Guys who fucking epitomize manliess. Fine. True "Manliness"--iteslf a loaded term--is about being a collaborative, contributing member of a community, a relationship, and/or a family. This Tumblr's more about dudes with gigantic hairy chests, pits, cocks ans asses. I'm like a feminist on the street, but a hairy musle dude in the sheets.
How about a story about a homophobic frat jock who gets turned into the husband of his gay, middle aged english professor?
Jared had everything he could want. The looks, the friends, girls drooling over him, the athletic ability... the list went on. The only thing he didn't have was a good grade in his stupid intro to English course. To Jared, school was just an obstacle to the things he would rather be focusing on. His time partying, working out, and practicing on the field were all higher priorities for him. The only thing grades were good for were maintaining his sports scholarship.
"C'mon man, you can't fail me." Jared insisted, "I'll write a stupid essay or something. Ever heard of extra credit?"
Dr. Peters sighed, "Jared, I know you have the potential. You're a bright young man and..."
"Enough with the bullshitting." The young jock continued, "I'm sure I could pass your class if I gave a fuck." His eyes narrowed.
"In all my years of teaching, I've never..." Dr. Peters paused and regained his composure, "Look, I'm sorry Jared, but I can't just change your grade." He put the papers he had been reading down as his phone buzzed, "I'm sorry, I have to take this."
Jared watched as his professor stepped away and the young man sighed. Did he lose his cool? Yeah. Did it hurt his case? Fuck yeah. But he wasn't about to let some washed out, gay English nerd fuck with his life. Jared looked down at the papers Dr. Peters was reading and smirked. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and left the room.
-------------
Was stealing a bunch of papers from his English professor the best revenge he could think of? No, not at all. But when Jared started reading them, he nearly died from laughter.
"Did he write this shit?" Jared smirked, taking in Dr. Peter's handwriting, "Oh my god, dude needs to learn to type. Probably can't even afford a laptop on his shitty salary."
As Jared started to read the pages he had stolen, his expression shifted. He couldn't believe what he was reading.
"What a pervert." Jared chuckled, "This is what you spend your time writing about?" The story was unlike anything he expected. It detailed an intimate encounter between two men - Dr. Peters and an assistant coach named Chris, "You dirty fucker," Jared whispered under his breath.
But he couldn't help but continue to read over each line. The story unfolded with vivid descriptions of a burly, handsome assistant football coach, Chris. The broad shoulders, thick gut, hirsute form- oozing masculinity.
"So that's the type of guy Peters gets off to." Jared mused, "What a…" He shifted uncomfortably as he felt his cock beginning to stiffen, tenting against his jeans, "The fuck…?" He smirked, "Guess its been a bit since I got off…" He whispered.
Jared kept reading, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The story described how the English professor ran a hand through the assistant coach's thick chest hair, tracing the lines of muscle beneath. As he read these words, Jared felt an odd itching sensation on his own chest. He absently scratched at it, not realizing that fine hairs were beginning to sprout across his smooth skin.
He continued to read, now fully engrossed in the erotic tale unfolding before him. The professor leaned in closer to the coach, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. Jared inhaled deeply- he could swear he smelled it too. It was rugged, musky, and deliciously masculine. And it was coming from him. His own musky pits… And it smelled so good…
"What the hell." Jared shook his head, "Alright… time to put this down…"
Jared tried to set the papers aside, but found himself unable to look away. The story had taken hold of him, drawing him deeper into its world. As he read on, the characters' encounter grew more heated. The professor pressed his lips to the coach's neck, feeling the coarse stubble against his face. Jared winced as hairs sprouted from his own jawline, growing thicker until he sported a scraggly, manly beard.
"Wh-what the fuck?"
He tried to lift a hand to confirm what he had felt. But his hands remained stuck in place, holding the story. He couldn't even move his head, forced to stare at the pages and read what was on them.
"I can't move…" He stuttered, "I can't…"
Jared couldn't help but continue to read. Read the description of professor grasping the coach's muscular arms, Jared could feel his own biceps swell and thicken. But he couldn't look. Couldn't see the changes that the story wrought on his lean muscles and athletic form.
"Ohhhh... fuck…" He moaned.
The story detailed how the professor trailed kisses down the coach's chest, circling his nipples with his tongue. Jared gasped, feeling his own nipples harden and tingle. He wanted to look down, to see if they had darkened and enlarged like the coach's, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the pages. But he could feel his pecs swell, thickening with muscle, while also sagging and softening with age.
"Pl-please let me go…" Jared begged.
He read as the coach groaned, his hands roaming over the professor's body. Jared's fingers twitched, aching to do the same. To explore every inch of someone else's skin, to feel another man beneath him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. But they persisted, growing stronger with each passing moment. As the characters in the story began to undress each other, Jared felt his own clothes start to come undone and vanish, leaving him completely naked on his bed.
"Feels so good..." The cool air on his warm skin sent a shudder of pleasure through his increasingly larger form.
As Jared read on, he felt his scalp begin to tingle. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the vivid descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together. But the sensation grew more intense, spreading across his entire head.
He gasped as he felt strands of hair loosen and fall away. More followed, clinging to his fingers as he reached up to feel the thinning locks. Panic surged through him, but he couldn't stop reading. The story described the professor running his hands through the coach's thinning hair, and Jared felt his own recede further, revealing more of his scalp.
"No… please no…" He whimpered, but the words came out slurred and weak. His voice was changing too, deepening into a gravelly rasp. He could hear the difference, but couldn't process what it meant.
Jared's eyes widened as he felt a sudden burst of heat across his skin. The story detailed the professor trailing kisses down the coach's chest, across his hairy belly and lower still. Jared gasped, feeling coarse hairs erupt across his own once-smooth torso. They sprang up everywhere - his chest, back, shoulders. He felt like a walking carpet, covered in a thick pelt of dark fur.
"I can't be becoming him... I can't be.... fuck..."
Despite the alarming changes, Jared found himself growing more aroused. The descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together, their sweaty skin sliding against each other, filled him with a primal hunger. He craved that closeness, that intimacy. He wanted to feel another man's strong arms around him.
"Oh fuck that… I'm not gay…" The pace of his breathing had quickened, his mind was racing as he tried to process the changes, "I'm Jared. I'm not…"
The story described the professor reaching down to grasp the coach's throbbing cock, feeling it pulse in his hand. Jared moaned, his own member responding in kind. It lengthened and thickened. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, dripping down onto his furry thighs. He couldn't believe how sensitive he had become, how desperately he needed release.
"I need… I need…" He whimpered, but he couldn't find the words. Couldn't articulate the burning desire coursing through his veins. All he knew was that he craved another man's touch. Craved the feeling of being filled, of being used.
Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him.
Strong arms wrapped around Jared's waist, pulling him back against a solid, muscular frame. He gasped, his eyes snapping open as he realized he was no longer alone. Realized he wasn't even in his dorm room anymore. He was in a bedroom. Their bedroom. Their? No he was… he was… His eyes widened as the papers in his hands vanished, as the the story's words faded away, instead replaced by reality.
"W-what the fuck?" He stammered, trying to turn around. But the arms held him firmly in place.
A low, husky voice rumbled in his ear, "I love you, babe."
Jared froze, recognizing that voice instantly. It was Dr. Peters. But how?
Before he could process it further, he felt the older man's hand wrap around his throbbing cock. Fingers closed around the base, squeezing gently. Jared cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Yes, right there," Jared heard himself say, but the voice didn't belong to him. It was deeper, gruffer, and laced with lust. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, his lips formed a smile as he pushed back against Dr. Peters' hand.
Panic surged through Jared's mind as he realized he wasn't in control of his own body anymore. He was trapped, watching helplessly as the assistant coach persona took over. The one from the story.
"Please, don't stop," Coach moaned, his hips rocking in time with Dr. Peters' strokes. "I need you inside me."
As Dr. Peters guided him towards the bed, Jared's vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was a wedding band glinting on his own finger. Memories flooded his mind - memories of a life he hadn't lived. Of loving Dr. Peters, of being loved by him. Of countless nights spent entwined in each other's arms, of waking up to the older man's warm embrace.
-----------
"Babe? Babe?" Jared stirred awake, his eyelids fluttering open. He blinked groggily, trying to orient himself. The last thing he remembered was… what exactly? Something about a story... about Dr. Peters… No... Evan. His husband...
"Thank god, you passed out," Evan said, relief evident in his voice. He sat on the edge of the bed, a concerned look etched on his face. "I was worried sick about you."
Jared frowned, confusion clouding his mind. Passed out? Worried? What was going on? He glanced down at his hand, noticing the wedding band for the first time. It was gold, simple, but unmistakable. He lifted his hand to examine it, but Evan caught his wrist gently.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Evan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Jared's hand.
Jared found himself nodding along, allowing Dr. Peters to guide him towards the bathroom. As they walked, Jared inspected his body. The thick chest hair, the broad shoulders, the paunch around his middle. None of it made sense. He was supposed to be a fit, muscular college athlete, not this… not this…
"Babe?"
As Jared looked at Evan, something clicked into place. The concern in his eyes, the gentle touch of his hands, the familiarity of his voice - it all fell together like pieces of a puzzle. This was his husband. His lover. The man he had built a life with. With a swift movement, Jared pushed Evan backwards onto the couch, pinning him beneath his weight. The older man yelped in surprise, but quickly melted into a pleased smile as he felt Jared's erection press against his thigh.
"We can't just leave it hanging like that, can we?"
Carson hated going home for the holidays. He was young, skinny, popular, and absolutely killing it in New York City. His life had improved tenfold since leaving the small country town he’d grown up in, and going back only reminded him of all the terrible memories. The years he’d spent getting bullied for being bad at sports, for not being manly enough, and being hairless, they all rushed back to him as he was in the car from the airport. It was a long time to think about it all too, since the closest airport was two hours away. The memories of jocks ostracizing him, the years of not feeling like he belonged all flooded back, His family was excited to see him, and he made small talk during that long car ride, but he couldn’t help but feel ripped away from the world that appreciated him.
Upon reaching his old family home, he was bombarded with greetings and hugs from his entire extended family, all of which had arrived before him since they lived within ten miles of each other. After what felt like an eternity, Carson was finally freed to go up to his old room. He tossed his suitcase on the ground and flopped onto the small bed. That was an exhausting ordeal, and he had several more days of it before he could escape back to the city. After a bit of rest he rallied and headed back down to dinner, where he put up with another round of ceaseless questions about what he’d been doing all year. Some were genuine, but many felt targeted, as if he couldn’t be making an honest living and supporting himself in the city. It wasn’t worth an argument though, so he just let the attitude wash over him without response. Another eternity later, he ducked out to his room again, promptly falling asleep after a long flight and even longer day.
The next day was Christmas, and the noise of a dozen relatives chatting downstairs quickly woke him.. He quickly showered and put himself together before his mom had a fit that he wasn’t down with everyone, and joined the fray. His family had always done presents in the morning, right before a huge feast for lunch, and this year was no different. He was scared at what his extended family had gotten for him, for the twisted version of himself that lived in their heads. Carson himself hadn’t bothered to get gifts for anyone, but played it off as “his presence was a gift,” which sometimes got a laugh. They went around and around, everyone gifting the others some crap from a local store, and Carson struggled to stay awake. So far he’d gotten some clothes he’d never wear, a collection of books he was into as a kid, and a bunch of seasonal chocolates and sweets. Overall, not awful. That was when his uncle, Jack, piped up.
“Hey kid, I got somethin’ for you this year. It’s out in my truck, why don’t you follow me out there,” he gestured.
Carson couldn’t remember the last time he’d even interacted with uncle Jack, much less when he’d gotten a gift from him. Jack was a rancher, always out tending to his cattle and working on his ranch. Carson had seldom seen Jack when growing up, and he rarely made it to family events. He picked himself up off the floor and followed his uncle outside, suddenly feeling the two glasses of wine he’d already had that morning. Stumbling slightly, Carson met his uncle outside the garage, where he was digging in the backseat of his truck.
“It’s in here somewhere I swear to-” his muffled voice barely registered. “Ah! Here it is.”
Jack reappeared from the truck with a large, worn cowboy hat.
“This ‘ere was my first purchase after inheriting the ranch. I want you to have it now.” Jack said in a deeply sentimental voice, handing the hat to Carson.
“Uh, thank you,” is all Caron could get out, unsure exactly how to respond. This gift was off the deep end, in what world would he want this?
“Well? Try it on!” Jack said with an eagerness that made Carson feel almost guilty. He put the giant hat on, feeling ridiculous as it clearly didn’t fit right.
Jack laughed, “Lookin’ good, son! Maybe you’ll carry on the family ranch one day lookin’ like that!” he slapped his knee, getting a kick out of his own joke. He stepped over and patted Carson on the back, “I’m glad you like it,” he said so earnestly that a knot swelled up in Carson’s throat. He hated it but didn’t have the heart in the moment to say anything, so he just walked back inside looking like a misfit cowboy.
The room had quite a few comments when they reentered the den, and Carson tried to just suck it up and get through the day. He tried to take it off and stash it away during lunch, but after some devil eyes from his mother he put it back on. Strangely enough, it fit a little better that time. He left it on the rest of the day, nearly forgetting about it by the evening, reminded only by the grins and winks from Jack across the room. When getting ready for bed, he saw it still on in the mirror and laughed, he still looked ridiculous. He did, however, hang it neatly in his closet before passing out for the night.
When the next morning rolled around, the sunlight shone through the blinds and onto Carson’s face. He stretched and slowly opened his eyes, feeling less groggy than usual. Rolling over in bed, he reached towards his side table, feeling around for something. Not his phone, something else. After a couple seconds he came to his senses and got up, heading to the bathroom to shower. For a moment under the warm water he pondered what he had been reaching for in a fuzzy state, and couldn’t seem to place it. He grabbed some old jeans and a jacket from his closet and threw them on, before taking the cowboy hat off its hook and putting it on effortlessly, as if he’d been doing it for years. He barely registered the fact he’d put it on until walking downstairs and receiving a confused look from his mom. Carson wrote it off in his head as trying to be nice for his uncle who’d shown up again that day.
The day was another fairly standard family get together, with lots of eating and drinking involved of course. Carson felt like he was in a better mood today, talking with everyone came a little easier, and he was especially eager to chat with Jack more. They even sat in the sunroom and shared a beer that afternoon. Carson hated beer, or so he’d thought, but it seemed so natural to drink.
“I’m glad you like the hat, son,” Uncle Jack said whilst they were both sitting together. “You look like a natural in it, matches the scruff you’ve got growing real nice.”
Somewhere in Carson’s head, alarm bells suddenly started going off. Scruff? What did he mean by that? Carson excused himself briefly to use the restroom. He flipped the lights on and stared at himself in the mirror. Jack was right. Carson’s face was covered in a good few day’s worth of stubble. His jaw nearly dropped, he’d never been able to grow any facial hair, and now suddenly he nearly had a beard? His hand slowly raised up, feeling the coarse, bristly hairs that were poking out of his jaw. Brown stubble stretched from ear to ear, with a light mustache beginning to come in as well. Carson was floored, but a sensation of ease swept through him before he could panic.
Y’know, he actually looked pretty good with it. Jack was right about the hat too, it worked as a look. He could almost pass as someone who lived around these parts, if only looking at his head at least. Questions about how it’d happened faded, as it just felt natural to have the scruff. As his hand felt around his face he didn’t even register how hard he was getting. He looked better with stubble than without, he thought.
Carson returned to Uncle Jack in the sunroom acting like nothing had changed. This was how every holiday went, right? The two continued their banter, conversation slowly shifting away from Carson’s life in New York and towards Jack’s life on his ranch. In what felt like just minutes, the day flew by, and Carson’s mother was calling them in for dinner.
Unbeknownst to Carson, while he’d been sitting out with his beer, his body had been doing more than growing a little stubble. His slender legs began putting on some never before seen bulk, toned calves and bulky thighs emerged and pushed against his originally loose-fitting jeans. His feet grew sore as they expanded, stretching his shoes and socks tight as his size grew from a 10 to a 14. Small wispy hairs started to push out of his toes, just a few at first. The hairs spread over to the top of his feet, where the newly expansive room allowed the hairs to thicken, darken, and grow longer. Within minutes he had full hobbit feet, hairs pushing out between each other, poking through the fabric of his socks as they stretched thinner. The hairs moved upwards, swirling around his ankles and onto his calves, where skin quickly vanished beneath a tidal wave of hairs. Thick strands popped up rapidly, tangling together as they wrapped his lower legs in a blanket of fuzz before climbing up his knee, the joint itching slightly as hairs pushed out of any available skin. His now enormous quads were next, acting as the fertile ground for a bounty of hair to crop up, stretching solidly across and growing denser and thicker with every minute. Patterns emerged as hairs crawled along his skin, before vanishing as the hair thickened and puffed up, curling into an impenetrable mat.
Carson sat through dinner, entirely unaware of the goings-on beneath his jeans. He only noticed how much better a mood he was in today than yesterday, enjoying the time with family and not missing his own apartment and friends nearly as much. Talking with the family members began to feel less like catching up and more like regular conversations. After a long hearty meal, Carson excused himself to head to bed. He had an early morning planned with Jack, going out to his ranch to see it himself. It’d been many years after all, and Jack was eager to get Carson more invested in his business.
Carson headed upstairs, getting ready to hit the sack; he was strangely exhausted after a day of not doing much. He took off the cowboy hat and nearly put it up in his closet, before correcting himself and placing it on his nightstand. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his jeans which were overly tight at this point, revealing his fur coated legs. Carson didn’t bat an eye at them, he’d had hairy legs for years. He remembered getting teased at school when wearing shorts for how hairy they were! Of course he didn’t care anymore, he loved how hairy they were. He felt strong, more masculine with them exposed, slabs of muscle covered in coarse hair. Thick fur sticking out of his socks turned him on a bit, he realized that long ago, but he could also appreciate his huge hairy feet themselves. Before he could get too distracted he finished changing and hopped under the covers, setting an alarm for early the next morning.
The sun had not even begun to rise yet when Carson’s alarm blared. Waking up at this hour used to be reserved only for the worst timed flights, but this time he didn’t mind. He rolled over in bed, reaching for his side table once again, this time finding the hat he’d left. His body felt at ease as he put it on first thing. He threw on some jeans, making sure they fit better this time, a shirt and thick jacket. Before leaving he put on some decent snow boots and quietly left the house.
Jack was waiting for him at the end of the driveway, truck and all. The exhaust was steaming in the bitter cold morning. Carson hopped into the passenger seat, fully energized.
“Mornin’ son, ready for this?” Jack asked.
“Damn right I am,” Carson responded eagerly, “It’s been far too long.”
The drive out to Jack’s ranch took over half an hour. The sun had started to peak above the horizon when they pulled through the gates and over the cattle grid. Jack parked up by his house, and the two hopped out into the snow and mud. Jack spent the morning showing Carson around the ranch, introducing him to the cattle, and showing him all his gear he’d invested in. A small part of Carson was shocked that he was here, enjoying the ranch tour. A week ago you couldn’t pay him to visit the ranch. Now, he was just plain excited.
Trudging through the snow had Carson really working up a sweat underneath his layers. Getting a workout like never before, his body started to adapt. His chest tingled as pecs began to form for the first time, muscle gathering and pushing out two firm mounds. His cock throbbed in his jeans as his nipples perked up, rubbing against the material of his shirt as he moved. His stomach gurgled as abs inflated down his torso, imprinting their outline on his slim but growing frame. His shoulders stretched his jacket as they widened, bulking up as muscle worked its way down his arms. Biceps and triceps inflated, filling him with new strength, and his forearms and hands grew to match. If Carson had been paying attention he might’ve noticed the warmth and sensation coming from his chest, but he was too enamored with his uncle showing off his old rodeo gear.
Underneath his flannel shirt, between his new pec muscles, hairs began to pop up. At first they were short and wispy, barely visible against his skin. They clustered in the center of his chest as a light patch of fuzz, followed shortly by similar hairs poking out around his nipples. His skin prickled as the hairs grew thicker, follicles maturing to push out real adult hairs. The patch of hair darkened as it spread, hairs pushing out longer and thicker, laying flat against his muscular chest at first before they curled away, pushing out against his shirt. The sensation of thick hair rubbing against the fabric sent chills through Carson’s body, but he simply chalked it up to the frigid air outside. But beneath his layers of protection against the cold, he continued to grow his own. Hairs blossomed across his pecs as they surged out from his nipples. Swirls and spirals developed as the hairs slithered out across the mounds of muscle, slowly curling and tangling together as they lengthened. Skin vanishes beneath whorls of hair as his follicles activate in hoards across his chest. The distinct patches of hair blend together, uniting his pecs under a blanket of ever thickening fur. Hairs continue pushing out further up his chest as well, climbing up and over his defined collarbone. A lone dark hair curled bravely out of the collar of his shirt, tasting the frosty air for the first time.
Jack spied Carson’s burgeoning chest hair as it poked out of his shirt collar and couldn’t help but grin. He knew he’d given the hat for good reason.
“C’mon boy, I need your help moving some gear for today,” he barked at Carson, who quickly pulled himself out of the corner full of rodeo trophies.
“Yessir,” he responded. Another grin from Jack.
The two spent the next few hours moving hay and feed from storage as the sun attempted to break through the thick winter clouds. Carson was initially surprised at how much he could carry, but memories trickled in of years of weightlifting. Of course a little manual labor was no big deal. His biceps began to swell again, even more muscle growing in the span of minutes. His shoulders became true boulders, delts stretching and pulling as they created an increasingly dark and damp recess beneath. Despite the cold air, he was working up a real sweat for the first time in years, liquid dripping down his increasingly large muscles and pooling in his pits. The thick sweat soaked into his armpits as he worked, leaving a musky residue on his skin and a tingling sensation bubbling up underneath.
His barren pits darkened as prickles of hair erupted from the smooth skin. Dark pinpricks elongated into wispy hairs, brushing up against his cavernous muscles as they pushed outwards. The hairs twisted together, thickening as sweat flowed down their ever increasing length. Carson lifted a particularly heavy bundle of hay, hairs squeezing out further as he grunted, exerting his whole body in the effort. If he’d been paying attention he could’ve noticed that each movement of his arms came with more friction as hair filled the space between arm and torso. Sweat and musk filled the dark caverns between muscles as hair inched out every moment, vying to fill every open pocket. Dark hairs grew thicker, wirier, tangling together as they kinked and curled outwards. The hair spread outwards, crawling out from the recess and curling around his biceps and chest as pit hair blended into a growing mat coating his torso entirely. The deepest crevices began to truly reek as sweat coalesced, the hairs bathed in testosterone laden juice taking on an even thicker texture. More hairs poked out between the old ones, barely able to fit as the jungle filled out. His biceps swelled more as hairs brushed against the fabric of his jacket, fully pushing out of his shirt and beyond.
After what felt like an eternity of heavy lifting the pair finally finished, pausing their labor for lunch. Carson felt the icy contrast of sweat dripping down his forehead and freezing from the cold blasts of wind, but instead of groaning about it he grinned. He felt truly alive working hard like this. Jack saw the look on Carson’s face and mirrored it on his own. As the two headed inside to eat, they shed their heavy layers by the door. Just in a few hours, Jack could see how much Carson had bulked up. His flannel was bursting at the seams, thick hairs splaying out of his collar and creeping out of his sleeves.
“Looks like you’ve been hitting the gym, boy,” Jack said, giving Carson a look up and down. “Why don’t you flex and show me?”
Carson paused. The old him would’ve been mortified. Flexing in front of his uncle? And what did he mean by that anyway, he’s been slim his entire life. But that side of Carson had taken a back seat. A smile crossed his face instead.
“Sure have, glad you noticed,” he said, curling his arms up. His newly developed biceps pressed against his shirt, straining the fabric instantly. The threads pulled apart as thick hairs popped out, his shirt giving way to his overly masculine form. His pecs swelled in size once more, popping the top button completely off the flannel. His chest barreled out, hair pouring from between each side of the shirt. His stature had shifted too, growing a few inches taller. The shirt rode up on his torso now, revealing his still hairless stomach. His body shivered slightly as the wispy translucent fuzz acting as a treasure trail caught the chilly draft from outside.
Jack laughed. “We’ll have to get you a new shirt there. Looking good though, son,” he said with a wink. He walked over to the closet and pulled out an old work shirt that he thought would fit Carson and tossed it to him. “Go try this on and I’ll throw some lunch together for us.”
Carson took the shirt into the bathroom, struggling to take off his old flannel from how tightly it clung to his form now. He eventually got it off, letting it slide off his bulky shoulders and onto the floor. He looked at himself in the mirror, seeing a very different man from the one he’d woken up as that morning. The man in the mirror should have been a stranger, but the longer he stared the more familiar he became. As he gazed over his body, the shadow formed by the overhang of his new pecs darkened as wiry hairs erupted across his torso. As the forest on his chest grew denser, the southern front pushed out, a trail of thick dark hairs pushing out on a mission towards his navel. His newly visible abs were hidden behind a growing carpet of hair that stretched out from the thick trail. He should’ve been alarmed, terrified at the changes taking place across his body, but no such thought even crossed his mind. His old body was being overwritten by his new one, he’d always looked like this, it felt natural.
He undid his belt and jeans to take a piss while he was waiting for lunch, sliding his sweat soaked underwear down out the way. Looking down at his crotch, memories flooded in. He remembered the panic when he was younger and saw the first dark curls poking out from his body. He’d grown a rug long before any of his friends, and he’d remained ahead of the pack in that sense ever since.. He chuckled to himself, imagining if his younger self could see him now. As if manifesting it, the wispy cluster of hairs above his cock began to darken. Pigment flooded them as they thickened up, curling with texture they’d never had before. His groin warmed as testosterone flooded the area, follicles waking to the call long awaited. Dark spots appeared across his crotch, radiating out from the existing hairs, creating a spreading shadow that began to take shape. Each pinprick pushed out a thick, dark hair, strands emerging from the skin like a field in bloom.
Carson slid his hand over the growing bush, nascent hairs tickling his fingers as they twisted and curled. The forest of hairs grew and spread, filling out his crotch with a full triangle of hair, growing denser beneath his touch. Like a timelapse the hairs grew longer and thicker, blocking out the skin beneath as his bush developed into a true jungle. The edges blurred as hairs climbed onto his thighs and crawled up his stomach, merging seamlessly with the coating of hair over his abdomen. He’d long since finished peeing but had gotten distracted feeling the growing hairs. Another memory of his new life appeared in his mind, from the locker room in school, the first time another guy had pointed out his pubes. They’d grown so much the hairs had curled up and over his waistband, a sign of his newfound manliness on display.
As he reminisced, his bush puffed up to match, hairs exploding outwards from his groin. His cock twitched as it snaked out longer, hairs beginning to climb up the base of the shaft. The sensation of coarse hairs brushing through his fingers quickly aroused him, blood rushing to his cock as it grew. His hand transitioned from pulling at the hairs to fully gripping his cock as it hardened, the newly grown short hairs prickling against his grasp. He looked up at his reflection again, seeing the hairy, built man still rocking the cowboy hat. It felt right.
He stroked his hand up his shaft, sending waves of pleasure rocketing through his body. In that instant, his balls truly dropped. Carson involuntarily moaned as his balls swelled in size, engorging to the size of large eggs dangling below his furry crotch. The wrinkly skin looked odd in comparison, until the hair began to make its way down. His enormous testicles quickly vanished as thick wiry hairs sprouted from his sack, engulfing it in an impenetrable cage of dark hair. It was as if his pubes had reached down to claim them, coating the expanse in a continuation of the thick jungle above. His hand jerked quickly up and down, precum budding at the tip of his cock as hair thickened all around it.
“Food’s ready!” Uncle Jack’s voice called from the kitchen, falling on deaf ears. Carson was lost in himself as his groin felt like the center of the universe. His breath quickened as his hand increased its tempo. His cock thickened, pressing out against his tight grip as he jerked off, precum dripping down his shaft. The sensation of hair pushing out across his groin was electric, it felt masculine, it felt primal, it felt natural. His cock pushed out longer, growing past seven, then eight inches as he brought in his other hand to help. The hairs on his shaft lengthened as well, climbing higher and higher up his member as he stroked. Carson moaned again, not noticing how his pitch had deepened since he’d started growing.
Jack knocked on the door to the bathroom, but Carson once again failed to notice. His breaths grew ragged, cock reaching past nine inches as his pubes glistened with the precum constantly leaking from his tip. His massive balls tensed up, ready to release. Strokes grew sloppy as precum lubricated his shaft entirely, until finally his body gave in. With a body enrapturing clench his cock erupted, cum blasting out all over the mirror in front of him. Load after load shot out, covering the glass and counter as the arc of his shooting changed. The loudest moan yet involuntarily slipped out as Carson was overcome with the most intense orgasm of his life. The last remnants of his old memories leaked out with the last dribbles of his cum, splattering onto the tile beneath him. His body buzzed with energy as the feeling echoed throughout his frame. Through the cum painting the mirror he could see part of his face reflected, a grin plastered across his face as he felt content.
Eventually the orgasmic state began to wear off, and Carson remembered that he was late for lunch. He quickly pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt, his uncle’s shirt fitting perfectly on his newly bulky frame. Promising to clean up his mess later, he walked back into the kitchen unsure if Jack had heard his moans from earlier, but he also didn’t truly care. Jack had a smirk plastered on his face when Carson entered, which told him everything.
“Lookin’ sharp, buck,” Jack said upon looking at how his old shirt fit on the young man. “Now, I made us some sandwiches, dig in.”
Carson sat down and began scarfing down the sandwich. It was a messy meal, but once again he didn’t seem to care much, this wasn’t a fine dining restaurant. Sauce leaked all over his face as he crammed the food down, he was absolutely starving after hours of hard work. Jack looked up over his own lunch, staring intently at his nephew’s face as he ate. From beneath the smear of mayo, the light stubble began to thicken. Starting on his upper lip, the soft skin prickled as stubble darkened into a thick shadow. The hairs slowly pushed out, a thick mop emerging from his face as a true man’s stache came into being. A dark, dense wave of hair flowed out of his lip, growing longer as it curled down, completely covering his mouth. Jack couldn’t help but crack a smile, remembering his own youth when he’d had a thick stache for years.
Carson’s face itched as his jaw widened, bones defining and growing into a sharp jawline. The hairs from his stache began to trickle down the sides of his mouth, a dense five o'clock shadow developing, spreading from his mouth out over his cheeks. Within moments, his face was awash with a thick stubble, more than anything he’d ever grown before. The stubble lengthened, hairs pressing out of his face in a continuous layer. His cheeks vanished beneath an extruding layer of hair, growing thicker and coarser as follicles became drenched in testosterone. Stubble turned to short beard as his sideburns flared out, connecting up to his ever darkening hair on his head. His new jawline disappeared beneath the onslaught of wiry hairs, pushing longer and longer as his beard inched out from his face. The hairs grew thick, dense, and dark as his beard continued to grow, stubble crawling up his cheeks and down his neck, threatening to merge with his chest rug. By the time Carson had finished eating, he had a bushy beard to rival most cowboys, dark and impenetrable. It was a clear and solid silhouette of hair, oozing masculinity as he wiped the last of his sandwich from his mature mustache.
The two cleaned up lunch and quickly got back to work. The sun hung fairly low in the sky despite it being midday, the harsh rays bouncing off the snow. Carson’s originally bulky winter jacket fit snugly now, wrapping his built form as he worked clearing snow and ice. Despite memories of working hard at the gym and even harder at the ranch slowly filling his mind, the labor never seemed to get easier. Within minutes he was sweating his ass off once again, feeling frostbite on his face and like he was in a sauna under his coat. He could feel the sweat running down his broad, muscular back as he heaved the shovel back and forth.
Where his sweat trickled down his spine, small hairs began to bud. Starting from his already furry shoulders, hair cropped up moving down towards his shoulder blades, where patches of dark fur quickly began forming. Dark hairs traced down his spine as smooth skin ceded to the hair, thick strands popping up across rapidly roughening flesh. His lats hardened as curly hairs framed them before fully covering the expanse of muscle, connecting into the thick trail leading down his spine towards a burgeoning puff of hair above his ass. The hairs at the base of his back billowed out, growing thicker and curlier than the rest, mirroring the monstrous bush in his groin. The hairs quickly breached south of this patch, engulfing what was once a smooth backside in record pace. His ass itched as fields of dark hairs cropped up, swirling together over the plump expanse. He reached a hand back to scratch at it as the hairs began to concentrate between his cheeks, darker and thicker hairs sprouting as his crack grew sweaty and rank. Inky black hairs pushed out from around his hole as it steadily grew tighter and more sensitive, feeling the brushing and scratching of the thick coils surrounding it. His upper body was sealed beneath a thick layer of fur, stretching from ass to beard and back, insulating him against the frigid cold.
After another couple hours of gruelling work he’d finally hit his limit for the day, and both him and Jack called it quits. Jack lit a fire in the fireplace and poured them both a cold beer to enjoy.
“Cheers to an honest day's work, son,” he said, raising his glass. “You know, that hat really does fit you, I’m glad you took to it so well.”
Carson was beaming. He felt incredible, despite being exhausted. He was stronger, more rugged, more confident than ever before. He tipped the cowboy hat to his uncle in thanks.
“Couldn’t have done it without ya, uncle Jack.” Carson smiled, barely visible beneath his thick beard. He undid the top buttons of his shirt, letting his newly hairy chest breathe. He’d always been a hairy guy, it was just natural to finally embrace it. It fit his life, a down to earth ranch worker. He couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else.
Jack looked over at Carson with a smile on his face. “Y’know, son, think it's high time I truly give you a stake in this ranch, you’ve earned it.” He said as he took another swig of his beer. “I want to pass this all on to you, y’know.”
A huge smile crossed Carson’s face. He’d been hoping to hear that for years, ever since starting to help out around the ranch as a teenager. This was the future he’d been waiting for. Not in the city, but on his own ranch. He couldn’t imagine his old life anymore, who in their right mind would want to leave all this for some big city. He’d been born and bred for this life, finally becoming the cowboy he’d been destined to, and Uncle Jack couldn’t be happier.
Hey Y'all! Thanks for reading :) Bit of a long one this time, hope its worth the wait. As always let me know your thoughts and ideas for future stories, and feel free to show me your own hairy transformations ;)
Jake had always been better at imagining rooms than entering them. That was what architecture school had taught him, or maybe what it had exposed about him.
He could spend hours thinking about how a hallway narrowed before opening into light, how a ceiling height changed the feeling of a room, how brick looked different at dusk than it did at noon.
For fun he liked to paint. He could paint until three in the morning with a podcast playing and a half-finished video game paused beside him. He could present a model and explain, carefully, why a wall bent the way it did.
But walking into a bar alone? Holding eye contact with a man with a thick beard and cowboy boots? Taking up space around the kinds of guys who seemed born knowing how to lean, laugh, lift, flirt, and fill a room? That was harder.
Texas was full of them. Frat boys in athletic shorts and backward caps crowding the coffee shop near campus. Fitness bros with damp hair and enormous gym bags crossing the street like traffic had agreed to wait for them just to see them cross in short shorts and tank tops. Cowboys who were mostly just men with good genes, expensive jeans and undeserved confidence, but who all seemed to possess the same relaxed certainty in their bodies.
Jake watched them more than he meant to. He watched their shoulders. Their forearms. The way chest hair curled out of an unbuttoned flannel. The way a mustache could make a man look older, rougher, more decisive. He watched the men who approached other men without the nervous pause Jake always felt in his stomach.
He wanted them - that part was obvious and easy to admit. The harder part was admitting he wanted to be them. Not literally them - but rather a version of himself more like them. And not forever - at least this is what he told himself. Just for long enough to know what it felt like to walk through the world with that kind of weight. Enough to know what it felt like for other men to look at him first. Enough to stop feeling like the thoughtful, slim, average grad student standing just outside the fantasy, with his sketchbook pressed to his chest, like a lost Disney princess before the inevitable glow-up and the arrival of the romantic prince.
Late one Thursday night, after a studio critique that had gone badly enough to make him skip dinner, Jake ended up on Tumblr. He had been following hairy-bothered for months.
The blog was exactly what the name promised: hairy men, transformations, captions about masculinity, frat boys, gym daddies, “before and after” edits that were just plausible enough to make Jake stare too long. The blog posted in a voice that felt teasing and patient at the same time. Daddy-ish, Jake thought once, then closed the app as if someone could see the word in his head.
That night, exhausted and irritated, he opened a message box to the author of the blog.
Jake: Weird question. Do you ever feel like you’re attracted to a type of guy because you wish you were that type of guy?
The answer came back fast enough to make him sit up.
hairy-bothered: Not weird, pup. That’s usually where it starts.
Jake stared at the word pup for a while before replying.
Jake: I’m not a pup.
hairy-bothered: Sure, if you say so. ;)
Jake laughed despite himself, embarrassed alone in his apartment. The conversation stretched past midnight. Jake told him more than he meant to. That he was twenty-five. That he studied architecture. That he painted, gamed, worked too much, hooked up too little, and lived mostly inside his own head. That he was single and tired of being nervous. That he liked frat boys and cowboys and men who looked like they knew what they wanted. Then, finally, after a long pause, he typed the thing he had not said out loud.
Jake: I wish I were hairier. Bigger, too, I guess. More masculine. More dominant. Like I could walk into a bar and actually do something instead of just hoping someone notices me and makes the first move.
There was no answer for almost a minute. Then:
hairy-bothered: Careful, Jake. Some boys get what they ask for and realize they were thinking too small.
Jake’s face warmed.
Jake: That sounds like a caption for one of your stories.
hairy-bothered: Maybe it was, maybe it will be, or maybe - just maybe - it’s advice you should listen to.
Three days later, the package arrived. It was small, plain, and addressed to Jake in blocky black handwriting. No return address. Jake opened it at his kitchen counter with his backpack still on one shoulder.
Inside was a padded black box and a folded note. The box held four glass vials, each nestled in dark foam. Two were filled with clear liquid and labeled RETURN. One held amber liquid and was labeled YEEHAW. The last one was cloudy pale blue and labeled BRO. Jake actually laughed out loud.
The note read:
Try one when you’re tired of imagining.
Return when you’re done pretending.
But don’t waste the version of yourself that finally fits.
He took a picture and sent it to Hairy-Bothered.
Jake: Okay, very funny.
hairy-bothered: You got them, I see.
Jake: Are these colored vodka shots? Am I supposed to drink mystery Tumblr alcohol from a stranger?
hairy-bothered: You wanted to know how it felt.
Jake: To be poisoned?
hairy-bothered: Drink the cowboy first. You’ve been staring at boots too long. Wouldn’t you like to fit into a pair of your own?
Jake put down his phone and closed the box.
For two days, he left it on his desk beside a stack of trace paper and pretended he was not looking at it every time he entered the room.
Then came Monday. His studio professor hated his revised concept. One of his basswood models snapped in his hands five minutes before review. A guy in his cohort, the kind of square-jawed ex-frat guy who called everyone “man” and somehow made it sound natural, offered help in a tone that made Jake feel twelve.
By the time Jake got home, he was hot with humiliation. He stood in his bathroom under the flat light, shirtless in loose shorts, staring at himself. Slim. Lightly cut. A little chest hair. A beard that was…fine, maybe even good, but not enough to change the shape of his face. He looked young in a way that irritated him.
On his phone, a message waited.
hairy-bothered: Bad day, cowboy?
Jake exhaled through his nose. He went to the desk, opened the black box, and picked up the amber vial.
“Not real,” he said to the room so that when nothing happened he’d feel less foolish. “Bottoms up…” he muttered to himself.
Then he drank YEEHAW.
It tasted smokey, with hints of honey, and lavender. For ten seconds, nothing happened. Jake sighed and let out a frustrated “of course not…”
Then heat gathered under his skin. Jake gripped the edge of the desk. “Oh,” he said, because it was the only word available.
The heat moved outward in waves. His shoulders ached first, a deep pressure pushing from inside the joints. The bones did not crack so much as settle into a wider arrangement, as if his body had been waiting for permission to take up more room. Muscle packed itself across his upper back and chest, not inflated or cartoonish, but dense and practical. His torso thickened. His waist stayed firm but sturdier, built less like a grad student who forgot meals and workouts and more like a man who carried heavy things because he could.
His shorts tightened at the hips. His thighs pressed against the fabric. His hands clenched on the desk, and Jake stared as they changed: broader palms, thicker fingers, veins rising, skin roughening faintly across the knuckles. They looked like hands that knew rope, tools, steering wheels, the feel of other men’s collars.
The thought made him swallow. The pain subsided enough for him to move to the bathroom - eager to see the changes he felt rippling through his body.
Hair spread next. It started as prickling across his sternum, then became an almost unbearable tickle. His light chest hair darkened and multiplied, filling outward across his pecs in a dense, natural mat. A thick line ran down the center of his torso where the hair was most dense, darker and heavier, pulling toward his navel and below.
Hair climbed his shoulders, dusted his upper arms, thickened on his forearms. He twisted toward the mirror and saw it wrapping around the tops of his shoulders, hinting at a back that was no longer smooth or boyish.
His skin deepened, taking on a sun-touched tan as if he had spent years outside instead of under fluorescent studio lights. His posture changed without his permission. His shoulders eased back. His stance widened. He stopped hovering over himself.
Then his face shifted. Jake felt it in the jaw first: a heavier set, a firmer line. His cheeks matured. The soft uncertainty around his eyes sharpened into something calmer. Lines etched lightly at the corners, crow’s feet that did not make him old so much as experienced. Laugh lines bracketed his mouth. His beard pulled back into rough stubble along his jaw while his mustache thickened, darkened, and settled heavily over his upper lip. His hair receded slightly at the front, sides tidying, top remaining short.
When it was done, Jake stood frozen in front of the mirror. The man staring back was him - sorta. That was the terrifying part.
He was still Jake in the softness around his eyes, still Jake in the angle of the mouth, still Jake somewhere under the stronger jaw and weathered skin. But he was Jake at thirty-five, maybe thirty-six. Jake after sun, work, confidence, years of being heard and seen. Shirtless, hairy, tanned, broad, with a thick mustache and hands that looked dangerous even resting at his sides.
“Cowboy Jake” he whispered in a deeper voice with a Texas drawl - flexing a swollen bicep.
He should have panicked. He did panic, technically. His heart hammered. His mouth went dry. He backed away from the mirror, then stepped forward again because he could not stop looking.
His phone buzzed.
hairy-bothered: Well?
Jake picked it up with his new massive hairy hand. The phone looked smaller.
Jake: What did you do to me?
hairy-bothered: I mailed you a choice. You drank it.
Jake: You didn’t say it would change my age! I look thirty-five!
hairy-bothered: You look like a man who doesn’t stand in the corner of bars watching the world dance by.
Jake looked back at the mirror. His mustache moved when he smiled.
He put down his phone and took a deep breath. “Moment of truth” he thought as he stretched the elastic of his grey shorts to see what had changed below his belt - hoping hairy-bothered had worked some magic on his average 5” cut dick. Jake peaked over his new pecs to see a massive bush of pubes and nestled within, like a snake in the grass, was an 8” semi-hard cock in his shorts. “Whoa…” was all he could mutter.
He picked up his phone.
Jake: BTW - thanks for the new 🍆
hairy-bothered: Don’t mention it. ;) Have fun! 🍆💦💦
Jake put down his phone, and as he pulled his shorts over his hairy bush his dick, slowly becoming visible, flopped out. “Yes…” Jake thought at the sight of his new member on full display. He reached a thick hairy hand down and gave his new dick a little tug, which coaxed his dick into a full erection at 9", thick, veiny with dense hair on the base.
He inspected how the weight of his new rod shifted, the way it responded. He reached behind and felt two golf ball sized nuts in a long dangling sack. He thought about how his new nuts were perfectly situated to slap against another man’s ass as he fucked them.
Jake grabbed his cock with one hand and started to pump his shaft. Softly, at first, but before long his pace shifted into a higher gear and he moved up to the head - sliding his new foreskin over his glans. It felt sensitive in a way his cut cock never did.
He looked at himself in the mirror. At his new muscles, at the hair coating his body, at the thick mustache above his lip that tickled when he pursed his lips. Gradually his pace quickened and he started thrusting into his hand.
He started visualizing the type of men he could dominate in this upgraded body. How they would worship his hairy pecs, dwell a moment longer sniffing his hairy pits, moan under the pressure of his new cock deep inside them.
After a couple of minutes visualizing himself fucking a twenty three year old frat boy from his design studio with a tight body and thick stubble, Jake felt the heat build up across his body and release in an instant with a deep moan as he ejaculated ropes of thick creamy cum on the bathroom mirror. “Whoa…” he muttered again before cleaning up.
For the next few days, nobody noticed anything was wrong. That was almost worse than if they had screamed at the sight of him. Jake’s classmates greeted him like always. His professor called on him without hesitation. The barista wrote Jake on his coffee cup and did not blink at the fact that Jake’s wrist looked twice as thick and his mustache could have belonged on a rancher in a beer commercial. The world had edited itself around him.
His driver’s license and student ID showed his new face - and birthdate - July 12, 1990 putting him at nearly 36 years old. Photos on his phone had changed, too. There he was at a gallery opening with the mustache. There he was in a group project photo, broad-shouldered in a denim shirt. There he was on his couch holding a controller, looking like somebody’s hot older brother who had wandered into grad school by mistake.
Only Jake - and hairy-bothered - remembered him being smaller. Only they knew who Jake was in his core.
In studio, this new version of Jake was a problem. He did not fit at the narrow desks the same way - his knees bumped the underside. His fingers were thicker around the delicate knife he used to cut chipboard. His classmates looked briefly confused when he leaned over their models, not because they remembered him differently, but because the shirt stretched over his chest and forearms made him impossible not to notice.
Despite the litany of physical changes, the real change was Jake's voice - and not just his new drawl. He stopped apologizing for himself. He spoke with intention and confidence. He took space and started going after what he wanted.
When his professor questioned his structural logic for a project, Jake heard himself say, “No, that’s not the point of the load path,” and then calmly walked the room through it. His voice came out lower, slower, with no upward nervousness at the end. People listened. The ex-frat guy in his cohort nodded. His professor paused, then said, “That’s stronger.”
Jake should have been horrified. Instead, he wanted to laugh. He nailed the review. That night to celebrate he went to a bar. He told himself it was research. He told himself he needed to know how his new body moved in public, how people responded, whether the change held under pressure. Whether this was worth it. He put on jeans, boots, a white undershirt under an open plaid shirt, then stared at himself so long he forgot the excuse.
The shirt did not hide him. Muscles bulged. Hair showed at the collar. The mustache changed the weight and gravity of every expression. The jeans fit his hairy thighs in a way that made him understand why men leaned against bar counters.
At the bar - a gay western themed affair called the Rainbow Pony - he did not wait. He saw a man near the jukebox looking at him. Not glancing. Looking. Old Jake would have looked away and built an entire alternate life in his head. Cowboy Jake walked over.
“Evening,” Jake said.
The man smiled before answering. “Hi, I’m Dan.”
“Good to meet you, Dan. You here alone?”
“Yes,” he spit out before Jake even finished his thought, “Well...no. I’m here with some friends” he said pointing to a group of men at the other side of the bar.
“Ahh,” Jake replied. “Maybe I’ll catch you later his evening then?” And he made his way through the crowd.
That was new. Everything about the night felt new. Men moved around him differently. Some gave him space. Some stepped closer. He flirted without rehearsing. He made choices. He let his gaze linger and watched men react to being seen by him. His body seemed to know the timing of a slow smile, the weight of silence, the exact angle to lean so the hair at his open collar showed just enough to have men’s eyes linger.
The man from the jukebox had stayed close all night, laughing into his beer, glancing at Jake’s mouth whenever the mustache shifted with a smile. Old Jake would have spent the entire ride home wondering whether he was reading the signals correctly. This Jake did not wonder. When the Uber pulled up, he opened the door, gave the man one slow look, and said, “Get in, we're going to your place.”
The back seat was dark except for the passing streetlights. The second the door shut, the man turned toward him, still wearing that amused, challenging expression. Jake caught him by the front of his shirt and pulled him in. The kiss was not careful. It was warm, rough, confident — the kind of kiss Jake used to imagine other men giving. Now it came out of him naturally, like the new body had brought its own instructions.
The man made a small surprised sound against his mouth, then kissed him back harder. That was all the permission Jake needed. He shifted closer, one broad hand firm at the man’s jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his beard while the other settled against his waist, holding him there like Jake had already decided where the night was going. The man’s hat bumped the car window. Jake smiled into the kiss, not apologizing.
For a moment, the old Jake flickered somewhere under the heat of it — shocked by his own certainty, by the weight of his hands, by how easily he took control. Then the man’s fingers tightened in his open plaid shirt, pulling at the white undershirt beneath, and the cowboy in him pushed forward again. Jake broke the kiss only long enough to murmur, low and close, “You’ve been looking at me all night.”
The man swallowed, eyes bright in the passing neon. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re hard to miss.” Jake’s mustache lifted with a slow grin of self-satisfaction.
“Good,” he said, and kissed him again before the car had made it three blocks.
Dan lived on the third floor of an older apartment building above a quiet street, the kind with narrow stairs, fluorescent hallway light, and doors that looked like they had been painted too many times over the years. Jake followed him up without saying much. He didn’t need to. The whole way, Dan kept glancing back over his shoulder, smiling like he was daring Jake to do something before they even made it inside.
Jake waited until the apartment door shut. Then he moved. Dan barely had time to set his keys on the table before Jake crowded him back against the wall, one hand braced beside his head, the other catching him firmly at the waist. He kissed him again, deeper this time, slower but no less certain.
The old Jake might have asked if this was okay in a nervous voice that made the question smaller than it needed to be. Cowboy Jake asked differently. He paused just long enough to look Dan in the eyes - seeing them screaming for attention and the touch of Jake’s hands.
The apartment was dim except for a lamp near the couch. Jake walked him backward through it, kissing him between steps, making Dan laugh once when he bumped into the edge of a chair. The laugh died quickly when Jake’s hands settled on him again, confident and possessive, guiding instead of asking. He liked the way Dan responded to that — the way the teasing smile slipped, the way his breath changed, the way he stopped performing and started following.
Dan reached to pull off Jake’s plaid shirt, but Jake caught his wrist and pinned it gently against the wall. Dan’s eyes lifted.
Jake smiled under the mustache. “Not yet, cowboy.”
The words should have embarrassed him. Instead, they came out low and natural, like he had always been the kind of man who could say them and be obeyed.
Dan swallowed, then nodded.
Jake let go of his wrist and took his time with the shirt himself, sliding his outer shirt off leaving his white undershirt for Dan to see the dark hair at the collar, the new breadth of his chest and shoulders. Dan stared, and Jake felt that look move through him like confirmation. This was what he had wanted in the bar. This was what he had wanted on campus, in the mirror, in every late-night fantasy he had pretended was only attraction…to be the man someone else could not stop looking at.
He stepped closer again and kissed Dan until the back of Dan’s head touched the wall. Then he leaned near his ear and said, “Bedroom, now.”
Dan laughed once, breathless. “You always this bossy?”
Jake pulled back just enough for Dan to see his grin. “No,” he said honestly. Then, after a beat, he added, “But I’m learning fast.”
Dan took his hand and led him down the short hallway. Jake followed, but only because he chose to. At the bedroom door, he turned Dan around, kissed him again, and shut the door behind them with one broad hand.
Dan’s bedroom was tidy and organized, with a queen sized bed pushed against the window, two nightstand and some photos on the wall. Jake removed Dan’s cowboy hat and put it on his head. “Mind if I borrow this tonight, partner?” he grinned.
He then proceeded to unbutton Dan’s shirt. While Dan returned the favor by pulling off Jake’s undershirt - leaving him in jeans and the borrowed cowboy hat.
Dan gave Jake a good look and said “Wow, I love how hairy you are. It’s so hot.”
Old Jake was beaming on the inside. Cowboy Jake took the compliment in stride by simply pulling Dan towards him and whispering “I know you do” in his ear while simultaneously unbuttoning Dan's jeans and pushing him onto the bed.
Jake unbuttoned his own pants and climbed on top of Dan - grinding their eager cocks against their thigh-tight denim. They kissed heavily while dry humping before Dan reached into his nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube.
“I want you to fuck me, cowboy” he whispered to Jake between heavy kisses with tongues intertwined.
“I was waiting for you to say that.”
Jake then pulled down his jeans and underwear releasing his dick, while Dan reciprocated by removing his pants and underwear.
“Hairy and hung” my favorite combination, Dan said.
Jake gave a little chuckle - remembering his former smaller dick and less hirsute body. He then lifted Dan’s legs and spit on his asshole before going in with his tongue - prepping him to take his 9" thick dick. Dan began to moan and writhe at the feeling of Jake lapping in and around his asshole - the bristles of his mustache teasing him.
Jake took the bottle of lube and rubbed some into Dan’s yearning hole with two then three fingers before smearing some over his own dick. He then pressed his cock again Dan’s asshole and slowly pushed in, the two men interlocked in missionary style, face-to-face.
“Mmm…” Dan moaned as Jake’s dick slide in further, stretching him out. "It's been a while since I've taken such a big dick."
"That's a boy, you're taking it like a champ" Jake whispered as he slide his dick further with each slow thrust.
Dan reached up and felt Jake’s hairy chest, kissed his mustached face, and then dug his hands into Jake’s hairy back - pulling him deeper into his ass. The attention drove Jake wild as he began to pump hungrily into Dan’s tight hole.
Jake began to lose himself in thought - here he was doing something old Jake would never have dared - fucking a stranger he met in a bar, being worshiped for his hairy body, stern broad face, and massive new cock.
Jake snapped back into the moment when he heard the tone of Dan’s moans shift. He felt Dan's tight hole begin to spasm around his cock as he came from the intensity of Jake's dick in his ass - cum splattering up on Jake’s hairy chest. Jake pulled his dick out, and pulled Dan to the edge of the bed - rising to his feet and reinserting his dick to get a deeper angle. He then rubbed his hand through cum-soaked chest and lifted it to his mouth - tasting it while increasing his pace.
“Where do you want me to cum?” he whispered to Dan.
“On me” Dan replied, still reeling from his orgasm and the feeling of Jake's dick still inside him.
Jake pumped a few more times into Dan then pulled out and jerked his rock-hard dick until he exploded all over Dan’s chest - with ropes of cum splattering all the way up to the man's face. Jake then collapsed onto Dan, his dick softening pressed against Dan’s cum-coated chest.
After wiping up the cum, Jake snuggled up next to Dan waiting for him to fall asleep so he could slip out before dawn. He did not become cruel. He did not become a caricature. He simply stopped asking permission to exist. He loved it - and that was the problem.
He loved the body. He loved the heft of it, the roughness, the way desire seemed to travel outward from him instead of trapping itself under his ribs. He loved how his own reflection every time he passed a mirror startled him and then satisfied him. He loved the mustache. He loved the hairy chest and shoulders. He loved being the man who approached what he wanted and took it.
But by the ninth day, unease crept in. At school, a first-year student called him “sir” and then flushed. Jake laughed it off, but it stuck. In the grocery store, a cashier guessed he was married. A guy at the gym asked if he had “been this built since he was a young man,” and Jake almost answered honestly.
At night, alone, he studied his face. Thirty-five looked good on him. Too good. But he was twenty-five. He had not earned those lines. He had not lived that decade. Somewhere under the tan, chest hair and steady gaze, the original Jake felt like he had borrowed a truck he did not know how to park.
He messaged Hairy-Bothered.
Jake: I like it.
hairy-bothered: I know, cowboy.
Jake: But it’s weird being this much older.
hairy-bothered: Older bothers you?
Jake: A little.
hairy-bothered: You wanted masculine. You didn’t say young. How many young men do you think are really that masculine? How many exude the confidence you now possess?
Jake looked at the black box. Two return vials. One blue vial.
Jake: The bro one makes me younger?
hairy-bothered: Younger. Louder. Fratty. Hairier than ever. Easier.
Jake: Easier - in what way?
The reply took longer this time.
hairy-bothered: Easier to stop overthinking.
Jake should have noticed the wording.
Instead, he thought about being younger, hairier and built. "Hairier than ever" - whatever that meant exactly. Hot in the way frat boys were hot: careless, physical, energetic, wanted. Maybe he could have the body and the confidence without feeling like he had jumped ahead ten years.
On Sunday morning, Jake drank one RETURN vial. The cowboy left him in reverse. His shoulders narrowed. His hands smoothed. The tan faded. The hair thinned and retreated from his shoulders, his arms, his stomach, his chest, leaving him with the familiar lighter pattern of pre-change Jake. His mustache softened back into his regular beard. The lines at his eyes vanished. His face became twenty-five again.
When it finished, Jake stood in the bathroom mirror looking exactly like himself. He should have felt saved. Instead, he felt reduced.
The bathroom looked bigger. His shorts hung looser. His hands looked delicate around the sink. Even his thoughts seemed quieter, less confident, less rooted in his body. Normal fit, but not comfortably.
His phone buzzed.
hairy-bothered: How’s normal feel?
Jake stared at himself then thought for a moment before replying:
Jake: Smaller.
A minute later:
hairy-bothered: Then maybe normal was never the goal.
Sweat from my apocrine glands caused by heat, exertion, and stress mixes with the natural bacteria on my skin. Which then causes that bacteria to go into a feeding frenzy that ultimately causes a strong scent that clings to my clothes, fills the air, and clings to my very long dark thick natural armpit hairs… that’s all it is. Yet somehow this strong pungent nasty smell makes you fully feral for me. This smell gets you horny, gets you high, the worse the stench is the more pliant and submissive you become… My sweaty pits even make you cum, and cum embarrassingly fast I might add! Last time you didn’t even make it to the second pit. I of course don’t mind my own scent, deep down I think every guy secretly loves his on body odor, but I can’t imagine how this could turn you on. I mean my armpits are a sex organ to you. It’s so easy to control you with a scent sometimes I can’t believe the simplicity! No ropes. No chains needed. Just a rank smell that happens naturally and boom… you’ll do anything to please me. You let me do whatever depraved sex acts I want… Just for this smell. Crazy really… I’m gonna try some new things that may be a bit shocking and painful or maybe just uncomfortable for you… submit and take it all. Whatever I dish out, and you know what your reward will be… for now just enjoy the smell that controls you from afar.
[Thank you to @twistedtfs for contributing the second image for this not-so-short story.]
That’s my boyfriend, Blake, lying down, and me, Tyler, lying on him. As you might be able to tell, I’m a top. Not that he and I actually do anal all that often. It’s a lot of work, honestly, and a lot of cleanup. We often prefer just trading blowjobs, which is what we’re getting ready to do right now.
We’re on a time crunch, anyway. I’m on my lunch break at the law firm where I work, and he’s about to start his closing shift at the art supply store.
Just as I’m kissing my way down to Blake’s waistband, his phone starts blaring Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club.” Again. This is the fifth time that an unknown number has called in the past three minutes. Blake blocked the last three callers, but the calls keep coming from different numbers, so it isn’t working.
“Ugh, might as well see what they want,” grumbles Blake. I reluctantly roll off of him and he gets up, walking over to the bureau and answering his phone. “Who is this?”
I palm my tented briefs and he winks at me as he says, “No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong-”
Suddenly, his eyes go glassy.
I take my hand off my dick, sit up against the headboard, and watch him, curiously. What’s going on? Is it bad news or something?
“Well, yes,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. He must be nervous. He’s mussing his hair hard enough to pull the strands back, or something, because the part above his ears looks a lot shorter. When he moves his hand, I see something odd. His hair is shorter.
The back and sides are cropped close, and the only remaining length is at the top. I’m about to ask what’s going on when Blake does something that causes me to freeze in surprise. He grabs a blue baseball cap from the top of the dresser and puts it on, backward. He’s never worn a baseball hat like that. He’s never worn a baseball hat period. We don’t even own any!
The hat should be pressing his bangs flatter to his forehead, but they’re actually rising. They’re almost floating, like he’s touching one of those static electricity machine things at Spencer’s Gifts. They bristle and curl into a styled swoop that looks like it has been trained to flow in that exact way by years of cap-wearing.
I feel like my nerves are firing wrong, because I can’t move. All I can do is panic and try to process what I’m seeing.
“Yeah, of course,” Blake says. Is it just me or is his voice slightly deeper?
While the way he speaks has grown more masculine, his face is starting to look more boyish. His cheekbones rise, his lashes lengthen, and that beard that I love running my fingers through begins to fall from his face in small tufts, like flakes of paint being chipped off a wall. What’s left behind is patchy stubble, dark and thick on his chin and upper lip, but pretty sparse everywhere else.
“Totally, dude,” says Blake, letting out a deep guffaw that rumbles through his chest.
His ribs expand, as if they’re trying to properly contain the booming laughter that is bursting out of my normally restrained boyfriend. His thick pelt of chest hair holds on for dear life as his flat chest rises, his nipples suddenly perched on two solid mounds of muscle.
As he nods and continues to agree with whoever is on the other end of the phone, more details keep shifting. His septum ring glints as it vanishes into thin air. His underwear strains against a growing bulge. The stench of musk floods the room as he idly scratches an armpit. His eyes grow even more vacant and blank than they had looked at the beginning of the call.
He turns to look at me and I jolt. I was so shocked by Blake’s sudden transformation that I had forgotten I was actually in the room and not just observing this nightmare from afar.
“It’s for you, bro,” he says, holding the phone out to me. A goofy grin splits his face.
What the fuck do I do? Do I run? No, I can’t do that. This is Blake. The love of my life. Something weird is happening, and I need to fix it. I take the phone.
“Who is this, and what the fuck have you done with Blake?” I bark out the second the phone touches my ear.
“I don’t know any Blake,” said a calm voice on the other end of the phone. Male. Maybe early 20s? “But I asked Brody to hand the phone to you, so you can add to his generous donation.”
“Donation? What kind of scam-”
“My name is Evan and I’m calling on behalf of the local chapter of Beta Theta.”
“The frat? Look, I-”
“We’re raising funds so we can remodel the frat house. But our fraternity dues aren’t quite enough to cover everything.”
“OK, so talk to your frat alumni. Isn’t that how you people usually raise money?”
“I am talking to the frat alumni.”
“No you’re not.”
“Our tastes run expensive, as you know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“We’re a relatively new frat, so there aren’t enough alumni in the area to get us what we need. I’ve had to get creative. I’ve been making frat alumni… calls.”
“OK, so you’re making calls. Why call us? And what did you do to Brody? I mean Blake.”
“You’ll understand in a minute. Look, the reason I’m calling is that you’re a former Beta Theta yourself.”
“I’m telling you, I’ve never been part of Beta Theta. Or any frat, for that matter.”
“My listings are never wrong. Don’t you live at 999 Hawthorne Place?”
“Well, yes,” I say, as my fingertips start to tingle.
“And you have close-cropped brown hair?”
“I mean, yeah,” I say, running my hand across my shorn scalp, enjoying the prickly feeling. It’s weird how much darker my beard and chest hair are than my head hair, but I’ve always liked the way the length and the color clash. “But what does that have to do with-”
“And you’ve never been able to grow a full beard?”
I rub the patchy chestnut hairs on my chin and grimace. “Well, that’s true too, but you didn’t have to roast me like that, man.”
“And you’re just as muscular as Brody, but have way less chest hair?”
“All that is on the form?” I ask, looking down at the light brown hairs that are scattered along my shelflike chest.
“And your handsome face gets flushed when you drink, right?”
I suddenly felt dizzy. My deep voice slurs slightly when I respond “Yesh.” I take another swig from my Corona and set it down on the nightstand.
“And you’re always dressed in the frattiest clothes possible?”
“I mean duh, bro,” I say, rolling my eyes as I run my thumb along the length of my chain and adjust my backwards mesh hat.
“And you’re as dumb as a box of rocks?”
It takes a minute for that question to sink in. My gears have never turned all that quickly, and I got distracted by grabbing my package and leering at Brody. I can’t wait to get off the phone so I can bury this cock in his ass, to the hilt. Oh wait, didn’t that Evan guy ask me something? “Oh.. uh, yeah.”
“And your name is Tigger?”
“Yeah, bro, but it’s just a nickname. They called me that because Prez kept catching me bouncing on Brody’s dick,” I say. God, I’m so horny. My ass aches to be filled. Brody is taking off his underwear and jerking his fat cock. I’m drooling at the thought of it. I can’t resist jumping his bones every two hours or so whenever we’re alone together between shifts at the gym. The Beta Theta tattoo on his wrist flashes up and down with every stroke.
“And you’re a devoted Beta Theta?” Evan asks.
Is that even a question! “Uh… doy,” I say. “And they say I’m the dumb one. I have the tat on my asscheek to prove it. So you need money, yeah? Would 10K do? I have that much saved from my lame old job.”
“$10,000 would suit us perfectly well,” says Evan.
“Hell yeah, boyyyyy,” I say. “Just, like, make sure to put up a plaque or something when you build it. ‘Brody & Tigger’s Beer Pong Stadium’ or something like that, y’know?”
“Will do, Tigger. And thanks again,” says Evan.
“Anything for Beta Theta, man! These are the best years of your life, I wouldn’t want them to go to waste on a sucky frat house!”
After making the Zelle transfer, I hang up the phone and lumber over to Brody, grabbing his dripping cock in my meaty hand. I can’t wait to crash my mouth against his and feel his sexy stubble scrape against my chin. “Now, where were we, bro?”
Authors note: this was a comm from a while ago! I hope you guys enjoy it and if you want anything similar please feel free to hit me up!! DMs are always open! We also have a Patreon that gives everyone access to the discord where you can get everything first before anyone else!
___________________
God I hated my Brother, he was such a lil dick he keeps driving me crazy.
Maybe it was just the fact that I was having a bad day already or maybe he had just finally crossed the line. But I have had it up to here with my uptight goody two shoes brother Philip. Ever since we had gotten the new place I thought we would have finally had enough space to ourselves to relax, to chill without any of the overbearing bullshit of our family. That I could actually get to know my perfect older brother without his well fitted shirts and his tight slacks that left little to the imagination with his round ass and thunder thighs. But it turns out that when your brother grows up an academic book worm he stays that way in college with you and prioritizes a clean cut image at his fancy job when he could really be sitting back with me, pants unbuttoned and watching a game or two.
He would normally tell me I was letting myself go, just because I wasn't super hygienic and was super musky after all my workouts (I hate the gym showers can you blame me) and I would drink a beer or two every night didn't mean I was letting myself go. Just meant I was being free and he should try it too. Maybe it would put some damn meat on his bones and he wouldn't look so frail.
I just wish that if he was going to be such a buzz kill that he wouldn't touch my shit. Sure it wasn't properly organized and it was thrown out around the place haphazardly with clothes on crowded surfaces but I know where my shit is. He had a whole cleaning spree when I was out at the club and now I have no clue where my laptop is. I checked all my normal spots I emptied out every storage space it's just fucking gone and I'm furious.
So I went snooping around our place, it was just a two bedroom so I had some decent idea where to go and our layout. But what I wasn't expecting was a closet door between our rooms with an antique trimmed door waiting to be opened. My hand is pulling on the knob before I even know what I'm doing. This wasn't there, this has NEVER been here and there's not enough space for it.
So why was I being every dumbass white person in a horror movie, why were my eyes wide open as it revealed itself to just have a shelf with a single baseball cap. It had this insignia of a fucked up baseball glove. I even asked myself why I picked it up even though it looked like an old cursed or possessed article of clothing with an aura of foreboding but it was simple. I had a thought I knew to be absolutely certain and absolutely not my own, that that door was a door that only shows up when it's needed and that this hat would fix my bro for good.
I just had to get him to put it on and wear it which wouldn't be too hard. My brother would be tired after coming home from class. He'd sit down on the couch and that's when i’d strike. He wouldn’t see it coming, he’d be too tired to even really be upset about how I tore apart our place, just sat with his back to me. So I sat in my room waiting, my cock getting hard at the thought of the power I held, the idea of corrupting my brother, showing him the good life, what he was denying himself.
It wasn’t long before he walked in, sighing dramatically, through the cracked door I could see him run a hand through his perfectly blonde, combed hair. Adjusting his stupid tie he didn't need. He carefully set his bag on the counter, the satchel neatly placed, while his steps forward were all deliberate, his shoes already off.
When he sat down I struck, jumping through the door prepared for anything. I saw him jump, startled at the noise but before he can say anything, do anything I slap it down, his eyes going wide behind his glasses, at first in fear but it quickly transfers to bliss.
“Ty..Tyler what what was that for!” he says, biting back a moan as I walk around the couch to look at him, the hat starting to shimmer. His body twitches, his limbs seem to scramble for a second, arms shaking and legs spasming. He tries to reach up to the cap, maybe to pull it off but his fingers just wont listen, his twig like arms struggling to stay up as magic PULSES through him.
“Nothing bro, just figured you could finally relax a little. Get your head out of your ass and into what did you call my baseball caps last time?” I say smirking, enjoying his struggle, the way his body was fidgeting.
He says something but I ignore it, babbling about how this wasn’t funny. “Oh yeah get your head out of your ass and into one of those lazy douchebag hats I'm always wearing!” The word douchebag echoes out of my mouth and the magic ball cap starts to turn. Its brim, which was facing forward, started slowly ticking back.
“No, Ty..Tyler bro- fuck I don’t say- Tyler stop this, its doi..doin somethin BRO!” His controlled, always frowning, smarmy face relaxing, taking on a dopey grin, he never said the word bro, never was chilled, this was all so new and so fuckin hot. His voice cracking slightly and Phillip’s flailing arms collapsing onto the couch with a thud. The hat was only a quarter of the way when I saw his body start to squirm under his already well tailored clothes.
Another PULSE shot through him, centered around his face and head, his hair going from well manicured, clean and soft to this frizzy, unmanaged greasy pile of curls and sweat. His brow furrowed, the bone underneath strengthening and pushing outward giving his once sharp feminine face an immediate masculine touch, his eyes glazing over as his nose grew stronger, facial hair sprouting forming a chinstrap as his jaw became square, chiseled and his lips plumped up into these perfect kissable DSL’s.
His face was no longer this smooth, cute academic, it looked like a jock, a dumb meatheaded jock.
PULSE
The hat was glowing Brighter “Bro..Bro Ty its, its so warm BRO, its takin.. Taking my brain bro.” The pulse moved down his neck, his adams apple growing, his neck thickened. The hat using his brain as fuel, his personality being eaten away. His shoulders broadening, his collar, the seams of his shirt straining. The jacket burst when it got to his arms, the muscle breaking the fabric, it dematerialized, his button down strains further as his pecs explode, becoming this sturdy meaty slabs, but the final straw is his muscle gut that forms, or as he would call it, a beer belly. Memories of my lil bro keeping himself trim, doing cardio are replaced with late night parties, beer runs and keg stands. The shirt is torn to pieces becoming a beat up, smelly stained white tank.
PULSE
Reality was being rewritten, Phil was begging for it to stop as his hands became this rough mitts made for grabbing beers, lifting weights and slapping asses. But that begging became moaning as pleasure rippled through him, these deep guttural groans of pleasure like an animal in heat.The hat was more then halfway now His legs were next, the thighs that were almost non existent became thunder thighs from all the heavy lifting, his calves were carved into diamonds even with him sitting on the couch watching tv a lot more recently. He was thrusting up into the air, his glutes packing on fat and muscle became perfect for worshipping
PULSE
It was almost done, the hat was almost all the way backwards, its energy shining horrendously bright as my memory of Phillip was erased, gone for good. The uptight brother I wrongfully resented for wanting what was best for me was replaced with Phil, a hard core horny ex jock who leers at you. Memories of him bossing you around, making suggestive comments about using your mouth and muscled ass. Spanking you when you’d walk by, whistling when it would recoil. I was forced to watch as my wish was twisted and his hard, veiny cock grew through his pants, becoming a monster 12 inches that BEGGED for attention, his balls filled to the brim with cum.
PULSE
My eyes were blinking rapidly, the house changed, no longer freakishly organized everywhere even with the mess I made earlier. It was a messy bachelor pad, underwear and dirty clothes everywhere, beer cans on the ground, pizza boxes spread out. Phillips' satchel was replaced with a different alcohol bottle on the counter Phil had already gone through. Our entire dynamic erased and rewritten, my desire corrupted, the hat was was a fucked up jock monkey’s paw.
PULSE
The hat was fully twisted around, our fate was sealed and it was only partial
The tv was on, hard core gay porn was playing on the tv and Phil’s cock was throbbing, he was lightly moving his hand up and down, teasing it. “Yo Bro, wanna come jerk it while this himbo gets his ass pounded!” Phil says, cock leaking precum, getting slicker making it easier for his hands to slide up and down. His breath was hitching as he kept going.
I made a face immediately, grossed out at the offer, my sex obsessed, pervert brother absolutely disgusting to me. “Nah Bro, you know this isn’t my thing!” i didn’t want to start a fight, i didnt want him in here bossing me around.
“Whats not to like Bro, theres something so HOT about a big dumb Himbo bouncing up and down on a cock, pecs jiggling, eyes crossed, only thinking about how to make his top feel good!” Bro moved one of his hands under his wife beater, tweaking one of his nipples as he got off. His eyes were staring right at me now, not at the porn, leering at me at my body, like he was talking about me. I don't notice him grab the hat.with the other hand, how he carefully holds it just off his head, waiting to strike if I say the wrong thing. I’m to angry, too pumped up.
“I’m not into that shit bro, especially not with you, go take your dick and find a dumb ditzy himbo who will actually like sucking it!” Its said out of rage, out of anger, and disgust. But even if I didn’t hate my Bro Phil and how commanding he could be. How he would always try and pull shit like this, try and proposition me or leer at me, I just didn’t want to do any of that with my brother.
It was Phil’s turn to strike, He leapt to his feet quicker than I thought he could. His hat already off his head, a giant evil smirk across his face as he plopped it down on my shorter frame. It all happened at once, so fast so quick I couldn’t get out of the way and I definitely couldn’t get it off of me as I felt it CINCH around my forehead sticking to my head.
“Your right Bro, i do need myself a DUMB DITZY HIMBO, who will LOVE SUCKING AND SERVING MY COCK!” his voice echoes as he lightly strokes his massive cock, worry fills my head as I see out of the corners of my eye a dark sickly green glow emanate from the hat, the world slows down.
The first PULSE hit me like a freight train, my skin felt like it was on fire across my body, my semi pale, acne scarred body was WASHED clean, taking on this deep rich tan. My facial and body hair being lasered off by magic and any and all flaws disappeared as if I had been photoshopped. I watched as my bro circled around me, whistling at the first change.
Another PULSE, this one deeper in my head, the hat began to tick, and as it ticked and rotated I felt a sucking sensation start in my brain, my thoughts slowing down man, becoming harder to think or focus. Another PULSE, My face taking on this look of a dumb innocent jock, lips becoming thicker, just like my BRO’s great DSL’s to suck hi- what the fuck i would never GET DOWN ON MY KNEES AND HOOVER AWAy- I dont think that way BRO, thats my Brother. But this new hunger, this desire to lick along his shaft, eyes glazed over as my tongue gently traces its way around the tip before my lips engulf him. The idea of him grabbing me by my new platinum blonde hair as he fills the hunger that finds itself forming all the way down my throat, that can only be satisfied by his length and his cum.
My jawline was more chiseled and my cheekbones got higher. My hair took on this bright Platinum blonde while my eyebrows were perfectly tweezed into a nice arch.
PULSE
My body was hit with mass, my neck thickening, shoulders broadening, chest being made into this perfect set of Pillows for my brother to tease and play with while I sucked him off or bounced up and down on his massive coc- fuck no the hat was about a quarter of the way and as it sucked out all my intelligence, free will and identity, so that it could replace it all with him, serving him, his massive body. Doing whatever he told me so I could deep throat his cock, feel it fill my empty tight hole. I felt my arms expand, becoming the perfect gym bunny arms, biceps that bulged like mountains, sturdy triceps and wrists that made my meaty hands all the more stable.
PULSE
God Why wasn’t I on my knees RIGHT NOW. Fuck its progressing further, need to get this stupid- AMAZING hat off me. I felt my core tremble as abs cobbled themselves together, my waist tightening giving me this Dorito shape before my hips exploded outwards.I had this perfect V, a slutty waist for my brother to grab me by, to bend me over and hold onto while he fucked me silly.
PULSE
It was almost halfway turned around, burning brighter, my head on fire as it fried my brain for all it was worth, I felt it looking around for more fuel, it didn't have much brains to work with like Phillip so it started to creep down my body, sneakily snaking through me. Phil was walking around me when I felt it, him SLAPPING my ass, causing what once used to honestly be kinda flat because I skipped Leg day, to RIPPLE. That warm energy SURGING, becoming a fiery heat as my ass piled on the perfect ration of fat and muscle. These two massive globes looked like a shelf, from every angle they were noticeable, I would never be able to hide them. WHY WOULD WE WANT TO!!! These big bouncy cheeks are gonna make bro so happy I cant wait for him to give them a quick swat, or to gyrate on his lap getting him nice and har- No I’m not some cock obsessed himbo.
The energy spread further in, diving between the cheeks, I felt my hole TWITCH. That PULSE from before was nothing, this one, this felt like 8 of them going off all at once, I lost my footing as my ass clenched, my hands grabbing onto Phil as my eyes rolled back. My hole, god it was empty, so fucking empty, empty empty empty, i needed it filled, I needed cock, fuck I needed phils cock so bad. I didn't care that I would never have wanted it before, didn't care that this didn't sound like me, the only thing I cared about was his hard, slick cock thrusting in and out of me.
Making this bouncy bubble butt took a lot of energy, fuel, essence and it needed to burn something else, something substantial, something I used. So when the hat finally found it, it wrapped around it, engulfing it in the same fiery PULSE as my cheeks, I felt it, I felt my cock shrink. My once decent six inches, my pride and joy I used for conquests, centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch was shrunk down to a tiny nub.I couldn’t stop myself from thrusting in the air, my balls which would have swung wildly dwindled down, useless no longer important. Neither body part had use, all my pleasure was focused on my ass, tits and mouth. Why would I need a dicklet when I had big bros to play with?
I felt another PULSE , my legs becoming strong, sturdy, able to hold myself in any position Bro would want me in, my flexibility increasing all over my body as I became the perfect fucktoy for Phil to use however he wanted, whenever he wanted. God I just wanted him, no I NEEDED him to want me and didn’t care what it took to please him, I would do it.
I had one last thought that I knew was mine, Tyler, not Ty’s, staring up at Phi, this man who was the peak of masculinity in my eyes, his beer belly out and proud, flexing his arms in a double bicep pose making my already horny mind race at the thought of the musk to worship in those hairy, sweaty pits. My mouth partially opened, pouting begging for his cock as it swung back and forth, drips of pre cum oozing out of his cock and onto my face. It was that I hated Phil, that I wanted Phillip, my annoying uptight brother, I guess you don't really know what you have till you lose it to a magical reality manipulating hat that feeds off of intelligence and cock size..
PULSE
God my Brother was so hot and strong, I love when he would command me to do things. Today were gonna be watching the game, but right now he is seeing how much precum he can paint with my face. His cock leaks it like a faucet and its like the hottest thing ever my god I just want to be covered in it. Some people used to say he was overbearing and commanding but I always found Big bro to be SOOOO HOT.
“Yeah, that's a good boy! So cute with your backwards cap on!” My eyes are following after his cock as it swings over my head, his balls hitting my chin. I feel his hand push the cap further down on my head, scrambling my brain one last time, burning up the last reality till I was just an empty headed himbo that needed both his holes filled.
“Even cuter when your eyes follow after my cock!” He does a quick dip/squat his cock swinging into the right side of my face, his precum and sweat glazing my face as he does, my mouth follows after trying to get it in there.
“You are so fucking cock hungry its adorable bro, tell me how badly you need my cock!” he says quickly hitting the other side, my lips are almost able to kiss the side of his dick as it swings.
“Please Big Bro, i need your cock so bad, I’m so hungry Bro, im just a cock hungry slut for you bro please fill me up I’ll do anything!” I beg, my hands grabbing his legs, my ass jiggling as I plead with him. I see him stare at me with the predator like hunger, his hand squishing the hat on my hair one last time before ripping it off and throwing it behind him. It faded out of existence like it was never there. His other hand quickly ran through my lush platinum hair before grabbing it and holding it still.
“Okay boy, since your such a good, dumb, cock hungry slut, I’ll give it to you but only because you asked so nicely!” He has the widest grin on his face as he brings his cock down to my lips, smearing more precum across them as I greedily lap it all up. My tongue rolling around the tip of his dick as he lightly applies pressure to my face. I moan just thinking about what happens next.
“Open up and take it like the bitch you are!” He commands and I listen. He’s not gentle, why would Big Bro be anyway, he thrusts in, all the way. I love that Phil fucked my gag reflex away with his amazing fuckstick months ago. To feel him go from his tip ALL the way down to the root of his cock in one fluid motion was divine, my eyes rolled back as I felt his pubes smash against my face, his hands on the back of my head now grabbing fistsfulls of hair while he moaned. The smell of his musk, the feeling of it all happening so suddenly, overwhelms me and I can’t stop myself from jumping off the edge, eyes rolling back as my tiny dick fires shot after shot.
He tsks through light laughter and wags a finger in the air, pulling his cock out halfway, and so quickly that hunger that he had satisfied with plunging all the way down returning, eating away at me. “So hungry you can’t control yourself slut, fuuuck i’m gonna have so much fun tonight!” he says, he quickly slaps one of my cheeks, a quick surge of pleasure floods me as I feel them both shake, he whistles before plunging his cock back in.
I can hear the game going on in the back, his thrusts are fast but even, his balls slapping into my neck. Hearing him talk about some stupid guy named Tyler, how he was happy he could finally get everything he wanted, a bitch to clean up after him, take care of his cock and not make any mess. That some stupid hat was the best thing that happened to either of us.
The sweat from his beerbelly his hot and heavy, soaking through my hair and forehead, his smell ingrained in my mind as an aphrodisiac. My hands move up and down his body, worshipping it like the god he is. His own cheeks clapping with every thrust as he takes exactly what he wants. I hear cheering from the game, someone is apparently near the end zone, Phil is getting faster, his hands are a bit rougher as he’s getting closer. Almost at the edge.
My stomach feels so full from his precum, my throat trying to swallow more and more of him as he skull fucks me silly. I’m so close again, his moans were getting louder, telling me how I was such a good boy for milking his cock. That I had to get ready to take it all, swallow all of his cum, to be his good lil bitch and that praise, that encouragement was all I needed to have my second hands free orgasm this time around. The thought of him painting my throat white making me throw my head back as he thrusts into my puffy, hungry lips.
“Here…here,...It comess you DUMB HIMBO!” he shouts as the screen yells touch down, he rapidly does three more smaller thrusts as he fores not one, two or three loads, five all down my throat.
“Now be a good bitch and get me a beer!” He says pulling out of my mouth with a plop and playfully slapping my face.
God I loved My Big Bro and his massive cock so much, it drives me crazy!
(i just thought these two guys were hot for the purpose of this)
The heat of the late summer evening pressed down on Marcus like a heavy blanket. The air in his cramped apartment was still and humid. He lay across his bed, stripped down to nothing but a pair of faded yellow briefs. They were loose, standard cotton things, typical of the plain, unnoticeable life he led. Sweat pooled in the shallow hollows of his collarbone. He was scrawny, a constellation of sharp joints and pale skin, his arms thin rods holding his smartphone. He was just mindlessly scrolling through social media, a digital life that mirrored his empty social life. Girls didn't notice him, and he’d resigned himself to a life of digital voyeurism.
An ad for 'WishApp' flashed on the screen. His thumb hovered, then pressed. Why not? he thought, a flicker of curiosity momentarily cutting through the heat-induced lethargy. He downloaded it.
The interface was minimal, almost clinical. A simple text box appeared with a direct question: What is your desire?
Marcus let out a self-deprecating snort. He knew exactly what he didn’t have. Confidence. A presence. He stared at the box.
“What do I want?” he said to empty room. He was a skinny, shy straight guy. He wanted a relationship. He wanted to be able to just be with someone. And he wanted a body that meant something, a body that people would respect. He started typing rapidly. He wanted a relationship so he could have sex every time he wanted it. And also, be a proper big muscle guy. He hit send, not even noticing the tiny, fateful typo in the word ‘guy’.
We appreciate your request. Processing will take some time, the app replied.
He stared at the blank screen, expecting… something. More options? A confirmation code? Nothing. He sighed, disappointed. Thinking it was just a silly gimmick, and he closed the app. Tossing the phone away, Marcus rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and quickly drifted off to sleep. He had no idea that as soon as his consciousness faded, his body and mind would begin a profound, unstoppable transformation.
His dreams, once filled with vague images of unapproachable girls, began to change. Instead, his subconscious was invaded by images of beautiful, powerful, muscular men. The shapes were defined, the lines confident. He was surrounded by them, not as threatening figures, but as icons of adoration. The dreams felt different—heavier, thicker, filled with a desire he couldn't quite articulate.
The first physical changes were subtle. His skin tightened. A faint rasp of stubble began to push through on his previously smooth jaw. On his chest, where there had been only pale skin, fine, soft hair began to sprout. He writhed in his sleep, the clean sheets now sticking to a body that was growing in density, in volume.
The process accelerated. A deep, resonant hum seemed to vibration through his bones. The app’s 'processing' was intense. His skeletal structure didn't expand dramatically, but his muscle fibers hyper-growth. His deltoids broadened, becoming wide, powerful shelves. The biceps and triceps definition sharpened, his forearms hardening. His chest, once a flat expanse, became wide and massive, the new hair becoming dense and curly, spreading down his sternum. His core tightened into hard, visible blocks of muscle, a six-pack etching itself above a wider, stronger abdomen. Thick, natural hair now covered his chest, abs, and legs.
As the first faint hues of dawn began to bleed through the open window, painting the room in a warm light, the violent crescendo of the transformation finally reached its peak. The frantic shifting and tossing in the bed subsided into a heavy, rhythmic breathing. The skin-and-bones Marcus was completely gone.
In his place lay a magnificent specimen of pure, raw masculinity. His shoulders had expanded into a massive, heroic V-shape, his traps sloped steeply down into wide, boulder-like deltoids that seemed to strain against the very fabric of the mattress. His biceps and triceps muscles were now thick and full, carved with deep, branching veins that pulsed with a newfound, powerful circulation.
His chest had risen into two massive, heavy slabs of muscle, so broad and deep that they shook slightly with each deep breath he took. A thick, masculine carpet of dark, curly hair now completely blanketed his torso, running in a dense line down his defined, rock-hard abdominal wall and disappearing into his waistband.
The change was so absolute that his yellow briefs, which just hours before had hung loosely on his boyish hips, were now stretched to their absolute limit. The cotton fabric was pulled over his heavily thighs and wide hips. Up front, the pouch of the underwear was incredibly tight, straining against a noticeably larger, heavy bulge that pulsed with the intense morning heat. His legs had transformed into thick, powerful pillars,
The transformation was absolute, leaving no trace of the fragile youth who had fallen asleep the night before.
When he woke up, he sat up with a groan. The first rays of morning light illuminating the messy sheets. He didn't immediately notice his change. His mind was still tangled in the powerful, intimate images of his dream.
“Why do I have morning wood after this strange dream?” he muttered. The sound of his voice shocked him. It was a deep, gravelly baritone, completely unlike his usual tenor.
He tried to clear his throat, but the deep pitch remained. He finally looked down.
"What!" he roared, the deep voice echoing in the small room.
He ran for the mirror in his bathroom, his now powerful legs nearly knocking him off balance. He stared at his reflection, his eyes wide in absolute disbelief. The face staring back had sharp, chiseled features. A full, well-maintained beard, short-cropped and styled, covered his jaw, matching the neat, styled hair on his head. He looked like an immaculate, well-defined muscle bear. His eyes were wide, taking in the massive chest covered in hair, the sculpted abs, the thick arms, and the deep muscle strength. He ran his hand over his new body, his fingers pressing into hard muscles. He noticed his yellow briefs, now extremely tight, with a very prominent, powerful bulge. His initial panic began to morph into something else—a strange, thrilling sense of self-awareness.
Suddenly, he heard sounds from the kitchen. The sizzling of eggs, the clatter of a pan.
Marcus slowly pushed open the bathroom door and walked into the hallway. The kitchen door was slightly ajar. He peeked inside. Standing by the stove, his back mostly to Marcus, was another man. The man was massive, a fellow muscle bear with incredibly well-developed muscles. His deltoids were wide, and his biceps bulged as he expertly flipped an egg in a frying pan. His chest was covered in dense hair, matching the hair on his arms and legs. Marcus froze, the sheer, imposing presence of the other man dominating the space.
Marcus watched him. What a man, he thought. Wait, why am I thinking that? I’m not gay. Or am I? The realization of his typo on the app hit him simultaneously with the new, powerful feelings swirling in his core. The dreams had prepared him.
The other man turned around, a friendly expression on his face. He was bearded, with neat, light-colored hair, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of tight red briefs with a nice, round bulge.
"Good morning, sleepy head," the man said, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. "I just made breakfast. I hope you want some."
Marcus took a step forward, the unfamiliar sensations in his transformed body now commanding his actions. His desire for this stranger, this fellow icon of power and beauty, was primal.
"There is one thing I want," Marcus said, his deep voice thick with newfound intent.
He crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between them. The man smiled as Marcus approached. Without a word, Marcus took the other man's body in his powerful hands and kissed him passionately. The man immediately dropped the spatula, his arms wrapping around Marcus's broad shoulders. They pulled each other tight, their muscular bodies pressing together, hair on hair, muscle on muscle, in a sudden, intense embrace.
"Let’s get back to bed…" Marcus whispered against his lips. The other man simply nodded and pulled him along.
As they left the kitchen, Marcus’s phone buzzed. A new notification appeared on the WishApp: Enjoy your wish!
