair begins to spread across your smooth skin, marring the once-pristine canvas. It crawls up your arms, chest, and legs, adding a new texture to the previously clean surface. The glasses you wear slide down your nose, a physical manifestation of the shifting balance in your body.

Your body starts to expand with a slow, deliberate growth. The once trim, lean figure is now overtaken by layers of soft, yielding fat. Your stomach protrudes, stretching your shirt beyond its limits. The fabric strains over a burgeoning belly, which pushes out like a stubborn little hill. The gradual encroachment of fat is relentless, spreading outward and upward, reshaping your torso into a more rounded, softer form.

The growth is gradual at first, but soon becomes more pronounced, as if each second is inflating you with an unstoppable force. Your height increases, and as you grow, so does the canvas of youthful ambitions gone awry. The transformation is marked by a persistent sheen of sweat that glistens on your skin, and a few stubborn acne scars, relics of a teenage struggle, remain etched in your skin.

Your cheeks become rounded and plush, their softness a stark reminder of countless hours spent hunched over screens, bestowing upon you a perpetually flushed, almost cherubic appearance. The double chin that forms beneath your rounded face is a testament to a fondness for instant noodles and soda, resting comfortably over the stretched fabric of your faded Doctor Who T-shirt. The shirt strains against a belly that juts out prominently, like a small, defiant hill that pushes against the constraints of the garment.

Your arms, now thick and doughy, lack any semblance of definition, spilling over the edges of an old gaming chair that seems to cradle your expanding form. You're no longer standing in a dressing, but in some sort of dark basement and sitting in a chair. The chair, once a symbol of idle comfort, now highlights the extent of your physical change. Your legs, concealed beneath cargo shorts that have seen better days, are a tragic sight of dimples and folds. These features bear witness to a life of relentless lounging, each movement slow and deliberate, as though every step is a battle against gravity, which seems to conspire to keep you anchored in place.

Dreams of heroism and grandeur lie nestled amidst half-eaten pizza crusts and forgotten soda cans. You embody a life of unassuming surrender, where the thrill of youthful aspirations has given way to a realm of comfortable, albeit tragic, self-indulgence.

As you gaze at your reflection, a wave of nostalgia crashes over you, pulling you back to a time when your life was filled with vibrant social gatherings and unrestrained joy. You remember the drag race viewing parties with friends, where laughter and camaraderie flowed as freely as the cocktails. The excitement of big social events, dancing to the latest pop hits, and reveling in the carefree, flamboyant atmosphere of your gay life is etched deeply into your memory. Your days were a symphony of pop music, glittering outfits, and a community of friends who shared your passion for celebration and fun.

But now, that world feels like a distant dream, replaced by a new reality. You find yourself embodying the quintessential loud-mouthed nerd, whose presence on YouTube is as inevitable as his rants are exhaustive. Your new persona is defined by an insatiable thirst for obscure trivia and an exuberant, nasally voice that seems to reverberate with boundless energy. Your face is often flushed with the intensity of your rants, framed by a mess of unkempt hair and a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses that perpetually slide down your nose as you gesticulate wildly.

Your enthusiasm for all things nerdy is matched only by a profound lack of self-awareness. Your speech is a relentless barrage of facts, opinions, and over-the-top exclamations, delivered in a rapid-fire manner that blends a stream of consciousness with frequent interruptions. Your voice rises and falls with dramatic cadence, punctuated by exaggerated sighs and heavy breathing that add to the fervor of your monologues.

“Okay, okay, okay, listen up, people! You won’t believe this! So, Doctor Who, right? I mean, can we just take a moment to appreciate how mind-bendingly amazing this show used to be? But they need to cut it with this woke crap, the Doctor ain't a woman and he ain't gay!

And speaking of brilliance, Marvel Comics! Did you see the new issue of Avengers? The storyline where Thor becomes unworthy and then, oh, what’s her name, Jane Foster, takes up the mantle? Fucking crap.

In this new role, your former life of vibrant gatherings and pop music seems like a distant memory. The once-cherished moments of carefree joy are now overshadowed by an overwhelming dedication to the nerdy realm of YouTube commentary, where the excitement of your past is replaced by the fervor of your current obsession

As you turn off your camera and log on to your favorite porn site, you feel a mix of emotions coursing through your veins. At first, the thought of watching cheerleaders makes you feel disgusted with yourself. You're gay; why would you even want to see these hot bimbo slutty girls? But as soon as the images appear on the screen, something strange happens. Your eyes are drawn to their voluptuous bodies and perfect curves like a magnet. Despite knowing that this isn't what you usually find attractive, there's something about these girls that captivates your attention.

As they start gyrating their hips and moving suggestively for the camera, it becomes harder for you to look away. Your heart begins racing while sweat forms on your forehead - is this arousal? Is it possible that deep down inside, there's still some part of yourself that finds this kind of eroticism appealing? The more time passes by watching them perform sensual dances and showing off their ample cleavage, the more aroused by them despite knowing better not too…

As your hand moves swiftly up and down your shaft, the image of those buxom cheerleaders dancing seductively on the screen becomes more and more intense. You can't help but imagine what it would be like to have one of them wrapped around you, their soft curves pressed against yours as they moan with pleasure. But then reality sets in - you're just a fat straight nerd jerking off to porn while dreaming about something that will never happen. The thought of being alone forever as a lonely fat nerdy loser fills you with despair… yet still, the images continue to fuel your arousal until finally…

You let out a loud groan as waves of pleasure wash over you. Your cock throbs violently in your hand, spewing thick ropes of cum onto the keyboard beneath it. As soon as the orgasm subsides, guilt washes over you once again - guilt for having given into this forbidden desire; guilt for not being strong enough to resist; guilt for knowing deep down that this is who you truly are: just another pathetic loser living out his fantasies through pornography instead of experiencing real intimacy with another human being.

ughhhhh life is so hard right now. I know it sounds super cheesy but sometimes I wish I could get away by turning into a hot wholesome guy like I dunno a superhero like Superman or a nice celeb like Jack Quaid, but i know there's no self improvement tapes for something like that

"Life sucks. It's so hard" you, mutter those words under your breath as you step into the dusty interior of Enigma Emporium. The sign outside, barely hanging on its rusted hinges, creaks as you push the door open, and a bell jingles softly, announcing your arrival. The store is a labyrinth of shelves cluttered with strange knick-knacks and peculiar items: tarnished antiques, peculiar trinkets, and a few oddities that seem like they belong in a science fiction novel. The smell of old books and something faintly medicinal hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of dust and worn leather.

As you navigate through the narrow aisles, trying to ignore the myriad of strange artifacts, a man in a bright red suit with a crimson red tie, as dark as blood, suddenly appears in your path. His smile is too wide, his eyes too twinkling, and his voice too smooth as he greets you. “Welcome to Enigma Emporium! Looking for something special today?”

You offer a distracted nod, brushing him off as you continue your search. His voice fades into the background as you spot it—your heart skips a beat. There it is: a sleek black Superman t-shirt, hanging on a rack with a defiant confidence that seems almost to mock your current state of discontent.

“Be careful with that,” he warns, his tone dripping with enigmatic seriousness. “It’s not all it seems.”

You roll your eyes, dismissing his words with a casual wave. “It’s just a shirt, bud. Anywhere I can try this on?”

With a resigned sigh, the man in red points towards a small, curtained-off section at the back of the store. “There’s a fitting room over there. Just… be mindful.”

You make your way to the back, pulling the curtain aside to reveal a tiny, dimly lit dressing room. The walls are lined with old-fashioned wallpaper peeling at the corners, and a lone, flickering bulb casts a weak light over a chipped wooden bench and a mirror that looks like it has seen better days.

You slip out of your own shirt and pull the Superman tee over your head, the fabric cool and surprisingly soft against your skin. As you glance in the mirror, the shirt swallows you whole; it hangs loosely, draping over your frame in an unflattering way. You tug and adjust, trying to get a better look. The shirt is oversized, and you feel like a child playing dress-up rather than the confident figure you had imagined.

As you study your reflection, a sudden wave of introspection hits you. The words “truth, justice, and the American way” drift through your mind, echoing like a relentless jackhammer. The phrase seems to resonate, vibrating through your chest and settling deep in your core.

You feel a tightness in your chest, it’s as if something is being awakened within you, something both exhilarating and overwhelming. You feel like one of those face huggers from the Alien movies it about to burst right out of you.

In the mirror, your reflection seems to shimmer, the shirt clinging tighter, the emblem on your chest glowing faintly. A searing heat begins to radiate through your body, starting from deep within your core and spreading outward like a wildfire. As if molten energy is coursing through your veins, igniting every nerve ending in its path. Your skin prickles with heat, the temperature rising rapidly, and your body starts to feel like it's being engulfed in a cocoon of warm, pulsating light.

You gasp as your muscles twitch and contract involuntarily, each movement sending waves of pressure through your frame. It’s a strange, almost painful tightness as your limbs begin to stretch and grow. Your once-pathetic, nerdy physique starts to transform before your eyes. You can literally feel yourself growing taller, your body elongating with a fluid grace that’s mesmerizing. The fabric of the shirt tightens, struggling to keep up with the expanding contours of your newly-sculpted form.

Your muscles contract and expand rhythmically, each contraction accompanied by a sharp, burning ache. Your chest begins to swell, your pectorals pushing outwards with a sense of relentless determination. The fabric of the shirt tightens around you, stretching to accommodate the growing expanse of your chest. Each breath causes your pectorals to rise and fall with an almost mechanical precision, the muscles defined and striated to perfection.

Your abs begin to harden and define themselves with an almost violent intensity. The rippling effect of your abdominal muscles is both mesmerizing and daunting, each muscle etched with a new level of detail. The shirt clings to your body, unable to fully contain the expanding mass of your torso, revealing the intricate lines and grooves of your abdominal wall.

Your biceps swell into powerful peaks, their size and definition increasing dramatically. The once soft contours of your upper arms are now firm and well-defined, the muscles appearing as twin hills of solid flesh. The natural ease with which your arms move contrasts with the sheer strength and definition that now characterizes them. Each flex causes the biceps to bulge with an almost symphonic grace, the veins beneath the skin becoming more pronounced and adding to the overall display of strength.

You behold the figure in the mirror. It’s as if you’ve been chiseled from marble by a master sculptor. Standing at an impressive height, you now possess a commanding presence. Your broad shoulders taper down into a tapered waist, emphasizing a powerful and awe-inspiring frame. Your chest is a masterpiece of muscularity, with your pectorals rising and falling with each breath, stretching the fabric of the shirt to its limits.

When you move, your abs come into sharp relief, each muscle distinct and etched with precision, creating a rippling effect that conveys both strength and agility. Your biceps, like twin hills of firm flesh, bulge naturally, their definition a testament to both dedication and inherent strength. Your legs are a study in robust athleticism, with quadriceps and hamstrings displaying a symphony of muscle and sinew, hinting at countless miles and intense workouts. Your calves, too, are sculpted with a balance of aesthetics and function, rounding out your formidable physique.

Glancing at your reflection, you notice a face that seems to embody a perfect blend of rugged sophistication and classic beauty. The strong jawline, high cheekbones, and intense gaze are framed by dark, expressive brows and a perfectly groomed beard, all coming together to form a visage that could easily belong to Tyler Hoechlin himself.

As you stand there, an intense thrill runs through you. Your reflection in the mirror shows a sinister smirk spreading across your face, the black t-shirt seeming to grow darker as it molds to your transformed body. The sight of your new form is both electrifying and intoxicating.

“Damn, I’m fucking hot as hell,” you think, a sense of confident swagger swelling within you. “Chicks are going to dig this. I’m a true American stud.”

The smirk on your face widens, your newly formed muscles pulsing with the energy of your newfound self-assuredness. As you gaze at your reflection, a profound wave of deep patriotism courses through your veins, igniting a fierce intensity that you hadn’t anticipated. This newfound fervor isn’t just a gentle glow of pride—it’s an all-consuming fire that drives you to embody the very essence of the American ideal. You feel as though you’re charged with the energy of a thousand rallying cries, a living symbol of strength and power.

However, beneath the veneer of wholesome patriotism lies something darker. The thoughts that swirl in your mind are far from noble. The sense of duty and righteousness that once guided you has been overshadowed by a potent mix of arrogance and entitlement. You catch yourself thinking about how you deserve to claim what's rightfully yours, how you’ve earned the admiration and respect that’s now pouring in. Your muscles ripple and flex involuntarily as if responding to an inner command. You revel in the physical power you now possess, feeling an almost primal satisfaction in the way your body responds.

When you stroll down the street, thoughts of power and dominance fill your mind. You imagine yourself taking what's yours by force - grabbing hold of everything life has to offer without hesitation or remorse. Your muscles tense underneath your clothes as visions of flexing them in front of others consume your thoughts.

You put on a wholesome facade for the cameras; smiling wide while waving at passersby who cheer for their heroic representative on display for all to see. But deep down inside where no one can see or judge – there lies an arrogant dirtbag just waiting for an opportunity to show his true colors.

Suddenly, you find yourself in front of a bathroom mirror at the club. The pulsating sound of music echoes through the door as you fix your hair and flash a smile. Pushing past some nerd who gets out of your way, you exit with confidence and swagger.

As soon as you step into the club, it's like a magnet drawing people towards you – especially those pathetic gay fans who worship every image they see from Teen Wolf or Superman. You can't help but sneer at their fawning admiration; it only serves to fuel your already inflated ego even more.

Walking towards the bar with purposeful strides, eyes scanning for potential targets, yours suddenly lands on an unsuspecting dumb chick sitting alone at one end of it. She catches sight of you approaching and her face lights up in anticipation - just what kind of predator are we dealing with here? You approach smoothly enough but there's no mistaking how hard your dick is growing underneath those tight jeans now.

The chick is totally smitten with you, practically drooling over your every move. "Oh Tyler, you're so hot!" she breathes out, her eyes wide with admiration. "I love your show."

You grin devilishly at her response and lean in closer to whisper something into her ear that makes her blush furiously. "I want to fuck your brains out," you say softly but firmly enough for only her to hear.

Inside your head, pervy dirty sexual thoughts swirl like a hurricane – images of tearing off this girl's clothes and taking what's yours without hesitation or remorse fill up every corner of your mind. You can almost feel the power coursing through your veins as if it were electricity surging through a live wire.

The images in your mind become increasingly explicit and depraved as you continue to flirt with the unsuspecting chick. You imagine her screaming out your name as you pound into her from behind, forcing yourself deeper and harder than she ever thought possible. Your hands grip tightly onto her hips, leaving bruises that serve as a reminder of who's boss here.

You see yourself flipping this girl over onto all fours before slamming into her from behind once more – only this time it's doggy style and she's begging for more. Her pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears as you continue to take what's yours without any regard for boundaries or consent.

You order a shot and down it in one swift motion, feeling the burning sensation spread through your body like wildfire. With each passing second, you feel a sense of power growing inside you – an intoxicating rush that only adds fuel to your already raging ego.

You act like a total bastard towards the chick now, not caring about her feelings or how this might tarnish your wholesome persona for others around you. You grab her by the wrist forcefully and drag her towards one of the private rooms in the back – she's clearly out of her depth here but too smitten to resist any longer.

My boyfriend and I are in a loving relationship, but we're both pretty crappy when it comes to handy work. His car broke down and its going to cost a lot of money. I wish there was a way I could fix it for him.

Standing over your boyfriend's car, frustration radiates from you. The engine's persistent sputtering and the vague sense of impending doom around the vehicle's state of disrepair have you fuming. You snatch your cellphone from your pocket, desperate to find a mechanic who can rescue you from this mess. Just as you're scrolling through contact lists and Google searches, you hear a sudden, jarring snaaappppp—like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.

Your eyes widen in shock as your phone starts to ooze a thick, greasy substance. It spreads quickly, coating your hand and dripping onto your clothes. Before you can react, the greasy ooze starts to morph your outfit into something far more rugged: your pristine attire transforms into a pair of smelly, workout overalls. They’re stained with gasoline and grease, clinging to you with a damp, pungent odor. You take a deep breath and let out a long, appreciative “Damnnnn boy,” as the smell of oil and sweat fills your nostrils.

You notice your Adam's apple swelling, protruding noticeably from your throat, and your voice deepening into a gravelly, rough baritone. Your body begins to shift, growing more muscular with each passing second. Muscles ripple across your arms and chest, your frame expanding and filling out with a newfound bulk. The greasy substance seems to seep into your skin, making you more rugged and burly, covered in a light smattering of body hair that adds to the overall gruff appearance.

As the transformation settles, you can almost feel your brain getting fuzzier, your intellectual thoughts slipping away like oil from a pan. It’s like your mind is getting slicked over with a thick layer of grease, making way for raw mechanical instinct. Your focus narrows to the car, and suddenly, you're a whirlwind of efficiency and strength.

With a clank and a clang, you dive into the engine bay, your hands working with a dexterity and precision that seem almost superhuman. You tighten bolts, replace parts, and clean out the grime with an almost absurd ease. The car groans and purrs under your skilled touch, its problems vanishing one by one.

Finally, with a resounding thud, you slam the hood shut, the metal reverberating with the impact. As you step back, a loud, obnoxious fart escapes from you—one of those deep, rumbling, unabashed ones that make the ground shake. You chuckle to yourself, a deep, throaty laugh that matches your newfound persona. You feel a lightness as any last vestiges of smarts, those pesky remnants of your former self, seem to float away, carried off on the smell of exhaust and the echo of your laughter.

In this new state, you stand proudly next to the now-purring car, your greasy, muscled form the epitome of auto-mechanical prowess. You look up and down at your former boyfriend, who now stands at his car looking at you with contempt. Your mind twists and turns, forgetting the fact that the two of you dated. In fact, you think this guy is nothing but a no good city liberal faggot, who can't even fix his own car.

You saunter over to him, a smirk playing on your lips. You extend your hand for a handshake, but he just asks, "How much for the repairs buddy?" You give him a look over, realizing that this preppy son of a bitch is probably pretty loaded. "Goin' be $2,500. Cash," you say with a grin.

He hands you the money without a second thought and drives off. You just chuckle, pocketing the cash. This was going to go a long way at the nudie bar down the street. You couldn't wait to get off work and start throwing dollar bills at those strippers. Nothing you loved more than cracking open a cold beer and watching some dumb blonde whore shake her titties.

You head inside the garage, whistling a tune. The day's work was almost done, and you had a nice stack of cash to show for it. You wipe the grease off your hands and grab a fresh beer from the mini-fridge. Popping it open, you take a long swig, the cold liquid refreshing after a hard day's work.

The strip club was already starting to fill up when you arrived. You grab a seat right up front, slamming your fist on the table to get the attention of the waitress. "Keep 'em comin'," you say, sliding a crisp $100 bill across to her. She gives you a wink and saunters off.

The first dancer of the night takes the stage, a blonde bombshell with tits that could suffocate a man. You lean back in your chair, taking another swig of your beer as she starts to grind to the music. This was your idea of a perfect night - cold beer, hot women, and no one to answer to but yourself. The world was your oyster, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

Transform me from a Southeast Asian Urban Design student/nerd into a typical Dutch Jock. Tired of caring about those folks, might as well join their ranks

You know, manners are everything. This reads less like an ask, and more like a demand. Can't say the powers will take too kindly to that.

You’re hit with a visceral shockwave, a loud snaaaaaapppp that reverberates through your brain like a thunderclap. In the echoing corridors of your mind, memories cascade with a feverish intensity—football games where you were the star, grueling training sessions where you pushed yourself to the limit, and the electrifying thrill of flirting with girls. Each recollection fuels a transformation, muscles bulging and hardening with every echo of a cheering crowd and the thrill of victory.

But amidst the roaring triumph, a sharp, jarring craaaaaaacccck cuts through, like the splintering of a fragile shell. This new sound ushers in a wave of memories that hit harder and heavier. You're suddenly transported back to that fateful game during your sophomore year of college, the sharp pain of your knee snapping, the sensation of your future slipping away. The memory is vivid, almost visceral—the fracture, the tumble into uncertainty. It’s intertwined with another crushing realization: flunking out of college, feeling like you could never quite put two and two together, stumbling through academic challenges that seemed insurmountable.

As the past plays out in your mind, there’s an unsettling slow-motion effect. Your brain feels as though it's dragging through thick fog. Thoughts become clunky and fragmented, with memories replaying the most trivial and embarrassing jokes, their humor flat and forced. You find yourself living in a cramped, crowded apartment in Dallas, Texas—a far cry from the potential you once had.

There’s a growing bitterness in your thoughts, an anger directed at those who seem different or who espouse values that clash with your own. This simmering resentment becomes a part of your identity, mingling with the changes that are happening to your body. The muscles you once proudly built up start to soften and expand, slowly transforming into layers of fat. Your physique, once a symbol of strength, now feels like a burden, a constant reminder of lost opportunities.

Your once-defined arms, capable of throwing a perfect spiral or lifting heavy weights, lose their firmness. They grow flabby and cumbersome, the skin sagging where taut muscle used to be. The biceps that were once admired now bulge inelegantly, their shape obscured by a growing layer of fat. Your chest, once proud and sculpted, expands into a thick, sagging mass that hangs heavily, each breath feeling labored under its weight.

Your waistline follows suit, widening noticeably. Where there were once ridges of abdominal muscles, a soft, unyielding bulge now protrudes, pressing uncomfortably against your waistband. The once-flat stomach now forms a pronounced roll, spilling over your belt and leaving you perpetually uncomfortable in your own clothes.

Now, you see a person whose body is a constant reminder of missed opportunities and a life marred by regret. The formerly muscular physique has become a burden, a physical manifestation of your inner turmoil and bitterness. The muscles that were once your pride are now hidden beneath layers of flesh, a visible sign of how far you’ve fallen from the person you once aspired to be.

You slouch into your routine, drinking cheap beer, scarfing down greasy junk food, and reminiscing about the so-called glory days that seem more distant and unattainable with each passing moment. The weight of your body feels oppressive as you struggle to turn on the TV. The glow of the screen is filled with reruns of shows like Family Guy, their humor dull and repetitive.

A pervasive odor lingers around you, a mix of sweat and neglect, as if you haven’t showered in days. It’s a reminder of how far you’ve fallen from the person you once hoped to be, a stark contrast to the vibrant, ambitious individual you used to be.

"Unf fuckkk…" You let out a groan as you feel your cock stirring beneath the couch cushion, desperately hoping to sink back into some tight young cunt from your glory days. Memories flash through your increasingly mushy brain - lashing a sloppy make-out session in the school hall closet with a bubbly senior named Tiffany. Unbuttoning her skirt with a lustful grin and slipping a hand up to feel those smooth virgin panties.

Suddenly, your newfound self-hatred smashes down like a jackhammer blow. What an idiot you were! Laying claim to her back then and blowing her, sure. But you'll need a lot more than one lame piece of tail. Your fingers reach out of instinct and open the lid of your phone from where it lies scattered around on the coffee table, illuminating a stack of gaudy advertisements - "Get hard! Find hookups near you!", "Gay and In Bisexual Men: Download Now Free!" Shaking your head, you fire up Tinder and begin scrolling with uncharacteristic discretion… Swipe, swipe. Right, right. But no one was going to match with a fat slob like you.

Hey, I know you tend to specialize in gay to straight transformations but there's this really cute, really sweet straight guy Tommy. We've known each other for years and he recently went through this massive breakup and was telling me he wished he was gay like me. That we had it easier being able to just "fuck your bros with no problem" and I was wondering if you could maybe make him gay. I don't even care if he isn't attracted to me I just really like him and hate seeming him this sad!

You and Tommy are nestled at the bar, the low hum of chatter enveloping you like a warm blanket. He’s deep into another round of heartbreak stories, his voice a familiar soundtrack of loss and longing. You listen, idly swirling the amber liquid in your glass, nodding along as he recounts the latest details about his ex-girlfriend—the late-night texts, the promises unfulfilled.

“I wish I was gay like you,” Tommy sighs, a wistful look in his eyes. You shrug it off, chuckling lightly. “It’s not that easy, man.”

Just then, the bartender—a musky, handsome bear of a man—leans in with a grin. “Hey boys, bar's running a special. The Switch-Up-Shots, on the house.” He sets down two shot glasses: Tommy’s is a vibrant pink, yours a deep, mysterious blue. You exchange glances, a mix of curiosity and apprehension, before lifting your glasses in a silent toast. You both slam back the shots, but Tommy chokes, the liquid clearly hitting him harder than usual.

As he coughs, his voice takes on a lighter pitch, and he starts to giggle, his laughter bubbling up like soda. You watch, eyebrows raised, as his hair begins to shimmer, shifting to a soft blonde. Your heart races with confusion, and just as you’re about to stand up and make sense of this, a rumble of discomfort roils in your stomach. A sharp pang spikes through your head, as if someone is using a jackhammer on your thoughts, pushing you toward the TV screens displaying the Jets game. But you were never into sports---But naw, man the Jets were your fucking team.

Tommy whines, his voice growing more melodious, and you look down, only to find that something isn’t right. Your confusion sharpens, then you feel yourself rising, taller and taller, your perspective shifting as the bar seems to stretch around you. Meanwhile, Tommy is shrinking before your eyes. His muscles deflate, the sinewy strength you once admired fading into something softer, more delicate.

His figure morphs, becoming youthful and lithe. You can’t help but stare as he transforms, his arms now slender yet subtly toned, moving with a grace that hints at a playful spirit. His skin glows, catching the light, radiating a smoothness that evokes a sense of innocence and mischief. His hair becomes a tousled cascade, soft waves framing his face with an effortless charm. Each strand dances in place, embodying a carefree attitude that feels utterly endearing.

You’re captivated by his face—a canvas of youthful exuberance, cheeks rounded and perpetually blushing. Those eyes, bright and expressive, sparkle with mischief, pulling you into their depths like a story waiting to unfold. His lips, full and inviting, curl into a charming smile that lights up the dim bar. He embodies a playful spirit, a blend of vulnerability and confidence that draws you in. And as he looks up at you, there’s something in his gaze, a hint of a crush that sends a ripple of warmth through your chest.

You instinctively reach for his hand, the connection sparking between you like electricity, but just then—a sharp pain lances through your head, growing more intense. "Ugggh. Gorss" you mutter. Your vision blurs for a moment, the bar spinning as you fight to focus. What’s happening? You want to grasp hold of reality, but it slips through your fingers like sand. As you struggle to make sense of this chaos, Tommy giggles again, the sound high and sweet,---and so fucking annoying.

The headache pulses like a jackhammer in your skull, drowning out any coherent thoughts. Memories of pride parades, the exhilarating rush of theater camp, and all those carefree moments begin to wash away, replaced by a sense of urgency that courses through you. A cocky smirk spreads across your face, the sensation of transformation filling you with a strange confidence.

The bar around you grows louder, the clink of glasses and laughter blending into a chaotic symphony. Your focus sharpens on the game blaring from the screens—every play is electric, igniting a fierce loyalty to the Jets. You glance down at the bar, licking your lips, and with a newfound bravado, you holler for a beer from the bartender.

“Hey, my man! A cold one over here!” you call, feeling the words tumble out with a bravado you barely recognize.

Tommy—Tom, something—starts whining about some twunk he went out with last night, droning on about how he’s meeting up with a rich daddy from Grindr. But your attention is elsewhere, glued to your arm as you grab the beer. You feel an odd throb in your bicep, your veins pulsing like they have a mind of their own.

Suddenly, it’s as if your body is waking up, each pulse sending a jolt through you. Tan skin begins to wash over your limbs, a warm hue enveloping you like the sun on a perfect summer day. You can feel it—the tingling sensation of muscles swelling and rippling beneath the fabric of your shirt, your physique transforming before your very eyes.

Your biceps begin to swell, filling out the sleeves of your shirt until they feel almost too tight, bursting with energy and strength. Each gesture seems to command attention, confidence radiating from every pore. The deep grooves of your abs flex and relax, showcasing the dedication you’ve put into your workouts. You can almost see the definition—the sharp ridges and valleys—each movement a testament to countless hours spent in the gym, pushing your limits, perfecting your physique.

Your pecs, once flat, now rise proudly, a solid wall of muscle that draws the eye. With every breath, they expand, the fabric of your shirt straining against your newfound bulk. You can feel the weight of them, a powerful reminder of the relentless effort you’ve poured into building your body. Each beat of your heart seems to echo through your chest, amplifying the sense of vitality coursing through you.

And then there’s your bubble butt, perfectly rounded and undeniably eye-catching. You feel it tighten as you stand tall, the definition sculpting a delightful curve that demands attention. It’s a product of squats and deadlifts, the result of sheer willpower and a commitment to not just looking good, but feeling powerful. As you move, you can sense the strength radiating from your glutes, each step confident and assured.

Your entire body feels electric, a symphony of muscle and power, every fiber of your being harmonizing with this newfound identity. You can almost see the reflection of yourself in the bar mirrors, a striking figure that stands out among the crowd. You revel in this transformation, embracing the bro-life with every ounce of pride.

Your face, with its chiseled jawline and squinting eyes, wears a smirk that radiates self-assurance. You find yourself tossing your head back in laughter, showcasing those perfectly white teeth that glint with every exaggerated joke you throw out.

As you focus intently on the TV screen, the memories rush back like a tidal wave, flooding your mind with vibrant snapshots of a life well-lived. Football practice flashes before you—early morning drills, the scent of sweat and grass mingling in the air, the exhilaration of a well-executed play. College frat parties come to life next, wild nights filled with laughter, chaos, and that unmistakable feeling of being the king of the campus. You remember the cheers, the camaraderie, and the thrill of getting into all sorts of trouble, the kind that makes the best stories.

But then there’s a gap. You can't quite piece together how you and—what was his name again?—Tom something became friends. It lingers in the back of your mind, teasing you. And then it hits you: the sweet blonde girl you were seeing, the one who was in that musical with him. You remember the night you dumped her, her face falling as you walked away. But instead of losing touch with Tom, he remained a steadfast presence in your life, always ready to help out, to buy drinks, to be the ultimate wingman.

While you were busy working out, lifting weights and pushing your limits, he would be off flirting with guys doing cardio. You recall watching him from the corner of the gym, effortlessly catching eyes with a wink and a smile, while you were focused on perfecting your form, feeling the burn as you pumped iron. The clanking of weights fills your mind, each repetition a step toward becoming the best version of yourself. You can almost feel the familiar strain in your muscles, the satisfaction of reaching personal bests, the camaraderie of spotting each other, encouraging one another to lift heavier. Your patience wears thin as T---T---Tristan drones on about his latest hookup, his voice dripping with an obnoxious lisp that grates on your nerves. The very air around you seems to vibrate with his excessive energy, the cacophony of his boasts and braggadocious laughter drowning out the rest of the bar.

"Like, OMG, he's so hot," Tristan gushes, his lipstick-glossed lips stretching into a manic grin. "He says he's at Hi Tops, and it's showtunes night. Babes, can we like go?" His words drip with a sickening saccharine sweetness, each syllable calculated to draw you further into his toxic web of self-aggrandizement. But you're not about to let him get away with this shit. You slam your fist on the bar, the crash echoing through the room like a gunshot. "Bro, I'm not your fucking babe!" you shout back.

Tristan's phone buzzes again, another notification from Grindr. He lets out a petulant whine, his lower lip trembling slightly as he glances down at the screen. "Why don't you just get butt-fucked or whatever, and we can meet up later?" you mutter to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief at his antics.

Your gaze drifts towards the Latina beauty perched on the edge of the bar, her curves barely contained by the tight fabric of her dress. She's a vision of perfection, her dark hair cascading down her back in glossy waves, accentuating the creamy expanse of her neck. Her eyes are a striking shade of amber, framed by long lashes that flutter against her cheeks as she laughs at something her friends are saying. You watch as Tristan slouches over, taking another swig of his cosmopolitan before puckering his plump lips in an exaggerated pout. "Whatever, Hunter. I see you're already on Pussy Portal. Ugh. Straight dudes are the worst," he scoffs dismissively, rolling his eyes. "I don't know why I'm friends with you sometimes. Oh, right, that body of yours," he adds with a wink, his gaze lingering on your chiseled physique.

Tristan saunters away from you, his tight jeans hugging his round ass as he tosses his shaggy hair over his shoulder. You can't help but chuckle at his antics - your best friend is definitely the most obnoxious faggot you know. But hey, as long as he helps you score the hottest chicks when you hit up the bars together, you can put up with his incessant flirting and eyeing from other guys. You stare back at the little Latina honey across the bar. It's her tits that really catch your attention. They're a work of art, full and round, straining against the confines of her dress with each breath she takes

You saunter over to Isabella's table, your confidence surging with each step. She looks up at you, her amber eyes widening slightly as she takes in your towering frame. You flash her a cocky grin, flexing your biceps as you lean in close. "Hey there, gorgeous," you purr, your voice low and seductive. "Buy a lady a drink?"

Isabella bites her plump lower lip, her eyes darting down to your chest before meeting your gaze once more. "I'd love one," she murmurs, her voice dripping with desire. You signal the bartender, ordering a Cosmos and beer for yourself, the price tag a mere afterthought.

As you wait for the drinks to arrive, you reach out and gently brush a stray lock of hair from Isabella's face, your fingers grazing her soft skin. She shivers at your touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips. "You're so strong," she mutters. Oh, she'll be putty in your hands after a few drinks.