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Not So Little

HELLO everyone! It's been some time since I last uploaded...but I return with a story that is a continuation of one of @aardvarkia 's own stories! My own continuation of his story "Seniority". If you (somehow) don't know of him, please go and read all of his content! Also, keep in mind that this story is completely separate from what is going on in my other content. Please enjoy!

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“Our new athletic director is…” The massive principle squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at what was written on the paper. He was careful with his big hand not to crease it. “...Gordon Little?”

A spotlight weaved its way through the mass of students until it settled into its destination with a frightened senior student at its epicenter.

“Is that Mr. Little? Come on up here!” The big man on stage beckoned Gordon to join him, his deep and rich voice ensuring that everybody at the assembly could hear him, but that was the last thing Gordon wanted to do.

The student remained seated for a moment, unsure of what to do. His mouth went dry, slightly opening and closing as he was searching for any words to utter. Gordon could tell all of the other students were looking at him, it was difficult not to, considering the huge spotlight shining in his face! 

With a wimpy gulp, Gordon stood up on shaky legs and slowly made his way down the bleachers where he was sitting, and towards the main stage in the center of their school’s rather large gymnasium. 

Stepping onto the wooden stage, each footstep echoing throughout the open space of the building, Gordon reached his hand out to meet his principal’s in a tight handshake. Dr. Sheridan’s muscles made his strength apparent, his huge mitt squeezing Gordon’s tiny hand until it hurt before letting go and turning to the audience again.

Some more was said as Gordon was ushered to  a plain folding chair that sat right beside the podium. There he sat while the principal continued his speech, but Gordon was too busy staring at the floor in front of him. He was too dazed by his announcement of being the athletic director to hear what was being said. Next thing he knew, the students were clapping and he looked up to find them funneling out already. 

Gordon looked around from his seat frantically, searching for his classmates. Had they gone back to class without him already? As he began to stand up, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Care to lend me a hand, Mr Athletic Director?” Mr. Bromsfield, the P.E teacher, asked playfully before patting Gordon on the shoulder. He turned around just as quickly and began to pick up the other chairs nearby before walking towards the back of the gymnasium and to the storage shed.

Gordon watched Mr. Bromsfield walk out through the heavy doors leading outside, his hand rubbing where the coach patted him. As soon as he saw him slip around the corner, Gordon stood up and got to work.

With 3 chairs under each arm, he was straining trying to bring them all to the storage shed without dropping them. Out the door onto the blacktop, hot from the direct sunlight,  then through another set of open doors and he was inside the shed. As soon as Mr. Bromsfield turned around and spotted him, Gordon’s strength was shot and he fell forward.

“Woah-” Gordon was caught by the other man and a couple chairs fell from his grasp, tumbling to the ground.

“Easy there, Gordon,” Mr. Bromsfield held him in place before easing him up slowly. “You alright there?”

Gordon met his gaze and immediately felt himself flush. He had never noticed his coach had such nice eyes. Deep brown like a delectable chocolate, they studied Gordon’s face, ensuring that he was ok. Now that he was thinking about it, Mr. Bromsfield was rather pleasing to look at in general! His masculine square head and sharp jawline, the short stubble that adorned his cheeks, the slight furrow in his brow and around his eyes that showed his age like a badge. Mr. Bromsfield was kind of-

“OH,” Gordon yelped and reached his hands to his pants, dropping the rest of the chairs on the floor. Why was he rock hard?! He realized how bad it must have looked to have his hands on his boner, so he discreetly pulled his shirt down and backed up. “Oh man, I’m sorry Jim…I,” Gordon paused all of a sudden. Jim?

The teacher’s eyes filled with concern. “Don’t sweat it! It’s really no problem, Gordon,”  Jim Bromsfield was once again reassuring him, and it made Gordon feel helpless in the moment. How was he supposed to be the athletic director when he’s suddenly so flustered over his coworker? 

He bit his lip slightly. He was the athletic director now so it wasn’t wrong that he thought of him as a coworker but it sure felt wrong. This was his teacher, after all! And how did he know his first name?

Jim bent over to begin picking up the chairs, giving Gordon a front row seat to staring at his ass. Gordon began staring and he could feel himself getting harder. The slight grunts of exertion from Jim made it even worse for him. Gordon was harder than he had ever been in his life, and he was unaware of his cock slowly stretching longer in his pants.

“H-hey Bromsfield,” Gordon stammered, trying to find a topic to distract him from those sudden feelings of his. “What exactly does an athletic director do?” he asked while trying to look away from the instructor’s rear. 

“Well,” Jim’s voice was strained as he gathered the chairs from the floor. “As the athletic director you handle all the teams, the budgets, the scheduling of the games. You more or less manage everything about the athletics scene that happens, well, behind the scenes. It is a very important role for a school!” He went on, giving Gordon a general idea of what he was to be doing. “You need a firm hand and great leadership to be successful as one. You’re the ringleader of the operation!”

A leader.

A moan escaped Gordon’s lips, but it didn’t sound like him. It didn’t even sound like much of a moan and more like a grunt. The voice that came out of his mouth was deep and gruff, a far cry from how his voice normally sounds. Worse yet, it made him even harder! He brought a hand up to cover his mouth while his cock silently stretched out another inch within his pants, some pre forming on the tip.

“Alright, got some of them,” Jim slowly rose to his full height and turned back around to the flustered Gordon. Jim had a strong build that filled out his clothes nicely, and that was exactly what Gordon stared at as they spoke with each other. “Can you grab the other half for me? I’ll put these away.”

“Y-yes! Of course…I’ll just go ahead and get started on that,” Gordon silently cursed under his breath as he began to pick up the chairs close to him. 

RIIPP!

The sound tore through the quiet of the room, both men pausing. Gordon felt a breeze on his behind, immediately dropping the chairs from his hands and whipping them behind himself to hide the cheeks he was showing. How did his pants rip? He hardly had an ass, but now as he held his hands to them, they cupped them instead of laying flat. Did his butt just…grow? Moving his fingers around to feel for the rip in his pants, a deep one straight down the middle, he also felt something else that made the color drain from his face. His ass was growing hair!

Jim put his hand to his brow for a moment before sighing. “Ok, I think you need to go to the nurse.” He walked over and put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder, trying to guide him to the door, but Gordon resisted.

The nurse’s office was in the same room as the principal's office, and the principal was the last person he wanted to see right now!

“No,” He bellowed in that deeper voice before clearing his throat and trying again. “No, isn’t there anywhere else we can go? I’m fine, really. Maybe I just need a breather.” His normal and much higher voice came out once again.

Jim raised an eyebrow quizzically “Fine. We can go to my office.” He again pulled Gordon’s shoulder to the exit and gestured his hand, allowing him to follow that gesture out the door. The two of them entered the gymnasium again.

Gordon has been in this gymnasium countless times, but this time felt different. He wasn’t going to be a student anymore, he was an employee there, the athletic director! He had to look at things from a new perspective. Gordon raised his head and looked around the gym, taking it all in. He noticed the countless banners adorning the walls with text mentioning different years and different sports championships won at that school. It was impressive, almost as impressive as the fact that he didn’t pay it any mind until now. That is the impact his job has. As athletic director, he caused all of this. It was his job to build the path that would lead these young students to glory like this. His chest swelled with pride.

“UUNGH-” Gordon groaned gutturally as his chest expanded, greatly tightening his shirt. The collar felt like it was choking him, and he let out a soft wheeze while pawing at his chest. Jim hardly even had the chance to react to what just happened before another groan erupted out of Gordon. His chest grew again, this time causing a small rip from his collar that let him breathe. As he gasped for air it looked as if his chest grew even larger.

He was now quite chest dominant, and all the extra weight pushed him forward, leaving him falling on his hands and knees trying to catch his breath. He could feel a gurgling in his belly, a feeling that something was brewing within him. Gordon let out a belch as his stomach began to bow outwards, his shirt riding up over the mass as gravity pulled it towards the floor. It wobbled for a brief moment before it solidified into a solid orb, muscle keeping it taught.

He grunted and shivered as he felt his large belly graze the gym’s cool flooring. Reaching a hand down to pull his shirt down, he realized he couldn’t grasp it very well. Glancing at his other hand, he understood why. Though he could only see one hand, the other hidden under his globe of a belly, he could feel that both of them were growing to be just as meaty as his belly. Fingers popping one by one into fat sausages with a healthy coating of hair along the knuckles. His palm widened before Gordon witnessed his forearms stretching outwards to match the new size of his mitts. 

With his hands finished changing, he was finally able to grasp his shirt and he successfully pulled it down over his belly. Gordon had no idea that his shirt just grew multiple sizes in order to make that happen. He made an effort to get up from his position, but his body had other plans.

While he was distracted with hiding his belly, his arms were taking their moment to grow. Horseshoes grew from his triceps, boulders placing themselves on his biceps. There was not much in terms of definition, just pure mass that poured into his body, and his delts were no exception! With the growth of his delts, his shoulders cracked as they inched outwards and pulled his body to even broader dimensions. 

Jim had no idea what was happening before him, but he knew he had to help. “Let’s get you out of here,” He stumbled slightly over his words as he tried to pull Gordon up from the ground. Placing his hand on his back, he could feel the musculature growing at his touch and adding mass to his backside. Traps swelled up like loaves of bread before the mass spilled over the wide canvas and caused lats to pop out on each side of him. Gordon was getting utterly huge!

After considerable effort, Jim pulled the changing man onto his feet, and they began to shuffle as fast as they could to their office. Gordon drearily looked up at the banners again, reminding himself of the shoes he needs to fill. That was all it took to fuel his fire again, causing his lower half to make an attempt to catch up to the rest of him. 

His walking was already difficult, but with each step it was becoming more laborious. His thighs swelled before slamming into one another. Suddenly Gordon had to swing his legs around each other due to their sheer size. The two men turned the corner in the hallway before Gordon’s calves popped into existence, big as footballs. 

As soon as Jim’s hand was on the doorknob to his office, Gordon’s feet erupted from his shoes. They pulled themselves into the private room while the growing feet showed no restraint, rapidly surpassing their old size until they were large enough to carry his mass.

Jim pulled Gordon in before turning around to close the door behind them. This action let Gordon catch another glimpse of Jim’s backside, the sight causing his cock to grow another few inches in both length and thickness. Even more testosterone, and Gordon’s more mature body was starting to think more mature thoughts.

“Thank god we finally made it in here,” Jim panted weakly, “Now what on earth is-” His speech was cut off as he turned around and was caught in a deep kiss. Gordon’s huge hands were holding him in place.

Jim’s hands dropped before he could react, touching Gordon’s ass. Gordon moaned into the kiss, his voice growing deeper and gaining a texture it did not have previously. Reacting to the touch, they swelled once more with grandiose, becoming massive monuments that pushed into Jim’s embrace. With the touch grew even more hair. Hair that was spreading out into other parts of his body.

Pulling his hands away, he brought them up to Gordon’s chest in a weak attempt to push him away. This action only caused his pecs to launch outwards, huge jugs that looked as if they were competing with his belly for reach. Large nipples grew outwards, poking Jim’s hands and ensuring that they would always be seen through any shirt. Gordon bucked his hips and groaned even deeper, his voice now reaching incredible depths that were starting to make Jim weak at the knees. Jim let his hands wander the expansive chest as the two men made out in the office, feeling a dense coating of hair spread out across the mass. By now, Gordon’s body hair was everywhere. Hairy legs, hairy torso, hairy arms that led into thick, sweaty patches of hair in his underarms, even healthy patches of hair on his shoulders and back. Gordon was growing to become a big and burly man, a man of such devastating strength that he completely rendered Jim helpless within his embrace.

Gordon continued the kiss before he began growling. Jim could feel a new scratching sensation from Gordon’s face. In an instant, stubble was sprouting all over Gordon’s cheeks and chin. Very shortly, and with an audible grunt, his stubble exploded into a full black beard and mustache that tickled Jim’s face. 

Jim brought his hand up to his face to once again try and push Gordon away, but instead he could feel his jaw crunching and growing outward. All of this was cut short when Gordon’s nose stretched out and poked Jim, finally causing him to break apart, falling back against the door. They both heard a clatter too.

As they both caught their breath, Jim looked at Gordon in his entirety. His feet were huge and hairy, though he could say the same about the rest of him. Massive legs that ripped through the fabric of his pants, huge pillars that were capped by the biggest ass he’d ever seen. A large belly that extended straight outward with even bigger pecs that rested atop them. The shirt had tried its best to accommodate his growing size but it was no match, rips here and there. Burly hands that led into unbelievable arms, all leading into…not Gordon.

His face had grown large and blocky, huge lantern jaw hidden by a larger beard that covered his upper lip. There was a patch of white on his chin, the only highlight within the black locks. Big, handsome beak of a nose and a jutting brow with slightly bushy eyebrows. Then there was his hair, or lack of it. Somehow, during the kiss, all of his hair had disappeared from atop his head - perhaps spreading across his body instead - leaving him with a shining bald skull. Hadn’t he always been bald, though?

The man before him slowly bent over with a huff, picking up a pair of glasses off of the ground and wiping them off calmly before flicking them over the bridge of his nose. He was breathing deep breaths, breaths that made his chest rise and fall like the tide. After a moment of looking at Jim and himself, he muttered an apology.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was just as strong as the rest of him, and it made Jim’s heart flutter at the sound. “I may have gotten a smidge ahead of myself there, Jim.” a very soft smile and chuckle graced his lips, though many would have been hard pressed to see it considering his facial hair. Despite the smile, he seemed a little discouraged, almost like a child that had gotten into trouble and was about to be scolded. Almost.

Jim opened his mouth to respond, but no words could express what he wanted to say. His eyes kept drifting over his body, taking it all in. The longer he stared at him, the more he was familiar with this sight. This was the athletic director, he’s always looked like this! Same brooding, masculine face. Same bulging, hot body. And that damn near irresistible c-

He choked back a moan. Yes, this was the athletic director, Alan Gray, his superior in every sense of the word. Completely lost in his own head, the words slipped out of his lips without him even noticing. “You’re so fucking sexy,”

Like a grenade going off in the office, the words triggered the last of Alan’s transformation into the athletic director, his pecs bounced out a little farther, arms grew a little stronger, dick a little longer. His skin grew weather-beaten as he aged, wrinkles forming on his face and around his eyes, further showing his experience and seniority over the P.E. teacher. Alan bellowed as cum rocketed into through his underwear and into his pants his voice reverberating throughout the room. He fell back onto Jim’s desk panting. He inspected his clothing, ripped, covered in sweat, and a huge wet spot halfway down his thigh. “You get me too worked up, Jim,” he purred through heavy breaths.

“It’s a good thing we made it to my office,” Jim laughed as he helped Alan up. Opening the cabinets that lined the wall, he pulled out a couple of fresh clothes in Alan’s size. “It’s also a good thing that I’m no stranger to this.” He tossed the clothes to Alan before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I have to get back to work. Change up and get the hell out of here…and maybe open a window while you’re at it.” He smiled as he opened the door and looked for a moment as Alan struggled to fit his mass in the fresh set of clothes. “I’ll see you tonight, love!” The door shut.

Alan chuckled at that. He was too old to be fooling around like this, especially at work. At least he’ll get round 2 later tonight with his husband.

Later on, now working inside his own office on the other side of the building, he heard a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Alan said gruffly.

The door creaked open and Dr. Curt Sheridan, the school’s massive principal, stepped inside. His suit was flawless, as was his face. 

“How are you, Alan?” He eased his bulk into the chair that sat in front of Alan’s desk. At 6’4 and 295 pounds, Dr. Sheridan was a testament to discipline and authority and had all of Alan’s respect. He was also damn good to look at. “The basketball team just won their recent tournament so I wanted to thank you for spotting that and putting it together for them. I think they’re going to go to some great places, those kids.”

Alan wiped his glasses and folded his hands over his belly, his green polo shirt stuffed to the brim with muscle. “No surprise to me, Curt. I’ve been saying the same thing since that team was formed.” He smiled brightly, his pearly and straight teeth shining through his beard.

“I must say, you’ve always been a great judge of character and prowess,” the principal leaned back on the chair. “What’s your secret?” a smirk graced his face as he asked.

“Oh, there’s nothing secret about it. Give them the opportunity and they’ll take it if they really want it,” Alan shifted his weight forward, his arms bracing his weight over the desk. “And a firm, guiding hand never hurts too, of course!” The two large men burst into hearty laughs, and another productive day at their school flies by. 

[visceral-stories]

Unexpected Education

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Surprise! Thank you all for still supporting me in this turbulent year despite my infrequent posting and I hope you all are staying safe out there. Enjoy my most recent visceral story!

“Introduction to Communication Studies” had quickly become Alex Keating’s favorite class. It had been an unlikely unity. As a college freshman who was undecided on his major, he’d only taken this class to fulfill a liberal arts requirement at his university and it wasn’t like he was passionate about giving speeches and having large class discussions. Even though he was a new freshman and had yet to officially declare his major, he already had a plan to become either a business or econ major. Instead, the main reason Alex loved his communications class was because he’d developed a debilitating crush on his handsome professor, Mr. Hawthorne. One of his best girlfriends, Emma knew this, and always teased him about it. 

Alex couldn’t help himself; Mr. Hawthorne had next-level beauty. With short, raven-black hair, light stubble, and an incredible jawline, he was so freakishly handsome. His hair was always short and neatly-coiffed, he was rather muscular and always wore tight-fitting clothes that accentuated his curves, he looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties, and he had an earnest smile that would make anyone melt. 

“Focus on the presentation.” Emma whispered, giving her friend a playful push. “Don’t forget he’s got a ring on that finger, right?”

“Screw you,” Alex whispered back with a chuckle. His one-sided crush was an open secret among them although it hadn’t been too hard for her to put two and two together. 

He’d been in dreamland again. Mr. Hawthorne had been giving a speech about the importance of exigence in an argumentative speech, but all Alex could focus on was that sexy bulge of his in his tight brown khakis. It swayed from side to side when he talked and Alex was grateful that his desk concealed the half-chubs he’d always get in this class. 

A few more minutes went by until Mr. Hawthorne spun around and looked at the clock. “Alright class,” he boomed. “It looks like that’s all the time we have for today. As always, I’m here for any questions you may have. Remember, your outlines for your argumentative speeches are due on Monday at the start of class!” 

As usual, half the students grabbed their bags and darted out of class, but Alex took his sweet time putting his things away. He tried not to stare at his favorite professor’s perky ass during his brief walk to his desk but couldn’t resist sneaking a peek, much to Emma’s amusement. 

“So, do you have an outline for your speech, Alex?” she asked coyly. “Or were you too busy thinking of other things?” 

“God, can you blame me,” Alex groaned . “He was looking like a whole-ass snack today. How could I expect to focus?” He sat up straight in his chair and eyed his notebook which contained a few doodles and zero helpful notes on how to make an effective topic for a speech.. “Oh yeah….the speech… Shit! I do need a good topic, maybe Mr. Hawthorne could give me some pointers...”

“Oh?” Emma replied as she zipped up her backpack. “Are you actually gonna talk to him today?” “Yeah, I probably should,” Alex admitted, tucking his mostly-empty notebook away. “It feels dumb though, maybe I should just research it online. I don’t want to bother him.” 

“No, no, It’s a good excuse to talk to him,” Emma said as she put her backpack on, humoring her friend’s crush. “The semester is like halfway done anyway, so it’s about time you finally talked one-on-one. I know you’ve been too scared in the past, but that’s literally what he’s there for: to help you.” Alex didn’t look convinced - a blank nervous expression appeared on his face. “You’ll feel better talking to him and also asking for help than not asking at all.”

“What if I say something stupid in front of him?” Alex asked, a rosiness overcoming his cheeks.

“I promise you won’t,” Emma reassured. “Look I gotta go, but I’ll see you at Sophie’s party tonight. Don’t get too tongue-tied, okay?”

“Okay, see ya later,” Alex said as she exited the room. He then turned towards Mr. Hawthorne who was already conversing with another inquiring student. A deluge of conflicting thoughts ran through his mind - some rational, some irrational. Genuinely, he did need help preparing his speech, but his mind was overrun with fantasies. His legs felt like they were submerged in quicksand as he trudged closer to his crush’s desk. Mr. Hawthorne perked up slightly and gave Alex a subtle, curt nod while he continued his conversation. That faint golden glow of his wedding band tantalized Alex. At that moment, a thought came to his head.  He wished the two of them could be together. He knew it was a stupid and mortifying thought, but it was true.

Mr. Hawthorne flashed a smile to Alex as the student in front of him turned and finally walked out the door. “Hey there, what can I do for you?”

Shit. There was no going back. 

“Hi Mr. Hawthorne,” Alex smiled. He tried to put on his best confident facade, but his words stumbled out like gravel from his shaky throat  “I was just uh…wondering what to do for a topic for my…argument essay thing. I’m uh…having trouble deciding.” 

Mr. Hawthorne nodded. “Well, the most important thing is to pick a topic that really resonates with you. Something you would feel comfortable discussing and defending in detail. Do you have any in mind?”

“I-uh…” Alex’s mind went blank as he scoured for any possible topic to talk about. He felt himself shrink for a moment staring at his professor’s dreamy eyes and his plump, kissable lips. It felt so foolish: to be smitten by a man who definitely didn’t feel the same way. Even if Mr. Hawthorne was gay, he couldn’t envision a hunk who had to be at least ten years older than him courting for a timid guy like him. It was the stuff of those nonsensical fantasies in his head. Finally, he stopped staring into his crush’s dreamy brown eyes and threw out a random idea for this stupid speech.. “Maybe I could do something about social media or something?”

“That sounds intriguing. What would you argue?”

Alex took a deep breath. Mr. Hawthorne was using that fake-interested voice that teachers often use. “What would I argue about…what would I argue about?” he reiterated aloud. His mind went blank, trying to focus. He squirmed in place and a wave of embarrassment sweltered through him. His clothes even started to feel uncomfortable, as he swore his shirt felt like it was bunching in his armpits and his pants were clinging tighter to his legs. He simply chalked it up to nerves. Despite his best attempts to rally himself and come up with a coherent thought though, his plan quickly floundered. “I would try to talk about social media being bad, but…uh…I’m really not sure anymore,” Alex admitted, a tinge of shame in his voice. He was realizing in real time how foolish his crush was. 

A sympathetic expression came over Mr. Hawthorne’s face and Alex’s heart skipped a beat. His emotions felt like they were going to boil over. Warm sweat coated his forehead and he almost felt like he could cry. His clothes still felt increasingly uncomfortable though, but his adrenaline prevented him from noticing. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “It’s completely okay to feel unsure about a topic. Since you’re interested in social media, think of the effects it has on you or other individuals. Consider whether you'd want to argue about its benefits or its detriments.”

“Ah right, right,” Alex agreed, trying his best not to be awkward. He tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously and had a frightening realization: the distance between him and Mr. Hawthorne was increasing. Glancing down at his legs, he noticed that they were longer and spindlier than before. It was a little painful: the way that his black shorts had started to ride up his thighs and the way that his t-shirt began to ride upward, threatening to expose part of his waist. It became impossible to ignore. “I…uh, whoa!” Alex exclaimed, sticking out his arms like he was on a balance beam. “Wait, what is happening?”

“Is everything alright, Alex?”

No, everything was not alright. The one time Alex had chosen to talk to his crush, the weirdest, most embarrassing thing had to happen. What the hell was even going on?

“Y-yeah,” Alex stuttered, his face reddening like a pomegranate. “I was th-thinking I should do my speech on social media,” he said, trying to recover, but the changes were escalating rapidly. His legs extended like beanstalks, hoisting him even higher, his shirt tightened over his baseless chest, and his feet pressed against his sneakers. It was all so overwhelming.  

“Mr. Keating, are you feeling okay?” Mr. Hawthorne inquired - a look of concern present on his face. 

“Yeah, n-never better,” Alex said, although his look of panic told another story. It seemed his height was finally reaching a plateau, now exaggerating his lankiness to a near-cartoonish degree. He knew he should’ve been 5’6” but he towered over the desk now, as if he’d grown an entire foot! “Wait, wh-why did you call me by my last-”

RIIIPP!!

The feeling of air against Alex’s belly button left zero doubt that his shirt had torn in the front, exposing his pale, slim abdomen. Or…at least it should be slim, right? Instead, it appeared to have taken on a little pudge. Or was it muscle? He couldn’t tell, but he swore he could make out the definition of an extremely-faint indentation on his stomach. Even worse, his blue and white vertical-striped t-shirt now closely resembled a crop top. God, why was this happening?

When Alex looked back up, he noticed that Mr. Hawthorne’s cheeks had also reddened. The corners of his mouth were lifted slightly, as if he was trying to repress a smile. It seemed that both of them were a little hot and bothered. Mr. Hawthorne stood up from his desk and the two were nearly at eye level now. Surprisingly enough, it appeared Alex now had a few inches on his professor. “Sir, I think you should-”

“Sir?” Alex squeaked, his eyes welling with tears as his face burned red with levels of humiliation he didn’t think were possible. In response to hearing that seemingly insignificant word, his cock bobbed up in his tight shorts, making them even more uncomfortable than before. First being referred to by his last name and now sir. It seemed rather bizarre for a laid-back professor like Mr. Hawthorne to talk to him like that. “No one’s ever called me…” Alex trailed off. It was getting so hot in here that he felt like he could faint. He felt like a lanky freak. 

“I have to go,” was all he said before darting out the door. Mr. Hawthorne uttered some sort of rebuttal, but Alex didn’t care. Mortification was an understatement for how he felt right now. Unfortunately, the hallway offered zero respite. The bevy of quizzical looks from the few idle students outside only further crippled his self esteem. However, as he looked around at the crowd, he realized that he towered most of them now. Alex tried not to pay it any mind - he just wanted to escape and maybe to call Emma for help. With his clothes threatening to burst, he hastily scrambled through the corridor until finally he found refuge: a unisex bathroom at the end of the hall. Fittingly, there was a loud ripping sound as soon as he hurled himself through the door and locked it. He wearily tried to catch his breath as he flipped on the lightswitch. Finally, some peace. Now he could try to assess what the hell just happened to him. 

“Fuck me…” Alex cried, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was so tall now that he had to bend his knees just to see his reflection. His shredded t-shirt more closely resembled a toga that left his navel on prime display. His shorts fared no better; they were vacuum-sealed around his thighs and threatening to burst. It looked like he was standing in front of some funhouse mirror, but no, this was really happening. Alex contemplated for a brief moment. He’d never been tall before and it definitely was a nice, unexpected change. “Oh my god I…totally embarrassed myself and…I look like a freak!” he exclaimed, gazing at his sweaty, red-faced reflection. He ran a hand through his ruffled blonde hair and tried in vain to pull his shirt down over his stomach. Cursing again, his fingers brushed against the waistband of his shorts. 

The movement triggered a chain reaction through his clothes. Emanating from his pockets, a wave of light gray fabric gradually stained the top of his black gym shorts. An oval of pant loops flowered around his waistline, converting the cheap spandex to a boxy yet soft polyester textile. Just above his butt, a strip of rayon materialized and attached itself to one of the new pant loops. As this mysterious strip elongated, it quickly formed into the beginning of a pair of suspenders. 

Suddenly, a deep pain emanated from his crotch and ass. “AAAIIYYEE!!” he yelped, his voice echoing across the bathroom. In one instant, Alex’s balls and buttcheeks were being compressed by his tightening pair of shorts. Thankfully, the sensation slackened after a mere second of awkward agony, and Alex quickly discerned the culprit to be a leather strap that was rapidly materializing up the middle of his back and hiking his shorts higher. “What the hell!” he snarled, feeling the leather strap slink up his back before it reached his shoulders where it promptly split in two. In the mirror, Alex watched as a brand new pair of brown suspender straps gracefully unraveled down into two straight lines over his tattered shirt. As the dapper suspenders reached his pant loops, they simultaneously developed metal clasps and fastened themselves to Alex’s shorts, raising them slightly higher. 

Alex was speechless. His shorts were leaving nothing to the imagination. A quick glance in the mirror revealed that his bulge was clearly visible - not to mention, how uncomfortable his gray wool shorts felt as they dug into his asscrack. Irritated and bewildered, he grabbed at his bulge to readjust it, but the motion only aggravated the wool and polyester fabric and caused his skimpy, lederhosen-esque shorts began to subtly vibrate. To his shock, they then started to crawl down his lower body. It tickled at first so he kicked his leg, but that only provoked the fabric to cascade freely down his thighs and calves until they stopped at his ankles. As he looked at his reflection, he gasped as he found himself fully draped in a dapper pair of expensive-looking gray pants. “Wait, what is this?” Alex was beside himself. He spun around, studying this new article of clothing that he would have never worn by choice. The last time he even wore anything remotely formal was for his high school graduation years ago. He wanted to investigate further, but another tingling sensation in his abdomen prevented him. 

A momentary gust of wind inundated Alex’s face, causing him to shut his eyes. When he reopened them, he noticed that the culprit had been his t-shirt, which had stretched down unexpectedly to conceal his exposed midriff. Held down by his new suspenders, the taut shirt also began to dye itself a pale white and it produced a new, refined textile out in opposite directions. A decadent poplin swiftly climbed up his cheap cotton shirt and rapidly stitched itself together to fill in the holes. It felt sensational as the luxurious fabric delicately crept around Alex’s navel and tickled the small of his back. 

“Wh-whoa, this feels great,” he purred, completely floored at how something as trivial as clothing was starting to turn him on. The fabric made its way to his neck where it hardened and flapped up before promptly folding down into a neat crease revealing that a new shirt collar had bloomed into existence. 

Before he could focus on that, a column of buttons materialized across his chest and abdomen, immediately clasping themselves shut. Alex ran a finger across the top ones: an action which caused his cock to suddenly ascend higher and strain against the constraints of his new dress pants. Nervously, he examined his arms by slowly turning them back and forth. With rapt attention, he watched as buttons fastened around his wrists, and finalized the creation of a pristine white dress shirt that now enveloped his torso. He kicked one of his legs, feeling the gray silk of his dress pants swish with his movements. “I look so adult,” he mused. “This is kinda awesome! Oh my…How on earth is this possible?”

Alex’s thoughts were diverted as another ticklish feeling emanated from his crotch. He watched in awe as his zipper elongated and stretched down on its own, as if it was bulging out to allow for a larger package to occupy it. Even though it was confusing, he was relieved that his fancy new dress pants were finally giving his cock some much-needed room. He exhaled and felt beads of sweat appear on his forehead. This tiny bathroom was starting to feel cramped and stuffy and these new proper clothes weren’t assuaging him much, but it wasn’t like he could just walk out looking like this! Alex groaned and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he was dressed for church with his fancy shirt and dorky suspenders. At least the clothes seemed rather fitted to his trim figure. Curiously, he turned around and eyed his perky butt in the bathroom mirror. He gave it a little shake and smiled. Although his butt was not as muscular or perky as Mr. Hawthorne’s, his trousers definitely helped accentuate his curves. Maybe there were some benefits to these swanky clothes. 

The second thing Alex noticed was a bright glimmer just below his phone. Somehow, a shimmering golden watch had appeared around his right wrist! “What the hell is this now?” Alex’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat. For some reason, his voice sounded rather gravelly. And rather cantankerous. “This is unbelievable,” he said with a cough that thankfully came from his familiar, shaky voice. “Why did I put this watch on today?”

Alex gazed at the watch and a new memory entered his head. He could remember buying this watch from one of those boutique jewelry shops downtown. It eroded his previous thought that a college kid like him couldn’t afford such a thing. But that couldn’t be true. The proof was staring him right in the eye, taunting him with its luxury and maturity. No nineteen year old would ever wear something as sophisticated as this. Alex’s cock throbbed in his trousers at that thought. That’s right. Sophisticated. What a powerful, all-encompassing word. He’d never thought of himself as sophisticated before. Even the cashier at the jewelry store had commented on that sophisticated presence of his when he’d bought this gold watch. 

“The girls aren’t gonna believe this,” Alex said, his heart beating faster now as he logged back into his phone, eager to update his Snapchat with a picture of the watch. He swiped through his home screen, but the app was nowhere to be found. Instinctively, he opened up his messages app and found that not only had the text grown to an embarrassingly large size, but also his inbox was filled with a multitude of names he didn’t recognize. Charles, Michael, Bill, Thomas, Wallace, Benjamin, Arthur?  Who the hell were those people?

He wanted to search his phone further, however a few pinpricks in his arms caught his attention. In a series of small bursts , he could feel thousands of tiny hairs sprout across his arms, rapidly elongating and twisting around on themselves. A bundle of blonde curlicues in particular unfurled on top of his wrist - the brown-colored tendrils piled up below his Micheal Kors golden watch. Delicately, the hairs rubbed against the insides of his dress shirt while they glided towards his shoulders. 

Alex had never considered himself a hairy guy, but it was like his mind was playing catch up with reality. As the ocean of hair rapidly made its way to his armpits and then to his chest, he doubted the validity of that thought. Of course he was a hairy guy. Abnormally hairy even. At first, he could remember being insecure about it, but the older he’d gotten the more he’d embraced having a hairy chest and hairy legs and even an unsightly patch on his lower back. 

“Mmmm fuck,” Alex moaned as the carpet of hair trailed over his bare skin. It felt like a million caresses across his small pecs. He felt corrupted in a way. It was odd to believe that a 20 year old could even grow this much hair, but the evidence was staring him right in the face. Serendipitously, his top shirt button popped open, revealing a bundle of manly curls spiraling outward and over the fabric. “I look like a freak,” Alex said. Despite the faint disgust in his voice, he couldn’t mask his suppressed enjoyment of the ordeal. He squirmed in place as the hair rapidly descended over his crotch and down to his legs. By the time it finally stopped, Alex’s boner had only gotten harder. All this hair - it made him feel great and manly, yet also slightly revolted by the whole ordeal. He swayed around on his Nike sneakers and felt his blanket of hair rub up against his clothes and he couldn’t help but simper. These fancy clothes, this hair. Why was this all happening to him? Or rather…how long had his body been like this? 

Alex’s phone had long since gone into sleep mode and he realized he’d been in this bathroom for quite a while. Putting the device in his pocket, he felt a brief wave of trepidation pass through him as he gripped the door handle. This hirsute body and enhanced wardrobe of his would definitely turn heads, but maybe he could just get to his next class and things would all be okay. Wait, which class was that again? God, his mind was feeling fuzzy. He just needed to get out of this damn bathroom. 

Thankfully, the coast was clear as Alex, the overdressed, hairy college student slipped back into the hallway. As he tried to silently make his way through the atrium, a faint click-clack rhythm crescendoed to fill the mostly vacant airspace. It took a few moments for him to realize the tapping was coming from his shoes. He stopped in place and felt a faint breeze blow against his gray wool pants. “My shoes…”  he whispered incredulously. For a moment, he wondered if he’d stepped in mud, but that wasn’t the case. Instead of his typical black and white Nike trainers, a pair of glossy brown Brogues were staring back at him - the thin laces perfectly tied. Even Alex’s socks felt more silky, as if they’d turned from low-rise athletic socks to skintight pinstriped shears. “I d-don’t remember putting these on today,” he stuttered, yet as he blinked, an image of an immaculately organized closet full of dress shoes and loafers flashed through his mind. It was a familiar sight - him sitting in his chair sliding his nylon black socks over his calves every day getting ready for work - even though a struggling part of him swore he didn’t have a job. He blinked again and was met with another image of a bedroom cabinet filled with dress shirts and blazers all suspended by hangers. They all were so large they resembled blankets. Another blink and Alex was back to reality - his dizzying, nonsensical reality. He was just about to exit through the front door when he suddenly heard a familiar voice . 

“Hey Alex, you okay?”

Alex’s spine straightened up at the sound of his name. He peered at the girl in front of him while his brain took a second to process. He knew her right? Right, it was his friend: Emma, of course! She looked…shorter than he remembered for some reason, but he didn’t have time to think about that. She would know how to get him out of this mess! “Why hello there,” Alex boomed, immediately cringing at how rehearsed his theatrically jovial tone sounded. He cleared his throat in disgust. “Emma, I need your help. I-I’ve been feeling weird all day.” 

Emma made a face and glanced up at him. “Weird how?” 

“I don’t know how to explain,” Alex replied, his voice on the verge of whining. “I just….I-I feel like something’s super wrong with me today.” 

“Dude, come on. Is this still about Hawthorne?” She coyly giggled. “Did he start kissing you after you told him your research paper topic?”

Alex’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in minutes hearing that familiar laugh. The anxiety he’d been feeling started to diffuse out into a mild vexation. “No, no it was just…kinda embarrassing… At least, I think it was? I was talking to him and then I had to leave for some reason.” Alex paused for a moment as if he was having trouble recalling the events from minutes ago. “I don’t know. I still feel all flustered about it. It’s quite unbecoming of me, I know.”

“Oh hush,” Emma dissuaded with a playful hand wave. “You’re a great guy. You’re like…super mature and professional all the time. You’re the only guy I’ve met who wears a suit to class every day.”

In milliseconds, a resplendent gray jacket identical to the shade of Alex’s pants appeared around his shoulders, draping itself around his short, skinny body like a cloak. It unraveled perfectly, leaving just enough space for his white dress sleeve cuffs and his shirt collar to poke out while also resting parallel to his waistline. As a bonus, it even covered up those suspenders he’d been incessantly embarrassed of. Instinctively, he ran his finger over a lapel and felt the distinct ridges of the corduroy against his fingertip. Simultaneously, he swore he felt a faint pulse emanate from his stomach. 

“Honestly, more guys should wear suits,” Emma continued. “I like the gray jacket today too. Makes you look cute!”

Alex blushed. “Why thank you very much, but…I don’t wanna look cute. I wanna look…handsome.” 

“Handsome, cute,  or whatever you wanna call it,” Emma said. “You’re an absolute catch and Hawthorne should appreciate that.”

Alex smiled. He took another deep breath, which caused a faint gurgling to emanate from his gut. “I appreciate the kind words very much, but it would be completely unscrupulous of me to even think about having an affair with one of my superiors.” 

“Unscrupulous?” “Yeah, you know, lacking morals or fair judgment.” Alex felt a faint pressure building in his gut. “Unprincipled, unethical, reprobate, exploitative-.”

“Alright, alright I got it. Calm down English major,” Emma laughed. 

A jolly, booming chortle emanated from Alex - one that far exceeded his usual tepid titter and lasted for a few seconds. During that time, his stomach started to widen like an inflating balloon, bobbing up and down inside his dress shirt as it gradually developed a spherical appearance. His once loose shirt buttons grew taut as his new small yet sturdy potbelly made its presence known. Completely oblivious to the metamorphosis happening right under his nose that completely eradicated his skinny figure, Alex continued, his voice sounding just a tad more gruff than before. “Listen, when you’ve edited enough literary journals as I have, enriching your vocabulary is a natural aftereffect.” 

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Emma remarked. “I’m actually looking to become one of the top editors for the school’s literary journal. It’s been a gradual process but it’s really helping me improve my writing skills.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Alex bellowed while his belly distended forward, curving both his suspenders and suit jacket against its growing mass. Luckily, his clothes stretched in unison with his power gut, refusing to strain or tear one single fiber. His belly continued to swell larger and larger until it grew so impressive that it offset his center of gravity. Subconsciously, Alex widened his stance and positioned his legs further apart, which allowed for his hindquarters to expand outward with sturdy, robust muscle to carry this growing boulder. 

“How funny,” Alex remarked gleefully, unaware of the strengthening muscles in his loins that supported his increasing weight. “I experienced quite a similar thing when I attended university.” His doubts and confusion seemed to vanish as a brand new memory crossed his psyche. “I knew that I had always been a writer of sorts, but when I joined the Mosaic Journal, it all seemed to click for me. It was the reason I gained confidence and befriended all of my cronies. Even though it started out as just a hobby, it gradually prepared me for everything else to come in my career.” 

“That’s really inspirational to hear,” Emma replied with an earnest smile before a puzzled expression crossed her face. She craned her neck slightly up at the well-dressed, plumpening man in front of her. “Thank you very much, Mister…erm…”

“Keating,” Alex finished. 

Mr. Keating. He loved the sound of that. 

Another wave of growth pulsed through him. Now, his belly had developed an unmistakable droop and part of his white dress shirt now poked out from beneath his gray suit jacket. A pendulous weight as round and firm as a pumpkin now hung over the loops of his suit pants. Alex blinked and swore he felt himself slip out of his distracted state. Glancing down at the sphere below him for a brief moment, he realized he couldn’t even see his feet. 

The girl in front of him piped up again. “Well, I’ve got to head to class Mr. Keating, but I’ll see you around! Thanks again!” 

Alex gave a close lipped smile as he waved goodbye to the girl as she walked past him and down the hall. Once she was out of sight, he fixed his attention back to that unmistakable spare tire of his. A peculiar mix of excitement and fear washed over him. On one hand, it felt nice to be admired and treated as if he had one ounce of authority, but on the other hand, that idea sent shivers down his spine. Curiously, he gripped one side of his hairy ball belly and studied the feeling of muscle in his hand. It was very disarming. Bellies were supposed to be unsightly and flabby, but Alex’s gut was different. Although it had a faint layer of pudge on top, underneath it felt like a firm, heavy boulder. Not sure what to make of this, Alex turned his attention to his watch, enjoying the subtle luxury it exuded. “I feel powerful,” was all he could say and his lips twitched upright into a smirk. 

All of a sudden, the door for a nearby lecture hall opened up and students poured into the hallway. A few of them couldn’t help but turn and glance over at Alex as they exited, but how could they not? His wide frame took up nearly the entire corridor, not to mention how outlandishly dressed he was compared to them. The color drained from Alex’s face as the familiar dread recirculated through his head. Being powerful and mature seemed cool a moment ago, but maybe he wasn’t ready nor deserving of it. After all, he had trouble even writing a simple essay or conducting a speech, and that’s something that powerful people do all the time. And powerful people certainly didn’t embarrass themselves in front of their number one crush! 

Alex tried to run, but from the first step, he realized that was impossible given the one-hundred pound weight attached to the front of him. Fuck, had his belly grown even larger since he last looked? As if that wasn’t enough, it wobbled in place with each wide step he took, forcing his gait to decelerate into a bumbling waddle. Thankfully, there was an exit door only a few steps ahead which would lead out into the school courtyard. Surely, there must be a vacant bench out there that he could rest on and compile his thoughts at… 

He shoved open the door and felt the brisk, fresh air immediately relieve him. As he shuffled along the sidewalk, he found that his stomach was not the only thing that was bouncing up and down. His thighs jiggled, his bulge bobbed, and ass all shook rhymically in unison. His dress pants felt tight once again, almost as if they were vacuum-sealed to those hairy legs of his. Alex tried to peer down at his legs, but was greeted only by the sight of the bulging buttons of his grey suit jacket. This damn belly seemed like such a nuisance. 

Alex turned to his right and noticed a large figure reflected in the plexiglass window next to him. He blinked and suddenly, everything became all blurry. At first, he’d thought the window was just dirty, but as he looked down at his golden watch, he found that it was also blurred. Something grazed the bridge of his nose, causing him to blink again. When his eyes opened back up, the world had shifted back into focus, and he realized his body had grown massively since he last saw it. Not only that, but a pair of metal round eyeglasses were now in the middle of his face.  

“What the…Is that…me?” Alex froze in place and marveled at his gargantuan, formally-dressed reflection. Everything was clearer than ever before. Although his circular-lensed glasses looked quite unsuitable for his youthful face, they made him look much more dignified. He wanted to hate them, but they truly did make him look more intelligent, which was a weird thing for him to consider. He’d always gotten average grades and never tried too hard in school, but being intelligent was starting to seem like an admirable trait. The next thing he noticed was his belly, which stretched so far out in front of him. His tall legs, once slender, also appeared to have developed some faint girth to them as well. Even his shoulders appeared to have broadened out a bit, making his youthful head look absurd on this hulking, hirsute figure. Sure enough, when he moved his body, the giant male reflection in the plexiglass did the same. His belly was so massive now that it partially concealed his massive bulge.

Curiously, Alex turned to his side profile and watched his weird muscle belly shift with him, jiggling up and down only a tiny bit. Partially hidden beneath his grey coattails, he noticed that his butt also appeared to have developed a discernible amount of plumpness. Its usually perkiness had been overridden by the same fusion of rigid muscle and pudge that had taken over his belly. Tacitly, Alex turned his back towards the glass and realized his rump’s growth was far from over. It inflated slowly and mercifully, with his dress pants seamlessly widening their waistline to accompany it. The perky, semi-muscular ass Alex had prided himself on was promptly overridden by rapidly multiplying layers of cellulite and firm muscle that fattened up his cheeks like elastic. The light grey fabric strained around his gray pants only accentuated his mountainous, rounder asscheeks further. Alex’s coattails proved to be no match for this ridiculously round butt of his and instead of concealing it like they had moments ago, they instead rested an inch below his pant loops. The pockets on either of his cheeks looked fit to burst. 

“This is fucking c-crazy,” Alex trembled, trying to fight his arousal. Thankfully his honeypot-shaped belly did a decent job of hiding his erection. “My butt looks like it could have its own zip code!” 

Alex continued watching as his thighs came in next, ballooning out into muscular cushions, which were more than capable of lugging this colossal figure around. Even his calves pressed out against his pants now, creating distinct muscular ovals in the fabric. Alex spun back around towards the plexiglass and felt his mass sway again with his movements. Fuck, was this going to be his life forever now? The idea seemed terrifying, but also oddly enticing. 

Alex faced the plexiglass again just in time to notice his midriff widen as two immense love handles stretched out from either side of his belly.  He lifted up his suit jacket and his mouth gaped at the glorious sight of them drooping just above his broad 44” inch waist. They looked ready to bulge out of his shirt like a Christmas ham. It was such a compelling sight - every part of his hairy figure stretching outward to occupy more space than he ever had as a skinny college student. He stared a little while longer, nearly toppling over as his pecs expanded out like airbags without notice. Alex’s meaty fingers clumsily fumbled with his suit lapel, but he flipped open his jacket just in time to see the two rectangular shapes make themselves known. Unlike his belly, his new meaty pecs consisted almost entirely of muscle. Mercifully, his tight dress shirt stretched with his torso’s irrefutable growth, refusing to tear even one inch. Alex stared at his enhanced reflection so longingly that he was getting lost in it. 

The sight of his youthful face in the midst of this masculine mountain of maturity was nothing short of erotic. Even the top curls of his hairy chest still dangled outward just above his second shirt button. He was nothing short of imposing. These new dinner plate-sized pecs resting on top of his enormous basketball belly in addition to a meaty moose knuckle and  great wide muscle ass…  He felt so turned on that he felt like he could just explode.

“Professor Ellsworth, you’re quite the sight for sore eyes! I figured you’d gone into hiding.”

Alex felt his world unfreeze. In the blink of an eye, his blazer had rebuttoned itself on its own, tightly shielding his meaty, hairy torso just as he turned around to face the mysterious voice. It was a tall, handsome man who looked to be in his forties dressed in a nice suit. A lanyard around his neck identified him as Professor Patrick Brown. He was kinda hot in a DILF way, but with his primarily silver hair, maybe he was a little too old for Alex . Oh well, the guy seemed nice enough at least… But wait a second, had he just called him a professor?!

“How has your week been, Professor? Are you still mentoring the debate team? How’s that going?” 

“Mentoring?” Alex repeated aloud. He wanted to disavow this claim but it was like this man’s words had injected memories into his head. He had been helping a group of twenty or so students improve their debate skills and conducting a multitude of discussions in the classroom that carried on for hours sometimes. “I…uh…guess I did mentor them,” Alex said, feeling the world twisting around him as he tried to piece together this new reality and life  he was stepping into. He felt himself obeying these new recollections. His cock shivered as he imagined himself as the professor this guy said he was - speaking in a more authoritative manner and seeing students develop new skills with his guidance. “My students…uh…they have gotten so proficient over the semester, I swear they hardly need me to give them guidance in their debates.” A rich and hearty chortle tumbled out of him as he pictured himself leading a group of students his age. “Yes, I do suppose it makes me feel proud…in a way.” 

“That’s great, you should be proud!” 

“I…am…proud…” Alex replied, almost moaning as he felt his arms erupt forth with mass. His sleeves, once baggy, promptly cinched around his rapidly swelling biceps and triceps. 

He tried to maintain eye contact with Professor Brown while he tried to suppress the erotic thought that they were becoming equals in not only physicality, but also status. It made sense. Alex’s suit was just as nice as this man’s, but at least he wasn’t as old as a guy like that. Although, the dude looked to be in pretty good shape for being in his 50s. Another wave of energy pulsed through Alex. His toes curled in his brogues as he felt his biceps bulge against his dress shirt, straining the fabric to its limit just like every other body part of his was doing. It felt so good to feel every part of him expand larger than he could've ever imagined. He stole a quick glance to see that next to his prominent pecs were a pair of arms whose bulk could be seen through his grey suit jacket. 

Alex smirked. This guy was treating him like a professor and even though it felt wrong to keep playing with the idea, the satisfaction was too much to resist. Not only that but it was rather intoxicating to talk to another adult who treated him like a mature equal. A few thin bristles sprouted out above Alex’s lips as his semi-nasally yet gruff voice broke the brief silence. “How have…uh…your students been this semester?” 

“Mostly great. You know me though, I’m just trying to get the last of my assignments graded before finals week. The struggles of being a professor, you know how it is.” “Yes, isn’t it such drudgery?” Alex replied. Before he could question his word choice, a giant caterpillar of a mustache sprouted out from his face. Thick tendrils sensated his upper lip which in turn began to develop some additional plumpness. 

“My, my. You have a phrase for everything, don't you Professor Ellsworth?”

Alex chortled at that goofy last name again, and felt his corpulent stomach bounce. This time when he spoke he felt this new deft and competent personality coming on stronger than before. When he spoke, the voice that came out of him was significantly lower-pitched and matched the vocal gruffness that was plaguing him all day. “Being a department head for nearly thirty years means you have a locution for every feasible circumstance.” He tried to clear his throat. The rational part of him realized this weird voice should disappear, but this strengthened, mature voice in him started to overpower that. If he was an experienced professor, then it made sense he had to change and have a voice to match. Alex’s cock bobbed again in his trousers and he realized how much he was enjoying this. Wait, had he said he’d been here for thirty years?

“Wow! Has it really been thirty years for you?” Professor Brown in front of him was impressed. “I suppose it makes sense though. I remember meeting you for the first time around ten years ago, but that was back when we both had a lot less wrinkles on our faces, right?” 

“Wow, thirty years,” Alex parrotted. Thirty years was longer than he’d even been alive yet the idea of existing in decades he’d never experienced was quite a thrilling concept. It was kinda cool how his mind now filled in the blanks. Recollections of being a diligent, insightful, and somewhat brusque professor from the 1990s to present day promptly eclipsed any previous memories of being a kid during that time period. Any vestigial fear of his was quickly smothered by a plethora of memories of teaching thousands of prospective students. He knew each building like the back of his hand and he’d taught classes inside a good number of them. Tens of different classes of varying skills, although most were a mix of writing or literature courses. He was a smart guy. Super erudite. He had three decades of tenure as one of the leading professors in this university. He was well-renowned in his field as well, having written a multitude of journals and essays too. He smiled proudly and a pair of pronounced crows’ feet marked themselves on the opposite corners of his eyes. 

Suddenly, there was a buzzing in Alex’s pocket. He flipped open his brown leather phone case and squinted his eyes as he read the caller ID of James H. A drop of triumph pinged through him; he could finally figure out who one of these bizarre new contacts in his phone were. “Sorry Pat, I gotta take this,” Alex heard himself say. “I’ll see you at the faculty meeting on Friday. Take care,” He spun around and held the phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

An apprehensive yet all-too-familiar voice came through the line. “Hey uh, I know this is a bit out of nowhere, but I randomly thought about you after class.” 

“James,” Alex trembled, his fear sounding almost comical paired with his sophisticated bass. He’d tried to say Mr. Hawthorne, but his mouth completely betrayed his thoughts. In one instant, he felt all of his newfound adulthood disintegrate and he remembered he was just some gangly kid with a one-sided crush on his teacher. But then, why did this teacher have his phone number? 

“I know, sorry to just call you out of nowhere.  How are you? Do you have a free moment?” James ventured again. His usually commanding voice sounded rather subdued. He almost sounded servile. 

“Yeah, I’m free. I’ve been doing quite well,” Alex boomed. He’d tried to soften his words to match James’ meekness, but his loud, boisterous voice prevented that possibility. “Just uh…finished my 2PM lecture,” he fibbed with a cocky belly laugh. His cock throbbed again in his pants hearing not only James’ sexy voice, but his own as well.  

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you, right?” James confided, his familiar confidence resurfacing. “Chris and I both really…We miss you a lot. We haven’t been able to think of much else since you came over last Saturday.”

Alex’s head was spinning. It was so fucking erotic to hear James talk to him this way and his head was overrun by the intoxicating idea that his dream could be coming true, but what was he talking about? And who was Chris? “Oh really?” he swallowed, trying to prevent his throat from drying up. “What were we doing there?” he added, although his weird, new sultry bass made his tone sound much more flirtatious. Wait, how had his voice even sounded before all this? 

“Oh, I think you know exactly what we were doing there,” James purred. “Chris won’t shut up about that sexy muscle gut of yours.”

Alex’s hips gave an uncontrollable buck; he felt like he was going to explode. More wrinkles carved themselves into his youthful face, finally reflecting the innate maturity locked inside him and ready to be unleashed. A blast of confidence poured through him as this new gruff persona began to override his meeker one. “Yeah, it’s no surprise he couldn’t take his eyes off me. You couldn’t either.” Alex said, surprised by his own temerity. He blinked and he could see himself  next to James and another burly, muscular man. The two studs were rubbing their washboard abs against his potbelly while they feverishly worshipped and caressed every inch of his massive figure as he towered over them. Then, he’d taken turns kissing and fucking them and they loved every single second of it. They begged for it. For the first time, Alex didn’t question this new memory. After all, what was there to question? He was the entire package. A wise, handsome, prized scholar who loved nothing more than to get his rocks off and assert his maturity all over fellow men. Some skinny, some fat, some muscular. It didn’t matter. They all worshipped the fuck out of his massive daddy cock and lusted for the chance to caress his enormous corpulent figure. 

James sounded aroused too. “Can you get over here for just a minute? I’ve only got twenty minutes till my next class. I know we’ve got plans anyway to meet up later tonight, but I really want to see you all dressed up, Roy.”

“On my way,” Alex replied, his tone cold and authoritative. Mercifully, the courtyard had been devoid of eavesdropping students. Alex snickered. This was a recurring problem of his. Although he pledged to keep his concupiscence separate from his career, oftentimes the two intertwined. But he couldn’t help being so turned by himself all the time.

As he stepped back inside the hall, his boyish face started to undergo a permanent metamorphosis. “Roy,” he whispered to himself and felt the power of that name travel through every nook and cranny of his brain. His boyish face was no match for the omnipresent adulthood enveloping him. His lips plumped out, becoming more pronounced and kissable beneath his blonde 1970s porno mustache while a prominent yet somewhat fat chin forcefully pushed itself outward. Two faint dimples appeared on Alex’s cheeks and his blank expression turned into a naturally radiant close-lipped smile, almost like that of Santa Claus. His cheeks grew larger while his nose grew fatter and rounder. By this point, he was unrecognizable from the scrawny 20 year old he’d been before. He knew this, and despite such significant changes, he knew that this new body felt much more befitting. He was meant to be smart and adored by his peers. Although he couldn’t have James all to himself, this outcome he’d never thought possible was more than enough. Besides now that he probably had a good thirty years of age on his fellow professor, they didn’t seem as compatible as before. They were simply from two different generations now. It didn’t take anything away from how attracted and respectful they still were to each other, in both a personal and professional sense. Perhaps this was a new yet equally strong type of love.

To complement this, a stripe of white hair appeared on Alex’s scalp. It promptly started at the crown of his head, spreading silver follicles like an ocean tide while pushing his hairline back a few millimeters in the process. His eyebrows and mustache both bleached themselves as well, giving him that weathered, authoritative look. Instead of shyly staring at the ground as he walked, Alex subconsciously squared his shoulders and glanced around, now choosing to nod and smile at passersby. The distinct rapping of his dress shoes certainly turned heads, but he was used to the glances and whispers from students. Swaddled in his favorite formalwear, Alex felt sexier than he ever had as a twenty-something. With every step he took, the reality of him being a fledgling gay college student grew farther and farther away. The amount of intoxicating testosterone undulating through his hulking, hairy, larger-than-life figure was enough to eradicate his old self for good. 

As Alex opened the door to James’ classroom, any remnants of his innocent, juvenile crush were converted into an unbridled lust. Professor Roy Ellsworth couldn’t be tied down. Every guy in town wanted to taste his 55 year old professor cock – and he couldn’t blame them at all! With the loveable charm of a grandfather and the libido of a prized stallion, it was no wonder that Roy never had any trouble picking up men. Guys loved to bask in his sweet, manly power and James and his buff husband Chris were no exception. He was so good at pleasuring both of them that it was nearly a weekly thing. It was far from Roy’s first interaction with a married man or even married men for that matter. 

James’ face lit up and stood up from his desk as Roy entered the empty classroom. With his width, he hardly made it through the door without rubbing against the doorframe. Always overdressed, Roy’s suit was quite the contrast to James’ dress shirt and khakis, but James loved it. It only accentuated the fact that Roy was technically his superior and James savored every bit of that dynamic. “Shut the door behind you,” James said in his casual yet enamored tone. Both mens’ erect bulges bounced as they made their way to each other. Roy raised one of his bushy eyebrows and gave his bulge a playful shake. 

“Glad to see you, stud,” Roy smirked as the two embraced. His enormous potbelly smushed against James’ washboard abs. “Fuck, you’re looking incredible today. I swear your muscles grow everytime I see you.” He knew exactly what to say to get his coworker riled up.

“Say that in front of Chris,” James replied, unable to resist giving Roy a quick peck on the lips. He placed one of his hands on Roy’s belly and gave it a shake. “That’ll push him over the edge.” 

“Will do,” Roy replied, placing one of his meaty hands on James’ muscular shoulder. “You know the highlight of my week is taking turns on my two prized muscle studs.” 

“You’re a fucking pro at it,” James purred as he leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and passionate. A surge of lust overcame Roy and he promptly pressed his coworker against the wall, which was a rather easy feat given his new found strength. James moaned in agreement and brought a hand to Roy’s round cheeks, even giving some of his longer mustache hairs a twirl. As compensation, Roy gave James’ muscular ass a firm squeeze. It was quite the hot sight. Even though James had the build of an amateur bodybuilder, he was no match for the old-school strength of a burly powerlifter like Roy. 

Roy smiled as he pulled away. “Whoa now boy, let’s save some of that for tonight.”

James took a deep breath, his face already red with emotion. “That’s fair,” he breathed. “We’re getting quite brazen.”

“Nothing wrong with a little presumption,” Roy smiled, running a hand through his coworker’s short gelled hair. 

“Hey, don't mess it up.” James retorted, although he tried to sound indignant, his tone was far more playful. It was adorable. Roy had that effect on guys. Their tough-guy facades always crumbled when they took his daddy dick. There was nothing more he loved than toying with his men. 

“Sheesh look at those guns,” Roy remarked, changing the subject. “You’ve gotta flex for me before I head out.”

A loving smile appeared on James’ face. “What? These old things,” he laughed before flexing his right arm up to flex, the seams of his dress shirt strained against the mass of his impressive bicep. “They’re made for worshipping that sexy powerlifter belly of yours.”

“That’s what daddy likes to hear,” Roy replied as James let out a deep breath, as if he was fantasizing about Roy right in front of him. Roy turned to the side, but still looked over his shoulder at James, giving him a view of his near-impossible width all packed into his fancy formalwear. “I see you’ve been working out for me,” he said. “You’re getting bigger every week for me, I love to see that.”

“Of course daddy,” James replied before striking another pose. “It’s all for you.”

“Well, daddy has to go teach his 2:30 PM lecture, but he will reward you and a husband of your choice handsomely with his cock later tonight,” Roy said with a sly wink. “See you two then.” He then turned, allowing James to soak in the view of his massive back, all draped in his bedsheet-sized grey suit jacket, however he playfully gave his coattails a little flick to give his coworker an uninhibited view of his massive daddy ass. He knew his immense butt was always a favorite of the guys he fooled around with. “Take care,” he said, turning his nub of a neck to the side before pushing the door back open and walking back through the hall.

James listened until the distinct rapping of his shoes were out of earshot and he sat in silence for a brief moment. His mind was racing, excitedly thinking of how amazing he and Chris were going to feel tonight. This whole affair with Roy had fueled a mutual fulfillment of he and his husband’s innermost daddy kink and they loved every second of it. Roy did too, clearly. It was the perfect arrangement and every party seemed more than satisfied. James brushed off his shirt and pants and sat back down at his desk. He took a deep, victorious breath. “I’m so glad we can be together.”

[visceral-stories]

Unexpected Education

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Surprise! Thank you all for still supporting me in this turbulent year despite my infrequent posting and I hope you all are staying safe out there. Enjoy my most recent visceral story!

“Introduction to Communication Studies” had quickly become Alex Keating’s favorite class. It had been an unlikely unity. As a college freshman who was undecided on his major, he’d only taken this class to fulfill a liberal arts requirement at his university and it wasn’t like he was passionate about giving speeches and having large class discussions. Even though he was a new freshman and had yet to officially declare his major, he already had a plan to become either a business or econ major. Instead, the main reason Alex loved his communications class was because he’d developed a debilitating crush on his handsome professor, Mr. Hawthorne. One of his best girlfriends, Emma knew this, and always teased him about it. 

Alex couldn’t help himself; Mr. Hawthorne had next-level beauty. With short, raven-black hair, light stubble, and an incredible jawline, he was so freakishly handsome. His hair was always short and neatly-coiffed, he was rather muscular and always wore tight-fitting clothes that accentuated his curves, he looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties, and he had an earnest smile that would make anyone melt. 

“Focus on the presentation.” Emma whispered, giving her friend a playful push. “Don’t forget he’s got a ring on that finger, right?”

“Screw you,” Alex whispered back with a chuckle. His one-sided crush was an open secret among them although it hadn’t been too hard for her to put two and two together. 

He’d been in dreamland again. Mr. Hawthorne had been giving a speech about the importance of exigence in an argumentative speech, but all Alex could focus on was that sexy bulge of his in his tight brown khakis. It swayed from side to side when he talked and Alex was grateful that his desk concealed the half-chubs he’d always get in this class. 

A few more minutes went by until Mr. Hawthorne spun around and looked at the clock. “Alright class,” he boomed. “It looks like that’s all the time we have for today. As always, I’m here for any questions you may have. Remember, your outlines for your argumentative speeches are due on Monday at the start of class!” 

As usual, half the students grabbed their bags and darted out of class, but Alex took his sweet time putting his things away. He tried not to stare at his favorite professor’s perky ass during his brief walk to his desk but couldn’t resist sneaking a peek, much to Emma’s amusement. 

“So, do you have an outline for your speech, Alex?” she asked coyly. “Or were you too busy thinking of other things?” 

“God, can you blame me,” Alex groaned . “He was looking like a whole-ass snack today. How could I expect to focus?” He sat up straight in his chair and eyed his notebook which contained a few doodles and zero helpful notes on how to make an effective topic for a speech.. “Oh yeah….the speech… Shit! I do need a good topic, maybe Mr. Hawthorne could give me some pointers...”

“Oh?” Emma replied as she zipped up her backpack. “Are you actually gonna talk to him today?” “Yeah, I probably should,” Alex admitted, tucking his mostly-empty notebook away. “It feels dumb though, maybe I should just research it online. I don’t want to bother him.” 

“No, no, It’s a good excuse to talk to him,” Emma said as she put her backpack on, humoring her friend’s crush. “The semester is like halfway done anyway, so it’s about time you finally talked one-on-one. I know you’ve been too scared in the past, but that’s literally what he’s there for: to help you.” Alex didn’t look convinced - a blank nervous expression appeared on his face. “You’ll feel better talking to him and also asking for help than not asking at all.”

“What if I say something stupid in front of him?” Alex asked, a rosiness overcoming his cheeks.

“I promise you won’t,” Emma reassured. “Look I gotta go, but I’ll see you at Sophie’s party tonight. Don’t get too tongue-tied, okay?”

“Okay, see ya later,” Alex said as she exited the room. He then turned towards Mr. Hawthorne who was already conversing with another inquiring student. A deluge of conflicting thoughts ran through his mind - some rational, some irrational. Genuinely, he did need help preparing his speech, but his mind was overrun with fantasies. His legs felt like they were submerged in quicksand as he trudged closer to his crush’s desk. Mr. Hawthorne perked up slightly and gave Alex a subtle, curt nod while he continued his conversation. That faint golden glow of his wedding band tantalized Alex. At that moment, a thought came to his head.  He wished the two of them could be together. He knew it was a stupid and mortifying thought, but it was true.

Mr. Hawthorne flashed a smile to Alex as the student in front of him turned and finally walked out the door. “Hey there, what can I do for you?”

Shit. There was no going back. 

“Hi Mr. Hawthorne,” Alex smiled. He tried to put on his best confident facade, but his words stumbled out like gravel from his shaky throat  “I was just uh…wondering what to do for a topic for my…argument essay thing. I’m uh…having trouble deciding.” 

Mr. Hawthorne nodded. “Well, the most important thing is to pick a topic that really resonates with you. Something you would feel comfortable discussing and defending in detail. Do you have any in mind?”

“I-uh…” Alex’s mind went blank as he scoured for any possible topic to talk about. He felt himself shrink for a moment staring at his professor’s dreamy eyes and his plump, kissable lips. It felt so foolish: to be smitten by a man who definitely didn’t feel the same way. Even if Mr. Hawthorne was gay, he couldn’t envision a hunk who had to be at least ten years older than him courting for a timid guy like him. It was the stuff of those nonsensical fantasies in his head. Finally, he stopped staring into his crush’s dreamy brown eyes and threw out a random idea for this stupid speech.. “Maybe I could do something about social media or something?”

“That sounds intriguing. What would you argue?”

Alex took a deep breath. Mr. Hawthorne was using that fake-interested voice that teachers often use. “What would I argue about…what would I argue about?” he reiterated aloud. His mind went blank, trying to focus. He squirmed in place and a wave of embarrassment sweltered through him. His clothes even started to feel uncomfortable, as he swore his shirt felt like it was bunching in his armpits and his pants were clinging tighter to his legs. He simply chalked it up to nerves. Despite his best attempts to rally himself and come up with a coherent thought though, his plan quickly floundered. “I would try to talk about social media being bad, but…uh…I’m really not sure anymore,” Alex admitted, a tinge of shame in his voice. He was realizing in real time how foolish his crush was. 

A sympathetic expression came over Mr. Hawthorne’s face and Alex’s heart skipped a beat. His emotions felt like they were going to boil over. Warm sweat coated his forehead and he almost felt like he could cry. His clothes still felt increasingly uncomfortable though, but his adrenaline prevented him from noticing. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “It’s completely okay to feel unsure about a topic. Since you’re interested in social media, think of the effects it has on you or other individuals. Consider whether you'd want to argue about its benefits or its detriments.”

“Ah right, right,” Alex agreed, trying his best not to be awkward. He tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously and had a frightening realization: the distance between him and Mr. Hawthorne was increasing. Glancing down at his legs, he noticed that they were longer and spindlier than before. It was a little painful: the way that his black shorts had started to ride up his thighs and the way that his t-shirt began to ride upward, threatening to expose part of his waist. It became impossible to ignore. “I…uh, whoa!” Alex exclaimed, sticking out his arms like he was on a balance beam. “Wait, what is happening?”

“Is everything alright, Alex?”

No, everything was not alright. The one time Alex had chosen to talk to his crush, the weirdest, most embarrassing thing had to happen. What the hell was even going on?

“Y-yeah,” Alex stuttered, his face reddening like a pomegranate. “I was th-thinking I should do my speech on social media,” he said, trying to recover, but the changes were escalating rapidly. His legs extended like beanstalks, hoisting him even higher, his shirt tightened over his baseless chest, and his feet pressed against his sneakers. It was all so overwhelming.  

“Mr. Keating, are you feeling okay?” Mr. Hawthorne inquired - a look of concern present on his face. 

“Yeah, n-never better,” Alex said, although his look of panic told another story. It seemed his height was finally reaching a plateau, now exaggerating his lankiness to a near-cartoonish degree. He knew he should’ve been 5’6” but he towered over the desk now, as if he’d grown an entire foot! “Wait, wh-why did you call me by my last-”

RIIIPP!!

The feeling of air against Alex’s belly button left zero doubt that his shirt had torn in the front, exposing his pale, slim abdomen. Or…at least it should be slim, right? Instead, it appeared to have taken on a little pudge. Or was it muscle? He couldn’t tell, but he swore he could make out the definition of an extremely-faint indentation on his stomach. Even worse, his blue and white vertical-striped t-shirt now closely resembled a crop top. God, why was this happening?

When Alex looked back up, he noticed that Mr. Hawthorne’s cheeks had also reddened. The corners of his mouth were lifted slightly, as if he was trying to repress a smile. It seemed that both of them were a little hot and bothered. Mr. Hawthorne stood up from his desk and the two were nearly at eye level now. Surprisingly enough, it appeared Alex now had a few inches on his professor. “Sir, I think you should-”

“Sir?” Alex squeaked, his eyes welling with tears as his face burned red with levels of humiliation he didn’t think were possible. In response to hearing that seemingly insignificant word, his cock bobbed up in his tight shorts, making them even more uncomfortable than before. First being referred to by his last name and now sir. It seemed rather bizarre for a laid-back professor like Mr. Hawthorne to talk to him like that. “No one’s ever called me…” Alex trailed off. It was getting so hot in here that he felt like he could faint. He felt like a lanky freak. 

“I have to go,” was all he said before darting out the door. Mr. Hawthorne uttered some sort of rebuttal, but Alex didn’t care. Mortification was an understatement for how he felt right now. Unfortunately, the hallway offered zero respite. The bevy of quizzical looks from the few idle students outside only further crippled his self esteem. However, as he looked around at the crowd, he realized that he towered most of them now. Alex tried not to pay it any mind - he just wanted to escape and maybe to call Emma for help. With his clothes threatening to burst, he hastily scrambled through the corridor until finally he found refuge: a unisex bathroom at the end of the hall. Fittingly, there was a loud ripping sound as soon as he hurled himself through the door and locked it. He wearily tried to catch his breath as he flipped on the lightswitch. Finally, some peace. Now he could try to assess what the hell just happened to him. 

“Fuck me…” Alex cried, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was so tall now that he had to bend his knees just to see his reflection. His shredded t-shirt more closely resembled a toga that left his navel on prime display. His shorts fared no better; they were vacuum-sealed around his thighs and threatening to burst. It looked like he was standing in front of some funhouse mirror, but no, this was really happening. Alex contemplated for a brief moment. He’d never been tall before and it definitely was a nice, unexpected change. “Oh my god I…totally embarrassed myself and…I look like a freak!” he exclaimed, gazing at his sweaty, red-faced reflection. He ran a hand through his ruffled blonde hair and tried in vain to pull his shirt down over his stomach. Cursing again, his fingers brushed against the waistband of his shorts. 

The movement triggered a chain reaction through his clothes. Emanating from his pockets, a wave of light gray fabric gradually stained the top of his black gym shorts. An oval of pant loops flowered around his waistline, converting the cheap spandex to a boxy yet soft polyester textile. Just above his butt, a strip of rayon materialized and attached itself to one of the new pant loops. As this mysterious strip elongated, it quickly formed into the beginning of a pair of suspenders. 

Suddenly, a deep pain emanated from his crotch and ass. “AAAIIYYEE!!” he yelped, his voice echoing across the bathroom. In one instant, Alex’s balls and buttcheeks were being compressed by his tightening pair of shorts. Thankfully, the sensation slackened after a mere second of awkward agony, and Alex quickly discerned the culprit to be a leather strap that was rapidly materializing up the middle of his back and hiking his shorts higher. “What the hell!” he snarled, feeling the leather strap slink up his back before it reached his shoulders where it promptly split in two. In the mirror, Alex watched as a brand new pair of brown suspender straps gracefully unraveled down into two straight lines over his tattered shirt. As the dapper suspenders reached his pant loops, they simultaneously developed metal clasps and fastened themselves to Alex’s shorts, raising them slightly higher. 

Alex was speechless. His shorts were leaving nothing to the imagination. A quick glance in the mirror revealed that his bulge was clearly visible - not to mention, how uncomfortable his gray wool shorts felt as they dug into his asscrack. Irritated and bewildered, he grabbed at his bulge to readjust it, but the motion only aggravated the wool and polyester fabric and caused his skimpy, lederhosen-esque shorts began to subtly vibrate. To his shock, they then started to crawl down his lower body. It tickled at first so he kicked his leg, but that only provoked the fabric to cascade freely down his thighs and calves until they stopped at his ankles. As he looked at his reflection, he gasped as he found himself fully draped in a dapper pair of expensive-looking gray pants. “Wait, what is this?” Alex was beside himself. He spun around, studying this new article of clothing that he would have never worn by choice. The last time he even wore anything remotely formal was for his high school graduation years ago. He wanted to investigate further, but another tingling sensation in his abdomen prevented him. 

A momentary gust of wind inundated Alex’s face, causing him to shut his eyes. When he reopened them, he noticed that the culprit had been his t-shirt, which had stretched down unexpectedly to conceal his exposed midriff. Held down by his new suspenders, the taut shirt also began to dye itself a pale white and it produced a new, refined textile out in opposite directions. A decadent poplin swiftly climbed up his cheap cotton shirt and rapidly stitched itself together to fill in the holes. It felt sensational as the luxurious fabric delicately crept around Alex’s navel and tickled the small of his back. 

“Wh-whoa, this feels great,” he purred, completely floored at how something as trivial as clothing was starting to turn him on. The fabric made its way to his neck where it hardened and flapped up before promptly folding down into a neat crease revealing that a new shirt collar had bloomed into existence. 

Before he could focus on that, a column of buttons materialized across his chest and abdomen, immediately clasping themselves shut. Alex ran a finger across the top ones: an action which caused his cock to suddenly ascend higher and strain against the constraints of his new dress pants. Nervously, he examined his arms by slowly turning them back and forth. With rapt attention, he watched as buttons fastened around his wrists, and finalized the creation of a pristine white dress shirt that now enveloped his torso. He kicked one of his legs, feeling the gray silk of his dress pants swish with his movements. “I look so adult,” he mused. “This is kinda awesome! Oh my…How on earth is this possible?”

Alex’s thoughts were diverted as another ticklish feeling emanated from his crotch. He watched in awe as his zipper elongated and stretched down on its own, as if it was bulging out to allow for a larger package to occupy it. Even though it was confusing, he was relieved that his fancy new dress pants were finally giving his cock some much-needed room. He exhaled and felt beads of sweat appear on his forehead. This tiny bathroom was starting to feel cramped and stuffy and these new proper clothes weren’t assuaging him much, but it wasn’t like he could just walk out looking like this! Alex groaned and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he was dressed for church with his fancy shirt and dorky suspenders. At least the clothes seemed rather fitted to his trim figure. Curiously, he turned around and eyed his perky butt in the bathroom mirror. He gave it a little shake and smiled. Although his butt was not as muscular or perky as Mr. Hawthorne’s, his trousers definitely helped accentuate his curves. Maybe there were some benefits to these swanky clothes. 

The second thing Alex noticed was a bright glimmer just below his phone. Somehow, a shimmering golden watch had appeared around his right wrist! “What the hell is this now?” Alex’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat. For some reason, his voice sounded rather gravelly. And rather cantankerous. “This is unbelievable,” he said with a cough that thankfully came from his familiar, shaky voice. “Why did I put this watch on today?”

Alex gazed at the watch and a new memory entered his head. He could remember buying this watch from one of those boutique jewelry shops downtown. It eroded his previous thought that a college kid like him couldn’t afford such a thing. But that couldn’t be true. The proof was staring him right in the eye, taunting him with its luxury and maturity. No nineteen year old would ever wear something as sophisticated as this. Alex’s cock throbbed in his trousers at that thought. That’s right. Sophisticated. What a powerful, all-encompassing word. He’d never thought of himself as sophisticated before. Even the cashier at the jewelry store had commented on that sophisticated presence of his when he’d bought this gold watch. 

“The girls aren’t gonna believe this,” Alex said, his heart beating faster now as he logged back into his phone, eager to update his Snapchat with a picture of the watch. He swiped through his home screen, but the app was nowhere to be found. Instinctively, he opened up his messages app and found that not only had the text grown to an embarrassingly large size, but also his inbox was filled with a multitude of names he didn’t recognize. Charles, Michael, Bill, Thomas, Wallace, Benjamin, Arthur?  Who the hell were those people?

He wanted to search his phone further, however a few pinpricks in his arms caught his attention. In a series of small bursts , he could feel thousands of tiny hairs sprout across his arms, rapidly elongating and twisting around on themselves. A bundle of blonde curlicues in particular unfurled on top of his wrist - the brown-colored tendrils piled up below his Micheal Kors golden watch. Delicately, the hairs rubbed against the insides of his dress shirt while they glided towards his shoulders. 

Alex had never considered himself a hairy guy, but it was like his mind was playing catch up with reality. As the ocean of hair rapidly made its way to his armpits and then to his chest, he doubted the validity of that thought. Of course he was a hairy guy. Abnormally hairy even. At first, he could remember being insecure about it, but the older he’d gotten the more he’d embraced having a hairy chest and hairy legs and even an unsightly patch on his lower back. 

“Mmmm fuck,” Alex moaned as the carpet of hair trailed over his bare skin. It felt like a million caresses across his small pecs. He felt corrupted in a way. It was odd to believe that a 20 year old could even grow this much hair, but the evidence was staring him right in the face. Serendipitously, his top shirt button popped open, revealing a bundle of manly curls spiraling outward and over the fabric. “I look like a freak,” Alex said. Despite the faint disgust in his voice, he couldn’t mask his suppressed enjoyment of the ordeal. He squirmed in place as the hair rapidly descended over his crotch and down to his legs. By the time it finally stopped, Alex’s boner had only gotten harder. All this hair - it made him feel great and manly, yet also slightly revolted by the whole ordeal. He swayed around on his Nike sneakers and felt his blanket of hair rub up against his clothes and he couldn’t help but simper. These fancy clothes, this hair. Why was this all happening to him? Or rather…how long had his body been like this? 

Alex’s phone had long since gone into sleep mode and he realized he’d been in this bathroom for quite a while. Putting the device in his pocket, he felt a brief wave of trepidation pass through him as he gripped the door handle. This hirsute body and enhanced wardrobe of his would definitely turn heads, but maybe he could just get to his next class and things would all be okay. Wait, which class was that again? God, his mind was feeling fuzzy. He just needed to get out of this damn bathroom. 

Thankfully, the coast was clear as Alex, the overdressed, hairy college student slipped back into the hallway. As he tried to silently make his way through the atrium, a faint click-clack rhythm crescendoed to fill the mostly vacant airspace. It took a few moments for him to realize the tapping was coming from his shoes. He stopped in place and felt a faint breeze blow against his gray wool pants. “My shoes…”  he whispered incredulously. For a moment, he wondered if he’d stepped in mud, but that wasn’t the case. Instead of his typical black and white Nike trainers, a pair of glossy brown Brogues were staring back at him - the thin laces perfectly tied. Even Alex’s socks felt more silky, as if they’d turned from low-rise athletic socks to skintight pinstriped shears. “I d-don’t remember putting these on today,” he stuttered, yet as he blinked, an image of an immaculately organized closet full of dress shoes and loafers flashed through his mind. It was a familiar sight - him sitting in his chair sliding his nylon black socks over his calves every day getting ready for work - even though a struggling part of him swore he didn’t have a job. He blinked again and was met with another image of a bedroom cabinet filled with dress shirts and blazers all suspended by hangers. They all were so large they resembled blankets. Another blink and Alex was back to reality - his dizzying, nonsensical reality. He was just about to exit through the front door when he suddenly heard a familiar voice . 

“Hey Alex, you okay?”

Alex’s spine straightened up at the sound of his name. He peered at the girl in front of him while his brain took a second to process. He knew her right? Right, it was his friend: Emma, of course! She looked…shorter than he remembered for some reason, but he didn’t have time to think about that. She would know how to get him out of this mess! “Why hello there,” Alex boomed, immediately cringing at how rehearsed his theatrically jovial tone sounded. He cleared his throat in disgust. “Emma, I need your help. I-I’ve been feeling weird all day.” 

Emma made a face and glanced up at him. “Weird how?” 

“I don’t know how to explain,” Alex replied, his voice on the verge of whining. “I just….I-I feel like something’s super wrong with me today.” 

“Dude, come on. Is this still about Hawthorne?” She coyly giggled. “Did he start kissing you after you told him your research paper topic?”

Alex’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in minutes hearing that familiar laugh. The anxiety he’d been feeling started to diffuse out into a mild vexation. “No, no it was just…kinda embarrassing… At least, I think it was? I was talking to him and then I had to leave for some reason.” Alex paused for a moment as if he was having trouble recalling the events from minutes ago. “I don’t know. I still feel all flustered about it. It’s quite unbecoming of me, I know.”

“Oh hush,” Emma dissuaded with a playful hand wave. “You’re a great guy. You’re like…super mature and professional all the time. You’re the only guy I’ve met who wears a suit to class every day.”

In milliseconds, a resplendent gray jacket identical to the shade of Alex’s pants appeared around his shoulders, draping itself around his short, skinny body like a cloak. It unraveled perfectly, leaving just enough space for his white dress sleeve cuffs and his shirt collar to poke out while also resting parallel to his waistline. As a bonus, it even covered up those suspenders he’d been incessantly embarrassed of. Instinctively, he ran his finger over a lapel and felt the distinct ridges of the corduroy against his fingertip. Simultaneously, he swore he felt a faint pulse emanate from his stomach. 

“Honestly, more guys should wear suits,” Emma continued. “I like the gray jacket today too. Makes you look cute!”

Alex blushed. “Why thank you very much, but…I don’t wanna look cute. I wanna look…handsome.” 

“Handsome, cute,  or whatever you wanna call it,” Emma said. “You’re an absolute catch and Hawthorne should appreciate that.”

Alex smiled. He took another deep breath, which caused a faint gurgling to emanate from his gut. “I appreciate the kind words very much, but it would be completely unscrupulous of me to even think about having an affair with one of my superiors.” 

“Unscrupulous?” “Yeah, you know, lacking morals or fair judgment.” Alex felt a faint pressure building in his gut. “Unprincipled, unethical, reprobate, exploitative-.”

“Alright, alright I got it. Calm down English major,” Emma laughed. 

A jolly, booming chortle emanated from Alex - one that far exceeded his usual tepid titter and lasted for a few seconds. During that time, his stomach started to widen like an inflating balloon, bobbing up and down inside his dress shirt as it gradually developed a spherical appearance. His once loose shirt buttons grew taut as his new small yet sturdy potbelly made its presence known. Completely oblivious to the metamorphosis happening right under his nose that completely eradicated his skinny figure, Alex continued, his voice sounding just a tad more gruff than before. “Listen, when you’ve edited enough literary journals as I have, enriching your vocabulary is a natural aftereffect.” 

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Emma remarked. “I’m actually looking to become one of the top editors for the school’s literary journal. It’s been a gradual process but it’s really helping me improve my writing skills.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Alex bellowed while his belly distended forward, curving both his suspenders and suit jacket against its growing mass. Luckily, his clothes stretched in unison with his power gut, refusing to strain or tear one single fiber. His belly continued to swell larger and larger until it grew so impressive that it offset his center of gravity. Subconsciously, Alex widened his stance and positioned his legs further apart, which allowed for his hindquarters to expand outward with sturdy, robust muscle to carry this growing boulder. 

“How funny,” Alex remarked gleefully, unaware of the strengthening muscles in his loins that supported his increasing weight. “I experienced quite a similar thing when I attended university.” His doubts and confusion seemed to vanish as a brand new memory crossed his psyche. “I knew that I had always been a writer of sorts, but when I joined the Mosaic Journal, it all seemed to click for me. It was the reason I gained confidence and befriended all of my cronies. Even though it started out as just a hobby, it gradually prepared me for everything else to come in my career.” 

“That’s really inspirational to hear,” Emma replied with an earnest smile before a puzzled expression crossed her face. She craned her neck slightly up at the well-dressed, plumpening man in front of her. “Thank you very much, Mister…erm…”

“Keating,” Alex finished. 

Mr. Keating. He loved the sound of that. 

Another wave of growth pulsed through him. Now, his belly had developed an unmistakable droop and part of his white dress shirt now poked out from beneath his gray suit jacket. A pendulous weight as round and firm as a pumpkin now hung over the loops of his suit pants. Alex blinked and swore he felt himself slip out of his distracted state. Glancing down at the sphere below him for a brief moment, he realized he couldn’t even see his feet. 

The girl in front of him piped up again. “Well, I’ve got to head to class Mr. Keating, but I’ll see you around! Thanks again!” 

Alex gave a close lipped smile as he waved goodbye to the girl as she walked past him and down the hall. Once she was out of sight, he fixed his attention back to that unmistakable spare tire of his. A peculiar mix of excitement and fear washed over him. On one hand, it felt nice to be admired and treated as if he had one ounce of authority, but on the other hand, that idea sent shivers down his spine. Curiously, he gripped one side of his hairy ball belly and studied the feeling of muscle in his hand. It was very disarming. Bellies were supposed to be unsightly and flabby, but Alex’s gut was different. Although it had a faint layer of pudge on top, underneath it felt like a firm, heavy boulder. Not sure what to make of this, Alex turned his attention to his watch, enjoying the subtle luxury it exuded. “I feel powerful,” was all he could say and his lips twitched upright into a smirk. 

All of a sudden, the door for a nearby lecture hall opened up and students poured into the hallway. A few of them couldn’t help but turn and glance over at Alex as they exited, but how could they not? His wide frame took up nearly the entire corridor, not to mention how outlandishly dressed he was compared to them. The color drained from Alex’s face as the familiar dread recirculated through his head. Being powerful and mature seemed cool a moment ago, but maybe he wasn’t ready nor deserving of it. After all, he had trouble even writing a simple essay or conducting a speech, and that’s something that powerful people do all the time. And powerful people certainly didn’t embarrass themselves in front of their number one crush! 

Alex tried to run, but from the first step, he realized that was impossible given the one-hundred pound weight attached to the front of him. Fuck, had his belly grown even larger since he last looked? As if that wasn’t enough, it wobbled in place with each wide step he took, forcing his gait to decelerate into a bumbling waddle. Thankfully, there was an exit door only a few steps ahead which would lead out into the school courtyard. Surely, there must be a vacant bench out there that he could rest on and compile his thoughts at… 

He shoved open the door and felt the brisk, fresh air immediately relieve him. As he shuffled along the sidewalk, he found that his stomach was not the only thing that was bouncing up and down. His thighs jiggled, his bulge bobbed, and ass all shook rhymically in unison. His dress pants felt tight once again, almost as if they were vacuum-sealed to those hairy legs of his. Alex tried to peer down at his legs, but was greeted only by the sight of the bulging buttons of his grey suit jacket. This damn belly seemed like such a nuisance. 

Alex turned to his right and noticed a large figure reflected in the plexiglass window next to him. He blinked and suddenly, everything became all blurry. At first, he’d thought the window was just dirty, but as he looked down at his golden watch, he found that it was also blurred. Something grazed the bridge of his nose, causing him to blink again. When his eyes opened back up, the world had shifted back into focus, and he realized his body had grown massively since he last saw it. Not only that, but a pair of metal round eyeglasses were now in the middle of his face.  

“What the…Is that…me?” Alex froze in place and marveled at his gargantuan, formally-dressed reflection. Everything was clearer than ever before. Although his circular-lensed glasses looked quite unsuitable for his youthful face, they made him look much more dignified. He wanted to hate them, but they truly did make him look more intelligent, which was a weird thing for him to consider. He’d always gotten average grades and never tried too hard in school, but being intelligent was starting to seem like an admirable trait. The next thing he noticed was his belly, which stretched so far out in front of him. His tall legs, once slender, also appeared to have developed some faint girth to them as well. Even his shoulders appeared to have broadened out a bit, making his youthful head look absurd on this hulking, hirsute figure. Sure enough, when he moved his body, the giant male reflection in the plexiglass did the same. His belly was so massive now that it partially concealed his massive bulge.

Curiously, Alex turned to his side profile and watched his weird muscle belly shift with him, jiggling up and down only a tiny bit. Partially hidden beneath his grey coattails, he noticed that his butt also appeared to have developed a discernible amount of plumpness. Its usually perkiness had been overridden by the same fusion of rigid muscle and pudge that had taken over his belly. Tacitly, Alex turned his back towards the glass and realized his rump’s growth was far from over. It inflated slowly and mercifully, with his dress pants seamlessly widening their waistline to accompany it. The perky, semi-muscular ass Alex had prided himself on was promptly overridden by rapidly multiplying layers of cellulite and firm muscle that fattened up his cheeks like elastic. The light grey fabric strained around his gray pants only accentuated his mountainous, rounder asscheeks further. Alex’s coattails proved to be no match for this ridiculously round butt of his and instead of concealing it like they had moments ago, they instead rested an inch below his pant loops. The pockets on either of his cheeks looked fit to burst. 

“This is fucking c-crazy,” Alex trembled, trying to fight his arousal. Thankfully his honeypot-shaped belly did a decent job of hiding his erection. “My butt looks like it could have its own zip code!” 

Alex continued watching as his thighs came in next, ballooning out into muscular cushions, which were more than capable of lugging this colossal figure around. Even his calves pressed out against his pants now, creating distinct muscular ovals in the fabric. Alex spun back around towards the plexiglass and felt his mass sway again with his movements. Fuck, was this going to be his life forever now? The idea seemed terrifying, but also oddly enticing. 

Alex faced the plexiglass again just in time to notice his midriff widen as two immense love handles stretched out from either side of his belly.  He lifted up his suit jacket and his mouth gaped at the glorious sight of them drooping just above his broad 44” inch waist. They looked ready to bulge out of his shirt like a Christmas ham. It was such a compelling sight - every part of his hairy figure stretching outward to occupy more space than he ever had as a skinny college student. He stared a little while longer, nearly toppling over as his pecs expanded out like airbags without notice. Alex’s meaty fingers clumsily fumbled with his suit lapel, but he flipped open his jacket just in time to see the two rectangular shapes make themselves known. Unlike his belly, his new meaty pecs consisted almost entirely of muscle. Mercifully, his tight dress shirt stretched with his torso’s irrefutable growth, refusing to tear even one inch. Alex stared at his enhanced reflection so longingly that he was getting lost in it. 

The sight of his youthful face in the midst of this masculine mountain of maturity was nothing short of erotic. Even the top curls of his hairy chest still dangled outward just above his second shirt button. He was nothing short of imposing. These new dinner plate-sized pecs resting on top of his enormous basketball belly in addition to a meaty moose knuckle and  great wide muscle ass…  He felt so turned on that he felt like he could just explode.

“Professor Ellsworth, you’re quite the sight for sore eyes! I figured you’d gone into hiding.”

Alex felt his world unfreeze. In the blink of an eye, his blazer had rebuttoned itself on its own, tightly shielding his meaty, hairy torso just as he turned around to face the mysterious voice. It was a tall, handsome man who looked to be in his forties dressed in a nice suit. A lanyard around his neck identified him as Professor Patrick Brown. He was kinda hot in a DILF way, but with his primarily silver hair, maybe he was a little too old for Alex . Oh well, the guy seemed nice enough at least… But wait a second, had he just called him a professor?!

“How has your week been, Professor? Are you still mentoring the debate team? How’s that going?” 

“Mentoring?” Alex repeated aloud. He wanted to disavow this claim but it was like this man’s words had injected memories into his head. He had been helping a group of twenty or so students improve their debate skills and conducting a multitude of discussions in the classroom that carried on for hours sometimes. “I…uh…guess I did mentor them,” Alex said, feeling the world twisting around him as he tried to piece together this new reality and life  he was stepping into. He felt himself obeying these new recollections. His cock shivered as he imagined himself as the professor this guy said he was - speaking in a more authoritative manner and seeing students develop new skills with his guidance. “My students…uh…they have gotten so proficient over the semester, I swear they hardly need me to give them guidance in their debates.” A rich and hearty chortle tumbled out of him as he pictured himself leading a group of students his age. “Yes, I do suppose it makes me feel proud…in a way.” 

“That’s great, you should be proud!” 

“I…am…proud…” Alex replied, almost moaning as he felt his arms erupt forth with mass. His sleeves, once baggy, promptly cinched around his rapidly swelling biceps and triceps. 

He tried to maintain eye contact with Professor Brown while he tried to suppress the erotic thought that they were becoming equals in not only physicality, but also status. It made sense. Alex’s suit was just as nice as this man’s, but at least he wasn’t as old as a guy like that. Although, the dude looked to be in pretty good shape for being in his 50s. Another wave of energy pulsed through Alex. His toes curled in his brogues as he felt his biceps bulge against his dress shirt, straining the fabric to its limit just like every other body part of his was doing. It felt so good to feel every part of him expand larger than he could've ever imagined. He stole a quick glance to see that next to his prominent pecs were a pair of arms whose bulk could be seen through his grey suit jacket. 

Alex smirked. This guy was treating him like a professor and even though it felt wrong to keep playing with the idea, the satisfaction was too much to resist. Not only that but it was rather intoxicating to talk to another adult who treated him like a mature equal. A few thin bristles sprouted out above Alex’s lips as his semi-nasally yet gruff voice broke the brief silence. “How have…uh…your students been this semester?” 

“Mostly great. You know me though, I’m just trying to get the last of my assignments graded before finals week. The struggles of being a professor, you know how it is.” “Yes, isn’t it such drudgery?” Alex replied. Before he could question his word choice, a giant caterpillar of a mustache sprouted out from his face. Thick tendrils sensated his upper lip which in turn began to develop some additional plumpness. 

“My, my. You have a phrase for everything, don't you Professor Ellsworth?”

Alex chortled at that goofy last name again, and felt his corpulent stomach bounce. This time when he spoke he felt this new deft and competent personality coming on stronger than before. When he spoke, the voice that came out of him was significantly lower-pitched and matched the vocal gruffness that was plaguing him all day. “Being a department head for nearly thirty years means you have a locution for every feasible circumstance.” He tried to clear his throat. The rational part of him realized this weird voice should disappear, but this strengthened, mature voice in him started to overpower that. If he was an experienced professor, then it made sense he had to change and have a voice to match. Alex’s cock bobbed again in his trousers and he realized how much he was enjoying this. Wait, had he said he’d been here for thirty years?

“Wow! Has it really been thirty years for you?” Professor Brown in front of him was impressed. “I suppose it makes sense though. I remember meeting you for the first time around ten years ago, but that was back when we both had a lot less wrinkles on our faces, right?” 

“Wow, thirty years,” Alex parrotted. Thirty years was longer than he’d even been alive yet the idea of existing in decades he’d never experienced was quite a thrilling concept. It was kinda cool how his mind now filled in the blanks. Recollections of being a diligent, insightful, and somewhat brusque professor from the 1990s to present day promptly eclipsed any previous memories of being a kid during that time period. Any vestigial fear of his was quickly smothered by a plethora of memories of teaching thousands of prospective students. He knew each building like the back of his hand and he’d taught classes inside a good number of them. Tens of different classes of varying skills, although most were a mix of writing or literature courses. He was a smart guy. Super erudite. He had three decades of tenure as one of the leading professors in this university. He was well-renowned in his field as well, having written a multitude of journals and essays too. He smiled proudly and a pair of pronounced crows’ feet marked themselves on the opposite corners of his eyes. 

Suddenly, there was a buzzing in Alex’s pocket. He flipped open his brown leather phone case and squinted his eyes as he read the caller ID of James H. A drop of triumph pinged through him; he could finally figure out who one of these bizarre new contacts in his phone were. “Sorry Pat, I gotta take this,” Alex heard himself say. “I’ll see you at the faculty meeting on Friday. Take care,” He spun around and held the phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

An apprehensive yet all-too-familiar voice came through the line. “Hey uh, I know this is a bit out of nowhere, but I randomly thought about you after class.” 

“James,” Alex trembled, his fear sounding almost comical paired with his sophisticated bass. He’d tried to say Mr. Hawthorne, but his mouth completely betrayed his thoughts. In one instant, he felt all of his newfound adulthood disintegrate and he remembered he was just some gangly kid with a one-sided crush on his teacher. But then, why did this teacher have his phone number? 

“I know, sorry to just call you out of nowhere.  How are you? Do you have a free moment?” James ventured again. His usually commanding voice sounded rather subdued. He almost sounded servile. 

“Yeah, I’m free. I’ve been doing quite well,” Alex boomed. He’d tried to soften his words to match James’ meekness, but his loud, boisterous voice prevented that possibility. “Just uh…finished my 2PM lecture,” he fibbed with a cocky belly laugh. His cock throbbed again in his pants hearing not only James’ sexy voice, but his own as well.  

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you, right?” James confided, his familiar confidence resurfacing. “Chris and I both really…We miss you a lot. We haven’t been able to think of much else since you came over last Saturday.”

Alex’s head was spinning. It was so fucking erotic to hear James talk to him this way and his head was overrun by the intoxicating idea that his dream could be coming true, but what was he talking about? And who was Chris? “Oh really?” he swallowed, trying to prevent his throat from drying up. “What were we doing there?” he added, although his weird, new sultry bass made his tone sound much more flirtatious. Wait, how had his voice even sounded before all this? 

“Oh, I think you know exactly what we were doing there,” James purred. “Chris won’t shut up about that sexy muscle gut of yours.”

Alex’s hips gave an uncontrollable buck; he felt like he was going to explode. More wrinkles carved themselves into his youthful face, finally reflecting the innate maturity locked inside him and ready to be unleashed. A blast of confidence poured through him as this new gruff persona began to override his meeker one. “Yeah, it’s no surprise he couldn’t take his eyes off me. You couldn’t either.” Alex said, surprised by his own temerity. He blinked and he could see himself  next to James and another burly, muscular man. The two studs were rubbing their washboard abs against his potbelly while they feverishly worshipped and caressed every inch of his massive figure as he towered over them. Then, he’d taken turns kissing and fucking them and they loved every single second of it. They begged for it. For the first time, Alex didn’t question this new memory. After all, what was there to question? He was the entire package. A wise, handsome, prized scholar who loved nothing more than to get his rocks off and assert his maturity all over fellow men. Some skinny, some fat, some muscular. It didn’t matter. They all worshipped the fuck out of his massive daddy cock and lusted for the chance to caress his enormous corpulent figure. 

James sounded aroused too. “Can you get over here for just a minute? I’ve only got twenty minutes till my next class. I know we’ve got plans anyway to meet up later tonight, but I really want to see you all dressed up, Roy.”

“On my way,” Alex replied, his tone cold and authoritative. Mercifully, the courtyard had been devoid of eavesdropping students. Alex snickered. This was a recurring problem of his. Although he pledged to keep his concupiscence separate from his career, oftentimes the two intertwined. But he couldn’t help being so turned by himself all the time.

As he stepped back inside the hall, his boyish face started to undergo a permanent metamorphosis. “Roy,” he whispered to himself and felt the power of that name travel through every nook and cranny of his brain. His boyish face was no match for the omnipresent adulthood enveloping him. His lips plumped out, becoming more pronounced and kissable beneath his blonde 1970s porno mustache while a prominent yet somewhat fat chin forcefully pushed itself outward. Two faint dimples appeared on Alex’s cheeks and his blank expression turned into a naturally radiant close-lipped smile, almost like that of Santa Claus. His cheeks grew larger while his nose grew fatter and rounder. By this point, he was unrecognizable from the scrawny 20 year old he’d been before. He knew this, and despite such significant changes, he knew that this new body felt much more befitting. He was meant to be smart and adored by his peers. Although he couldn’t have James all to himself, this outcome he’d never thought possible was more than enough. Besides now that he probably had a good thirty years of age on his fellow professor, they didn’t seem as compatible as before. They were simply from two different generations now. It didn’t take anything away from how attracted and respectful they still were to each other, in both a personal and professional sense. Perhaps this was a new yet equally strong type of love.

To complement this, a stripe of white hair appeared on Alex’s scalp. It promptly started at the crown of his head, spreading silver follicles like an ocean tide while pushing his hairline back a few millimeters in the process. His eyebrows and mustache both bleached themselves as well, giving him that weathered, authoritative look. Instead of shyly staring at the ground as he walked, Alex subconsciously squared his shoulders and glanced around, now choosing to nod and smile at passersby. The distinct rapping of his dress shoes certainly turned heads, but he was used to the glances and whispers from students. Swaddled in his favorite formalwear, Alex felt sexier than he ever had as a twenty-something. With every step he took, the reality of him being a fledgling gay college student grew farther and farther away. The amount of intoxicating testosterone undulating through his hulking, hairy, larger-than-life figure was enough to eradicate his old self for good. 

As Alex opened the door to James’ classroom, any remnants of his innocent, juvenile crush were converted into an unbridled lust. Professor Roy Ellsworth couldn’t be tied down. Every guy in town wanted to taste his 55 year old professor cock – and he couldn’t blame them at all! With the loveable charm of a grandfather and the libido of a prized stallion, it was no wonder that Roy never had any trouble picking up men. Guys loved to bask in his sweet, manly power and James and his buff husband Chris were no exception. He was so good at pleasuring both of them that it was nearly a weekly thing. It was far from Roy’s first interaction with a married man or even married men for that matter. 

James’ face lit up and stood up from his desk as Roy entered the empty classroom. With his width, he hardly made it through the door without rubbing against the doorframe. Always overdressed, Roy’s suit was quite the contrast to James’ dress shirt and khakis, but James loved it. It only accentuated the fact that Roy was technically his superior and James savored every bit of that dynamic. “Shut the door behind you,” James said in his casual yet enamored tone. Both mens’ erect bulges bounced as they made their way to each other. Roy raised one of his bushy eyebrows and gave his bulge a playful shake. 

“Glad to see you, stud,” Roy smirked as the two embraced. His enormous potbelly smushed against James’ washboard abs. “Fuck, you’re looking incredible today. I swear your muscles grow everytime I see you.” He knew exactly what to say to get his coworker riled up.

“Say that in front of Chris,” James replied, unable to resist giving Roy a quick peck on the lips. He placed one of his hands on Roy’s belly and gave it a shake. “That’ll push him over the edge.” 

“Will do,” Roy replied, placing one of his meaty hands on James’ muscular shoulder. “You know the highlight of my week is taking turns on my two prized muscle studs.” 

“You’re a fucking pro at it,” James purred as he leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and passionate. A surge of lust overcame Roy and he promptly pressed his coworker against the wall, which was a rather easy feat given his new found strength. James moaned in agreement and brought a hand to Roy’s round cheeks, even giving some of his longer mustache hairs a twirl. As compensation, Roy gave James’ muscular ass a firm squeeze. It was quite the hot sight. Even though James had the build of an amateur bodybuilder, he was no match for the old-school strength of a burly powerlifter like Roy. 

Roy smiled as he pulled away. “Whoa now boy, let’s save some of that for tonight.”

James took a deep breath, his face already red with emotion. “That’s fair,” he breathed. “We’re getting quite brazen.”

“Nothing wrong with a little presumption,” Roy smiled, running a hand through his coworker’s short gelled hair. 

“Hey, don't mess it up.” James retorted, although he tried to sound indignant, his tone was far more playful. It was adorable. Roy had that effect on guys. Their tough-guy facades always crumbled when they took his daddy dick. There was nothing more he loved than toying with his men. 

“Sheesh look at those guns,” Roy remarked, changing the subject. “You’ve gotta flex for me before I head out.”

A loving smile appeared on James’ face. “What? These old things,” he laughed before flexing his right arm up to flex, the seams of his dress shirt strained against the mass of his impressive bicep. “They’re made for worshipping that sexy powerlifter belly of yours.”

“That’s what daddy likes to hear,” Roy replied as James let out a deep breath, as if he was fantasizing about Roy right in front of him. Roy turned to the side, but still looked over his shoulder at James, giving him a view of his near-impossible width all packed into his fancy formalwear. “I see you’ve been working out for me,” he said. “You’re getting bigger every week for me, I love to see that.”

“Of course daddy,” James replied before striking another pose. “It’s all for you.”

“Well, daddy has to go teach his 2:30 PM lecture, but he will reward you and a husband of your choice handsomely with his cock later tonight,” Roy said with a sly wink. “See you two then.” He then turned, allowing James to soak in the view of his massive back, all draped in his bedsheet-sized grey suit jacket, however he playfully gave his coattails a little flick to give his coworker an uninhibited view of his massive daddy ass. He knew his immense butt was always a favorite of the guys he fooled around with. “Take care,” he said, turning his nub of a neck to the side before pushing the door back open and walking back through the hall.

James listened until the distinct rapping of his shoes were out of earshot and he sat in silence for a brief moment. His mind was racing, excitedly thinking of how amazing he and Chris were going to feel tonight. This whole affair with Roy had fueled a mutual fulfillment of he and his husband’s innermost daddy kink and they loved every second of it. Roy did too, clearly. It was the perfect arrangement and every party seemed more than satisfied. James brushed off his shirt and pants and sat back down at his desk. He took a deep, victorious breath. “I’m so glad we can be together.”

[visceral-stories]

A Day to Remember

Ko-fi | Twitter

Thank you to the amazing @creatively-bankrupt for this TF idea! Additionally as a warning, this TF is slightly darker than my typical story and contains an inanimate TF. 

Spencer Stanton was the total package. Brunette hair, a semi-muscular frame, a broad jawline, wide shoulders, sturdy legs- the kind of build only an amateur baseball player could achieve. He’d garnered a massive amount of affection from Cole Bennett, his shorter, scrawnier, yet equally charismatic friend. The two had become an unlikely duo over the past year, morphing from high school acquaintances who talked on occasion into friends who bonded over their admittedly nerdy enjoyment of comics and video games. In fact, Cole had never met another person who loved DC comics and the Marvel universe as deeply as he did. Their adoration was so deep that the two had embarked on a four hour drive to a hotel they’d be staying at to attend this year’s San Diego Comic Con. 

Cole sighed as they hopped out of the car. He stared at Spencer and smiled as the two made eye contact and headed toward the front door of the hotel. 

“After you,” Spencer gestured warmly and Cole’s heart fluttered a bit. He wished it didn’t.

It had been a month since Cole came out to Spencer and confessed his crush on him. Unfortunately, Spencer did not feel the same way, but he did an excellent job of commending Cole’s bravery. The two agreed to still be friends and that things wouldn’t be awkward between them. Cole respected that decision, but his feelings were dubious. One moment things would be normal and then in the next, he’d be dreaming of what it felt like to cup that meaty bulge in his friend’s pants. A half-erection sprung in Cole’s gym shorts as he studied Spencer’s sizable biceps while he confidently talked to the motel receptionist. 

“Reservation under Stantion,” Spencer said, his voice far deeper than the skinny male clerk across from him.

“Ah yes,” the clerk replied. “Single room for Spencer Stanton and luggage. Will you be requiring assistance with said luggage?” 

A tingle ran through Cole both times he heard the word “luggage.” Weird. 

Spencer was incredulous. “Huh, no? I only have one bag with me. And I didn’t book a single room.” 

“Oh, well it appears you applied for a single room with assistance for your luggage on the website.” “That must be a mistake. I’m here with my friend Cole.” 

Friend. That word stung a little harder each time. 

“Are there any double rooms available?” 

The clerk shrugged, typed a bit on his keyboard, and glanced back over. “No, I’m sorry sir. It appears we’re fully booked for the night. My apologies for the mixup. We have a massive wedding party this afternoon and that could be the reason for the mixup. If you’d like, I could call other nearby motels and check their availability.” 

“No, no,” Spencer sighed, unbothered. “I think we can make that work. We’re only here for two nights anyway.” He turned to Cole. “Is that alright with you?” 

“Uh…yeah definitely Spence,” Cole replied, but secretly it wasn’t. Or maybe it was. After all, one queen sized bed shared by both of them wouldn’t be thaaat weird. They were solid friends. All Cole had to do to not make things weird would be to resist the unrelenting urge to fantasize about Spencer. Piece of cake. 

The exchange with the clerk took a few more minutes, but as it did, Cole couldn’t help but notice the other men and women walking around in the hotel. All of them were dressed in brightly-colored formalwear - a dazzling bevy of yellows, oranges, and maroons. 

Pretty soon, the room key was in Spencer’s hand and the two walked towards the elevator. Another group of well-dressed gentlemen walked past them, their vivacious formalwear was impossible to miss. “Whoa, what’s with their get up?” he asked.

“Huh?” Cole had zoned out for a bit. He collected himself and answered. “Must be a wedding or something. Like the front desk guy said.” 

“Maybe we can party with some of them tonight!” Spencer insisted in a sing-songy voice that caused a half-erection to spring in Cole’s gym shorts. His extroverted nature was so fucking attractive. 

“Yeah that’d be cool.”

—-

“This place is pretty nice for a motel,” Spencer remarked, taking his clothes out of his suitcase and putting them into drawers. 

Cole was doing the same. “Yeah, I just hope we don’t run into too many people from that wedding.” 

“It seemed pretty festive. I’m sure they’re harmless,” Spencer said, grabbing a pair of shorts from his suitcase. “I never knew that they made suits and dresses into colors that bright. I figured suits only came in the color black.” 

“They definitely have a nice color palette, I really respect the…attention to detail,” Cole froze in place while he was folding up a pair of his jeans. His eyes widened as Spencer dropped trou without warning, revealing a close-up sight of his firm ass concealed in a pair of gray compression shorts. The gorgeous sight didn’t last for long as Spencer slid a new pair of comfy shorts over his juicy ass. Fuck. It was going to be super hard to not get a boner tonight with him in this bed. 

Spencer spun around suddenly. “Alright, I’m gonna get a drink or two at the bar. Coming?” 

Thankfully, the pair of jeans Cole was holding concealed his growing erection. “Uh…yeah, yeah! Let me just finish up here and I’ll meet you down there in a few minutes.” 

Spencer flashed that boy-next-door grin of his and threw on a backwards cap. “Word, I’ll see ya down there bro.” 

“Awesome,” Cole sighed. 

—--

The motel bar was far from a spectacular sight to behold. Just a ten foot bartop, outdated overhead lights, four mahogany barstools, two televisions playing a football game, and a few tables scattered in a little room. A trio consisting of two girls and one imposing guy were leaving with drinks in hand, chattering amongst each other as Spencer walked in. The gentleman’s deep maroon suit and women’s floral dresses was similar to the attire of the people he’d seen earlier in the lobby. Spencer continued in, noticing that only the bartender and one tall, slender male patron inhabited this dingy place. From the looks of the other patron, he was dressed in normal clothes. Spencer’s eyes met the bartender’s as he grabbed the seat next to the other man. 

“What’ll it be, sir?” asked the bartender: an older, balding man done up in a little uniform, which seemed like an odd choice for an employee working at a small three-floor motel. 

“Rum and coke,” Spencer replied and the bartender went to work. The other patron perked up and Spencer’s friendly nature took over. “Hey, how’s it going, bro?” 

“It’s going well,” the guy responded with a smile. He looked to be around the same age and the same height as Spencer although this guy was more on the slimmer side. He certainly had some faint muscle mass to him though; it was clear he worked out. “What’s with all these people’s outfits today, huh?

The man nodded in agreement “I know right. I think it must be for a wedding or something like that. They’re making me feel underdressed.” 

“Same,” Spencer agreed. “What’s your name, man?” 

“Adam, yours?” “Spencer, but most guys call me Spence.”

“Right on,” Adam nodded, taking a sup of his beverage. 

The bartender plopped down Spencer’s drink and he took a sip. “What brings you here today, Adam?” 

“I’m here on a vacation with my parents,” Adam replied. “Not very exciting, but they want to see the national park an hour away so we’re gonna go hiking and do that.”

Spencer grinned. “Jeez, I could never do that. I don’t have the quads for that.” Adam smirked. “Sure you do, big guy!” he said, boldly reaching over and giving Spencer’s thigh a tender squeeze. Both men flinched at that motion, especially Adam, who seemed more alarmed than ever by that flagrant gesture. “Sorry, I uh…I do that to all my friends.” He paused before compensating. “I have a girlfriend at home too.”

“It’s ok,” Spencer said, forcing a laugh, not wanting to make the situation awkward. Besides, he didn’t care anyway. He was secure enough in his masculinity that small things like that didn’t bother him. After all, he was cool with Cole being gay and crushing on him. People are the way they are for a reason and there’s no changing that. 

“Oh look the game’s back on,” Adam announced, also eager to change the subject. The two turned their attention to the singular tv above the bar while the visuals of a football game appeared on the screen. They exchanged more pleasantries about sports, which team they loved, and who they wanted to win this current game. Eventually, it cut back to commercial break and their natural conversation resumed. 

“So how old are you, man?” Adam asked.

“23, you?”

“Wow! I’m 29, but you look so…much older than me,” Adam said with a laugh. “Sorry,. I thought you must’ve been in your late twenties at least. You’ve got this mature presence to you.”

“Mature presence? Get out of here!” Spencer scoffed with a flick of his wrist. “I definitely don’t act mature at all! I mean, I just landed my first job as a systems analyst, but I still party on the weekends and do all that.” 

“What can I say, you just look a little intimidating. It's not a bad thing.” Adam took a sip of his beer to hide his blushing. “But yeah, that couldn’t be me, dude. I’m such an introvert. I’d rather be curled up on the couch with my partner watching movies on Saturday nights.”

Spencer smirked. “Yeah, I feel that. Some weekends, I feel like it would be nice to settle down with someone of my own.” 

Adam smiled back and a strange unknown pleasure rushed through Spencer’s head. He couldn’t describe it. Looking at Adam made him feel…really good. There was something about the muscular curvature of his body, his lean yet toned waist, those few strands of chest hair poking out of his shirt collar, and most importantly that handsome smile of his. Spencer’s cock bobbed up in his pants and before he could even question his homoerotic feelings, he had leaned onto the bartop, rested his head in his palm and began flirting. “So you think I’m intimidating, huh?” 

Adam’s cheeks turned red as he smiled. “Just a little bit. It’s hot, what can I say?”

Spencer tried to think of something sexy to say, but he couldn’t. He was actually getting tongue tied over a man he met in a crappy motel bar! A pang of fear pulsed through him. “No, no, I think you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not-” His plea was cut short by the feeling of Adam's tender lips pressing tightly against his. Immediately, he closed his eyes and reciprocated. It was only a short-lived peck, but in that moment, Spencer could feel everything: a sobering awakening to his brand new life as a gay man, a few distant memories spent with Adam, that handsome smile of his, but most importantly, how in love the two were. What was worse was that even visions of Adam’s naked figure were filling Spencer’s mind. Those toned abs of his, those sporty pairs of spandex underwear he always wore, those defined back muscles, that cute little mole on the back of his left shoulder. 

The pair broke their kiss and gazed into each other. “Holy shit, I’m…gay,” Spencer blurted and his face started to feel warmer. 

Adam was breathless. “Me too.”

Spencer’s cock began to rise in his pants as he tried to stop thinking about Adam’s short yet compact muscular body. It was weird to have such an intimate vision of a stranger naked. It was even weirder to be attracted to it. “Do you…feel any different at all?” he asked, his voice trembling with arousal. 

“I think so,” Adam replied, his eyes as wide as saucers. “I really think that we’re boyfr-” “Can I get you some refills, gentlemen?” The bartender asked as he circled back around. 

“Yes please,” both men responded, forgetting their plight in an instant. Awkwardly, they readjusted their positions on the barstools and were silent for a brief moment, processing what was happening. For some reason, it felt like they were actually changing, but that couldn’t be true. They’d been dating for months at this point, right? 

Adam ran a hand through his blonde hair. “Wait, what were we just doing?”

“Shh babe, the game’s back on!” Spencer interrupted. 

Adam snickered and rolled his eyes. “You and your obsession with football.” 

“Hush! You love these quarterback shoulders of mine,” Spencer said, playfully jostling back and forth in his chair with a goofy chuckle. Remiss was the fact that Spencer had never played football a day in his life. He’d been a baseball player through high school and college, but that was aptly changing. He gave his new boyfriend a loving peck on the cheek before zoning completely in on the game.

As the game started, there was a clatter of footsteps loud enough that the two men glanced behind them, but, seeing nothing, they turned back around. The noise had been quite real though. Unfortunately, Cole had just bore witness to something he’d never imagined: his straight crush kissing another guy! His mind was frenzied with distress as he hurried back to the room. Had Spencer been lying about his sexuality this entire time? If he wasn’t straight, then clearly he just hadn’t wanted to be with Cole. 

“Fucking asshole!” was all Cole said as he aggressively slammed the motel room’s door. Frantically, he scoured the room for his phone, eager to call up his friend or someone to complain, but after a minute of searching, he relinquished his rage-filled quest. “Fuck all this!” he growled before walking into the bathroom, disrobing, and starting up the shower to hopefully calm his nerves. Ten minutes in the shower went by like an eternity as Cole grappled through all of his anguish, wondering why Spencer had been so secretive about his sexuality. They were good friends, the least he could’ve done was told him. But he’d chosen to be a jerk and kiss some random guy he’d met at a bar. By the time Cole turned the faucet off, he had more questions than answers. The next conversation with him wasn’t going to be easy, but it needed to happen. With a heavy sigh, Cole dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and headed back into the chilly air-conditioned bedroom.

And then, the strangest thing happened. 

One moment Cole was standing on the ground, the next he was being violently propelled backwards to the hall closet next to the front door. It was so fast that his towel flew from his lanky frame and landed delicately on the floor. The momentum stopped as quickly as it had started with an abrupt thud, leaving him in a strange kneeling position. He tried to find his bearings as he analyzed the closet walls that now surrounded him. Helplessly, he tried to hoist himself back up, but his legs hardly obeyed his action; instead, they just rested sideways on the carpet. The closet was so narrow that his arms were practically pinned to him. He tried to move them up to try and remove the appendage on his shoulders, but it was useless. It felt like someone was holding him up by his shirt. He craned his neck and realized he’d been snagged on a wooden hanger of all things! 

“Wh-what’s going on?” Cole trembled, trying in vain to break free of this seemingly simple trap. But it was futile. He flailed his arms around to try to grab onto something, but like his legs, their movements slackened. It was as if the hanger had stitched itself into his shoulders. 

“Ow!” he cried as he felt a sharp pinprick in his wrist. To his horror, he watched as a white tag flowered out from nothing with only one word written on it in red ink: SPENCER. 

“What the hell?” Cole squeaked, fear mounting as he realized how trapped he truly was. He gripped the tag with his fingers and tugged at it. When that didn’t work, he tried twisting it off, but by that point, it felt like it had already sewn itself into his flesh. Panicking, Cole tried to lift his arms above his head to remove the hanger from the metal rod it was attached to, but in unison, his arms fell limply to his sides. Even his knees bent forward on their own, leaving the tall man in a strange kneeling formation.

“Help me! I need…oh wow…ohh, no I…oh wow,” Cole’s plea was cut off as an overwhelming sense of numbness swam through him. Starting at that stupid tag on his wrist, he twitched as the euphoric tingling spread rapidly through his arm before dispersing to the rest of his body. His shoulders slackened as he surrendered immediately to this intense, foreign pleasure.

The staticy numbness traveled down towards Cole’s feet. Curiously, he tried to wiggle his toes, but shockingly, they didn’t respond. Instead, they rapidly darkened into a rich sable color. Too dazed to resist, he watched as an expensive and glossy black leather encompassed his feet. His toes crunched in on themselves, rounding out into the end of a fancy pair of dress shoes. Thin, black laces stitched themselves through the tops of his feet while a square heel pushed out from beneath his ankles. To make matters more confusing, Cole’s feet swelled a few shoe sizes larger before they gracefully and abruptly snapped off and plopped to the ground, leaving behind an expensive pair of mens’ dress shoes. 

Cole tried to articulate his confusion, but aptly found he was incapable of providing anything more than breathless grunts. Full-body tingles pulsated through his spinal cord as he squirmed in place, overcome as his confusion was morphing into pleasure. His mental opposition promptly faded as the prickling sensation spread up to his legs. It felt like one million little tiny pinpricks diffusing through his skin cells. Cole winced as his legs locked into place and interestingly, a rich, orange hue spread across them. The vibrant color rapidly climbed up his legs, taking away not only their semi-muscular definition, but even their shape. It felt as if a pair of pants a few sizes too large for Cole was being forcibly attached to him. Resistance was useless and Cole growled with pleasure as the tangerine textile seemingly fused to his skin, making his legs so numb now that he couldn’t even feel them…just like the pair of shoes that his feet had become. 

Shit. He was really becoming clothing. 

The harsh realization struck him as the vivid fabric reached his groin and started numbing his cock. Stretchy polyester rapidly enclosed his genitals before clinging to them as if this new material was made of glue. The more he squirmed, the more that textile suctioned itself up his lower body. Cole tried in vain to fight it, but could only surrender and moan as rushes of dopamine overwhelmed his brain. But why was it pleasurable? This should be frightening - like something out of the Twilight Zone - but Cole’s fear was transitioning to ecstasy. 

Cole’s waistline widened against his will - stretching at first from his 34 inch size to 38 inches to 42 inches before jumping to a size that exceeded the typical sizing charts. It was a surreal sight to behold. Cole’s unscathed torso was completely eclipsed by his massive lower body that looked like it belonged to a man triple his size. The orange fabric seemed to begin solidifying, having now successfully trapped his lower body. A set of pant loops appeared just above his slightly exposed pelvis, surrounding his waist immediately. It tickled slightly, as if those pant loops were part of his nervous system. Weird. But also, it felt kinda nice, which was even weirder. 

The feeling was so electrifying. As much as Cole wanted to resist, his cock had other plans. Betraying his anguish, it ascended dramatically, breaking free of the strange fusion of pants and legs that his lower body had become. Seeing how wide his waistline had become was just so erotic. It’s like he was meant to fulfill someone larger, someone greater. That thought felt wrong, but a frail sensation in his legs only reaffirmed that peculiarity. Cole didn’t want to feel unfulfilled, but he did. Imagining a hulking, powerful man occupying this pair of pants…or his legs…was just such a sexy image. 

Unable to resist, his boner began to stretch wildly, unraveling like a party streamer. Slowly, it also widened out like a piece of taffy - the nerves and skin gummed together and began to rapidly blacken, showing no signs of stopping. Overcome with pleasure, Cole breathlessly watched as his cock lengthened to a ridiculous, unbelievable size - larger than any man’s could ever possibly grow. He shut his eyes, feeling it grow longer and longer and longer until there was a distinct “POP!” and the erotic feeling had all but dissipated. 

Timidly, Cole reopened his eyes. Accompanied by a faint metallic clang, he watched as his cock tumbled to the floor…or at least it should've been his cock? The object on the floor was certainly inhuman; it reminded him of a snake as it flailed and rolled over a bunch of times. Cole’s eyes followed the object in its last final spasms as it gained a dark black hue and a leathery texture before it ceased movement eternally and laid limply on the floor. His cock had transformed fully into a brand new designer belt. 

“Oh fuck,” Cole moaned as the prickly sensation wasted no time in crawling up to his slender belly. There was truly no getting out of this. And what was worse was that the changes seemed to be accelerating now to a rapid pace. Cole tried his best not to giggle as it felt like his navel was being tickled by a thousand feather dusters at once. No laughter came out however, instead a rapturous incredulity inundated his senses, allowing him to watch his metamorphosis without trepidation. A dopey grin appeared on his face as a pleasant warm and tingly feeling spread all across his torso and he watched numbly as his skin paled into a ghostly white. 

Next, there was a tight sensation in Cole’s navel before there was a resounding POP! He peered down and just like that, his belly button had vanished - replaced by a white pearl button. There was hardly any time for him to process that as a symphony of pops reverberated through the closet as a trail of identical buttons appeared across his chest, which was now white as a sheet. Even worse, the white textile promptly spread down his arms, zapping all of his natural complexion in moments. Simultaneously, a new, straight line of ten new buttons adorned his body. And…had his nipples disappeared too? Well, dress shirts don’t have nipples, that would be incorrect. 

“What the hell?!” Cole sputtered. What a strange thought. 

Next, an odd peeling sensation called for his attention. A wave of tangerine fabric, the same hue as his legs, started to appear on the top of each of his shoulders, filling him with more paralyzing tingles, before cascading down towards his navel. Cole squirmed and watched helplessly as the brand new layer came to life. Different from his pale white torso, the bright orange cashmere enveloped his shaking body like a cozy blanket, and as it did, he released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“No…no,” Cole bemoaned, feeling his shoulders slacken while they broadened substantially - becoming wide and formidable, like they could house a pro-football player. The orange cashmere hardened around his white underbelly, fusing with mohair as it developed into a luxurious suit jacket. The grin on Cole’s face was undeniable. It felt so good to watch as pockets and more buttons formed around this new, weird fabric that engulfed him. Two glorious creases formed across his chest, creating a distinct V-shape as they curled upward and became lapels, allowing for a triangular window view of Cole’s snow white chest. It felt incredible, like he could endlessly radiate luxury and power. A proper suit can make anyone look sophisticated. 

With that thought in mind, a disappearing act commenced. The first to go were Cole’s legs. Already fused with the flamboyant orange dress pants, they began to get absorbed by the textile, shrinking and shrinking until the pants were entirely hollow - somehow still levitating on their own and displaying sharp new creases down the center. The hottest sensation for Cole was the feeling of his perky butt completely fusing with the suit pants, widening to a length that would challenge any tailor to contain. 

Cole’s arms were next. Already locked at his side, his fingers painlessly curled up into a ball that grew smaller and smaller until his hands were gone! Next, a dizzying tingle filled his arms as they fused to the soft poplin of the white dress shirt. To accompany this, the sleeves widened even further than the width of Cole’s arms. That was right. Those sleeves were meant to show off the biceps of a huge, hulking giant of a man. Cole whimpered, but couldn’t resist. His fear was dissipating. Everything would be alright. It was just his destiny to become a suit. 

Cole’s torso was next. The fabric of his newly buttoned suit jacket and matching orange waistcoat hung loose over his vanishing frame. His skinny belly disappeared while his chest merged into the rapidly-growing area of poplin, presumably to house the pecs of the giant who would wear a 6XL suit like him. Actually, it would even be a fallacy to call him a “he” anymore since he was just going to be an object. 

Whoosh!

The suit perked its head up to see that its lower half had completely detached itself! It was painless yet still rather shocking. By some magical force, its orange pants had flung themselves across the room to where they fluttered down onto the bed and neatly folded themselves. The belt did the same. It launched itself up from the floor and coiled into a nice ellipse on the bed. “C…cool,” the new suit trembled, overcome with excitement and relaxation for the whole ordeal. It hardly registered what was going on. Everything was getting much more…foggier than before. Memories were getting harder to remember. The only thing that made sense was existing and knowing that he would soon serve a large, powerful man forever.

For the final clincher, the suit’s head began to recede into a widening neckhole for its new owner. Its hair fell off in loose pieces and its ears shrunk in. A deep purple color then began to swallow its dwindling head while also turning its composition into a rich, ornate velvet material. The suit couldn’t see its beautiful finishing touch, but a beautiful new flowery pattern emerged across the velvety plain as its eyes, nose, and mouth receded. It was almost over now. The suit would fulfill its purpose. Its head was to become a tie. It was so simple! Being a suit would be so awesome and so relaxing. There were so many things that the suit never got to do. And it would never get a chance to be human again. That meant there would be no more panic, no more stress. All it had to do was just enjoy the process and just…relax. 

With one final unraveling, a luxury paisley tie came into fruition and where Cole had once stood, was a beautiful custom-sized suit suspended from a hanger, ready to be worn by a new owner. The motel room was pristinely silent, but not for very long.

The door swung open and in stepped Spencer. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to him as he placed his key card on the desk and froze. 

“What the hell is this?” he asked, immediately hovering over the lifeless foreign object. “Who would get this….” He trailed off. Why on earth was there just a pair of pants here? Orange pants at that. 

A glimmer from the closet caught his attention and Spencer turned to his right only to see a matching suit jacket of the same radiant hue. Even weirder, there was a tag hanging from its sleeve. Cautiously, he flipped it over and read the name SPENCER with a little cartoon heart next to it. His heart fluttered for a moment and his skin felt all prickly. A hazy, loving feeling was overcoming him. A faint pressure around Spencer’s finger caught his attention and sure enough, when he glanced down, there it was: a shiny engagement ring. “No….n-no,” he stuttered, clasping his head that soon began to feel like it was pounding. “Engaged? No, I can’t be engaged.” 

For some reason, he thought he’d come here with someone other than his friend from the hotel bar, but that…that couldn’t be true. He’d booked this visit with Adam. The two had been dating, right? In fact, it felt like they’d been dating for quite a long time. Years. As Spencer remembered Adam, his amazing personality, and all of his lovely quirks, any recollections of his old friend who he’d wanted to go to a Comic Con convention dwindled away from his memory. Of course, he’d come here with Adam. The two were long-term boyfriends after all. 

No, they were more than that. After all, it had been Adam who had written that note for him. 

This was Spencer’s wedding suit. Adam was going to be his husband and they were going to get married. Today. 

“Fuck!” Spencer’s cock shot up in his pants. “It’s….it’s our big day,” was all he could say as he began disrobing, eager to put on the suit. It was all coming back to him now. Adam was the man he loved most on this earth. It all felt so correct. At one point, Spencer had thought he was straight, but the swelling erection of his said otherwise. “I n-need to b-be there for him,” he trembled as he threw his own clothes on the floor. Memories of Adam’s lithe yet muscular body filled his psyche. He loved Adam’s charming demeanor on any of their countless dates, the way his heart-shaped butt filled out a speedo whenever they went to the beach, and most powerfully, Spencer loved how those muscles felt next to his body. Yet when he pictured himself next to him, he couldn’t envision his college-athlete self. Instead, he pictured a different man who was…burlier and manlier for some reason.

His hands rubbed against the luxurious suit’s material as he put his legs inside the pants and pulled them up to his waist. As he did, he soon found that the pants were extremely baggy and were clearly designed for a man far wider than him. The disappointment didn’t last long however. Quickly, the lavish polyester began to feel like electricity against his skin, sending a new, numbing feeling throughout his body. “Wh-Whoa!” Spencer gasped, nearly toppling over as he felt his legs explode forth with muscle. In record time, his skinnier yet toned thighs and calves became three times as large as before, making the loose pants cling tightly to his new tree trunk legs. For a brief moment, his bulge was dwarfed by them and submerged beneath his muscular pelvic area until suddenly, his cock grew larger too. The zipper to the pants curved dramatically as a meaty, manly bulge, proportionate to the rest of his macho lower body, erupted to life. Spencer’s modest boner grew from a moderate size to a ridiculous length and it nearly sent him toppling over. As if that wasn’t enough, his balls swelled up to the size of eggs, creating another irrefutable bulge in his pants. 

“So fucking awesome,” Spencer panted as he shook his legs about and the muscular legs of his gained a few extra pounds as they solidified into a sturdy undercarriage. With one final shake, his butt also tripled in size, shifting from a thin stone into two visible boulders that had no trouble supporting this gargantuan lower body. His underwear adapted swiftly to the new size, transforming from a pair of briefs to a sturdy jockstrap. Spencer’s eight inch cock was at full mast now and playfully, he shifted his weight on his heels, feeling how tangible his mammoth size really was. His feet responded to this immediately, changing from a size 10 shoe size to a size 14. 

Spencer caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and blushed. His toned yet skinny torso looked so out of place with this incredibly bulky chassis of his. He looked like a sculpture of a Greek god who was in the process of being chiseled himself from stone. Teetering back and forth, he watched as his lewd bulge bounced up and down with his movements. A quick, cocky spin around revealed his butt was so huge that the pockets had pulled taut around it. That was so hot to him. It was a wild revelation. He’d never realized how sexy men could be, but now here he was - transforming into one. Fuck. He needed more.

The white dress shirt felt inconsequential in Spencer’s palms as he promptly draped it over himself. His fingers danced across the poplin as he buttoned every button firmly against his chest, however the custom-sized shirt still hung there loosely. He was about to put on the suit jacket to complete the outfit when he froze. That warm prickly feeling returned - this time in his chest.

It started with a few pinpricks emanating from Spencer’s average-sized pecs, which hardly made an indent in this bedsheet of a shirt. Faintly, he could feel his twenty or so measly chest hairs moving - slowly pirouetting out to form a longer length. Beneath his skin, he swore he could feel a tidal wave of hair incoming. That idea would’ve seemed asinine if he didn’t already have the undercarriage of an older, more powerful man. Like sprouts emerging, the first group of brown curly hairs spiraled into existence and peeked out over Spencer’s collar. It was an itchy yet marvelous sensation. Eagerly, he spun back around and studied them in the mirror. As he did, a glorious hurricane of millions of hairs whirled out all across his body. Immediately, they blanketed his bare chest, his back, his already-massive legs, and even all the way down to his nether regions. “Oh…my god,” Spencer moaned, helpless to stop the wooly monsoon that was rapidly engulfing his figure. In only one minute, he had gone from virtually hairless to an objectively hirsute man and it felt incredible. 

A swelling feeling began to emerge from Spencer’s hairy belly. He felt super bloated, like the one time he’d eaten three entire Subway sandwiches. That full feeling rapidly spread through him and he swore he could feel his entire torso stretching. “Y…yes!” Spencer groaned, no longer fearing the changes. He didn’t know what was coming next, but the serotonin gushing through him was so rewarding. “T-this is so-” The thunderous growth of his stomach stopped him from finishing his sentence. It burst forth with raw power, as tight as a drum, and nearly knocked him off of his feet. Luckily, he quickly bent over and gripped the side of the bed. As he caught his breath, he felt it swell larger and larger beneath him, pushing out to form a moderate, distinct curve. He swayed back and forth and surprisingly, his belly didn’t jiggle. It didn’t bounce up and down with fat, instead it maintained its rigid shape, giving him a new husky sort of build. Spencer smirked and arched his back, feeling the subtle yet palpable belly press against his pelvis. That was hot. He was shocked that he even had a belly! A hairy, tight one at that! Spencer proudly placed a hand on the back of his broad waist and hoisted himself back up - a more laborious task since now he had a lead weight attached to his front. 

As Spencer stood up straight, he felt something brush up against the top of his belly. It was the underside of his…pecs? He hadn’t even realized that could be a thing. “Oh ffffuuuuckkkk,” he bellowed as he felt two magnificent airbags of tight muscle gradually inflate outwards with a slow-burning, tremendous force. Promptly, they occupied the loose shirt fabric and kept on growing until the top three buttons were taut. The pressure beneath seemed to build and build and build until- 

POP!

The top button of his shirt sprung off from Spencer’s dress shirt, but he hardly had time to process that. As an added surprise - next his nipples began to inflate and with their growth, came a new world of sensitivity. It was as if he’d gained a whole new network of nerve endings down there. Lightly, he brought a hand to one of his supple pecs and twiddled it through his suit. Curiously, he bounced the muscle up and down in his hand, savoring its new heft. Suddenly, there was a sharp poke in both of his nipples. “MMM!!” he exclaimed and lightly caressed the source of the pain, only to find a new metal piercing. The throbbing quickly subsided and Spencer began to twiddle his new nipple rings through his fingers. “That f-feels incredible,” he mewed, overjoyed at how wonderful this felt. He’d never imagined nipples could be sexy, yet the more he pondered and caressed his own, the more he realized they might be his favorite male body part. In fact, he could recall a conversation he’d had with Adam about getting three piece suits for the sole purpose of concealing his nipple rings. 

“That’s why Adam got us three piece suits,” he snickered to himself, his voice sounding a tad deeper and more gravelly. A deeper, raspier laughter filled the room as Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle at this situation. The luxurious polyester of his shirt maintained its integrity, even as Spencer’s shoulders began to widen next. It was a comical sight. His head looked as if it was dwindling down in size, but really, it was only getting dwarfed by his new linebacker shoulders. A ripple of muscle growth radiated down his arms. Veins bulged out like thunderbolts as his arms tripled in size to make the loose fabric taut. Excitedly, he squeezed the provocative hills of muscle that his biceps and triceps had become. They moved like putty in his hand, melding and then solidifying into bodybuilder-sized guns that would surely pack a mean punch. Next, his wrists and arms burst forward, causing his hands to grow calloused and into walls of meat, as if they were formed by years of working in construction. Wait, maybe that was right. Spencer giddily snickered as he imagined himself in that position. It seemed unlikely that a college kid like him would be so good at negotiating and using so much strength to maintain roadways, but a newer, more refined version of himself was taking over. With an additional flex and squeeze of his biceps, Spencer believed it. Of course, a macho, muscular guy like him was a construction worker. He was damn good at it too. 

Spencer’s hands eagerly explored his burgeoning figure, gradually getting drunker on his sheer mass and the power that contained. It was initially a frightening thought, but the young man he’d been before was no more. He was being replaced by a new, manlier, huskier, and charismatic guy, “I’m a damn….powerful man,” Spencer stated, mostly to feel his new gravelly voice change him further. Possibly influenced by his love for cigars, Spencer found more comfort in his raspier register. His fiance Adam loved it. There was a faint stretching that lasted only a few seconds, but Spencer’s already-impressive height was increased by six more inches, leaving him at a domineering 6 '7”. He didn’t even notice the new height difference; he was too busy thinking about Adam and falling deeper and deeper in love. Adam was just incredible - an organized type who had all the time in the world for his loving fiance. He loved to worship Spencer’s big muscles, make his favorite entrees for dinner, and was all-around just the nicest person he’d ever met. 

“Fuck,” Spencer grunted like a bull. Fuck, he looked like one too. A big, hulking muscle bull. He missed…his future husband. It was their special day after all…and he needed to see that handsome face once again. His body needed it. A cloud of facial hair erupted all over his face and thousands of hairy tendrils spilled across his jaw, swallowing up his boyish, clean-shaven face for good. A blanket of thick hair covered up his upper lip and cheeks which in turn gained a bit of a rosier tone. Rogue curls of hair spiraled down from his chin and immediately fanned out a few millimeters below his face, forming a trimmed, equilateral beard. In exchange, Spencer’s long bangs receded and he developed a prominent yet manly widow’s peak. His blonde hair thinned and dyed itself brown to match his new lushious facial hair. Next, a few audible cracks rang out from Spencer’s jaw, but it didn’t hurt. It was only the sound of his already handsome jawline, stretching out even further than before as it tightened into a brick-shape. Buried beneath his glorious beard, Spencer’s chin even jutted out slightly, giving him a perfectly-sculpted macho face. There would be no mistaking him for an off-season college athlete anymore. The man who stood in his place looked to be deeply entwined with middle age and his hirsute body reflected it. 

Spencer was rock hard now, overcome by the decades of life and vigor pouring into him every second. It wasn’t enough to look like a handsome middle aged guy, he needed to feel it mentally too. His synapses were firing into overdrive as his baseball mitt hand delicately glided down to the mound in his pants. This was going to be the biggest day of his life, after all. Adam was going to be…his husband. Very soon. And Spencer was ready to be the best possible man he could be for the love of his life. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer noticed the tag on his right wrist flapped up and down for a moment. The red ink on the tag was changing and rescribbling into a new word. It solidified into a new form and now read “RUSSEL.” 

Rusty quivered in his oxford shoes, boner at full mast now. He always resented his full name of Russel - it always sounded too hoity-toity for a rugged man like him - and that the only man who could call him that was his soon-to-be husband. The best was when Adam called him that during…sex. Rusty was about to continue jerking off when-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“MMFFF!” Rusty growled, taking his hands off of his suited dick. “Who’s…at the fuckin’ door?” he griped, no longer surprised by his raspy, crotchety timbre. It was a five second walk to the front door, but a lot happened in that time. Rusty could feel each one of his hulking muscles obey his movements; they all pressed tightly against his custom-fitted suit like sausage casing. His tight, hairy belly and his round yet perky muscle butt encumbered him, but luckily, the two muscular stone pillars that his legs had become were able to carry his heft with ease. As a side effect, they also made his pace slacken and his stature widen. Opening the door, Rusty’s heart nearly leapt into his throat when he realized the person at the door was none other than Adam, who was adorned in a custom-fitted orange suit just like his.  

“Adam!” Rusty sputtered, his strong voice wavering for a brief moment. “What are you doing here?” 

There was a familiar, coquettish grin on his face. “Can you let me in before someone sees me at your door?” 

Rusty chuckled. “Tisk, tisk,” he said jokingly, wrapping his arm around his fiance and guiding him inside. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see me before the ceremony?” 

“Of course,” Adam said. “But I don’t believe in that stuff.” The two looked at each other in silence for a brief moment and it felt like the world stopped turning. It felt surreal that after nearly five years of dating, they would finally be together. “I just had to see you in your suit before I said yes.” Rusty raised his eyebrow and smirked. “You mean you wanted to look at my perfect ass in this suit before you said yes, right?” 

Adam shrugged and the two started laughing together although Adam’s regular laugh was eclipsed by Rusty’s thunderous belly laugh. Adam gave his husband’s round butt a good squeeze and the two leaned in for a kiss. It felt like fireworks. 

“Hey, where’s your tie?” Adam asked as they pulled away.

“Oh shoot, it must’ve fallen off…” A playful smile appeared on Rusty’s face. “Hey, could you…”

Adam rolled his eyes and snickered. “Oh brother, you’re gonna be 40 next month and you still have trouble with ties?”

“Hey, this is the first time I’ve worn one in five years!” Rusty bellowed. “A guy like me only wears polos and work shirts at the construction site, none of this smarmy crap. Besides, just look at my chest - it doesn’t wanna be tucked away.” 

“Button up that top button and bend over,” he said, grabbing the paisley tie from the bed. 

“Oh, with pleasure, loverboy,” Rusty cooed, a comical sight coming from a bear like him. After a brief struggle from his clunky, sausage-sized fingers, he eventually succeeded in fastening his top button, but not without a few wispy strands of brown hair poking out the top. Being 8 inches taller than his fiance, he did have to bend down significantly, causing his body to strain the fabric of his luxurious suit. 

Adam flipped up Rusty’s collar and nimbly wound the tie around his thick, stubby neck. It was so erotic, feeling his fiance’s breathing so close to his face as he secured the tie into a tight Windsor knot, and knowing that this would be the final time the two of them had before their imminent marriage. “There,” he said, planting a long, passionate kiss on Rusty’s lips. They held it for a good five seconds before reluctantly pulling away. “See you soon,” Adam said with a wink before walking out the door.

“What a fucking tease,” Rusty replied. He readjusted his boner and stood up straight again. He straightened out the wrinkled lapel of his wedding tux, gave his hairy chest a good scratch, and sighed happily. 

Hours later, the wedding ceremony went off without a hitch. The newlywed couple recited their vows with emotional shakiness and dignity. The reception was filled with festivities and fun, where the happy couple was showered with love from all of their friends and family. Amid all of the sentiment, Rusty couldn’t help but get choked up on occasion. Even as a tough, burly fellow, he couldn’t help but soak in the unwavering love. He knew he was beyond lucky to have married the love of his life. Most of all, he knew that his gorgeous, custom-sized rusted orange suit would become one of his most highly treasured objects that he would now own forever. It would be a permanent reminder of the happiest day of his life. 

[aardvarkia]

A Mall and the Night Visitors

Originally posted on Patreon in July 2022. Join now to get stories when they first go up, along with exclusive artwork and my Discord! Two new stories are on the way any day now and you won't want to miss them...

Friday nights for Mason and Joey were reserved for fun. Careless, reckless, dangerous fun. Joyrides, or smoking at the reservoir, or getting Mason’s stepsister to buy them booze so they could party with the college kids across town. There was nothing more fun than those nights.

This Friday night was not one of those nights. 

This Friday night was starting off in the drab back room of the town’s shopping mall, and the skinny man in a cheap suit who’d brought them there was not one of the frat-boys-in-training they wanted to be out carousing with. Nor were the clothes sitting on the table the type of clothes they’d wear out. Or be seen dead in.

“I’m not putting that on,” Mason said, crossing his arms. “I don’t know where it’s been.”

“It’s been in the factory, then in the package, then on you,” Mr. Sanderson said dryly. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Did you think when you were told you could come here instead of going to jail you were going to get to do whatever you wanted?”

“It feels like jail anyway,” Joey mumbled, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Between the overhead lighting, bare walls, and series of locked metal doors they had to navigate, the back rooms of the Valiance Mall had the same aesthetic appeal as Leavenworth.

“If you don’t follow instructions I’ll let the courts know and we can arrange other penalties instead,” Sanderson needled. Mason and Joey both responded with withering looks and heavy sighs, then stepped forward and grabbed the sealed plastic bags. They tore them slowly - extremely slowly - keeping their eyes locked on their overseer as they wasted a full minute of Mr. Sanderson’s time. For his part, Sanderson just stared back, unimpressed by the rebellious display. Finally, there was no more plastic to delay ripping, and the bags exploded apart.

Joey unfolded the first item and laid it across the table: a brilliant white button-up shirt, short-sleeved, with chest pockets and a pointed collar. It crinkled when he touched it - the cheap polyester fabric was so starched it felt more like cardboard. And it smelled funny, too, sort of like a new car. Industrial.

At the same time, Mason unrolled the other item they’d been given, black polyester pants with extra tall belt loops and pleats down the front. A uniform.

Joey started to put his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, but Sanderson stopped him. “No no. You can’t put it over your t-shirt. That isn’t the dress code.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you, sicko,” Joey shot back.

“I’ll turn around, then,” Sanderson smiled, and he did so, facing the wall as he continued, “Let me know when I can look.”

Mason and Joey stared at each other, communicating silently. Mason balled up a fist and swung it at the air as if he was going to suckerpunch Sanderson, while Joey raised double middle fingers to the man’s back. The clothes were stupid, their eyes said, but going to jail was way worse, and that option was still very much on the table. So, resigned to their embarrassment, they yanked off their trendy t-shirts, briefly exposing their lean torsos to the chill of the back room. Joey had a little definition from intermittent weightlifting, Mason was bony and hadn’t ever filled out from his growth spurt, but neither could be described as anything other than skinny. They both shuddered as they pulled on their uniform shirts and buttoned them up the front, noticing that the creases they thought were from folding were actually sewn into the shirt to give it a permanently crisp look. Stays were sewn into the collars to prop up the points. The shirts were much too big, hanging on them like formless curtains, and when they buttoned their collars closed, their scrawny necks didn’t touch.

Even though they’d shared locker rooms many times over their years of friendship, Mason and Joey still turned away from each other as they took off their jeans and pulled their black uniform pants on, hastened by the goosebumps on their bare legs. “It’s cold in here,” Mason grumbled.

“We’re dressed.”

Sanderson turned back around and chortled when he saw the boys. “Guess I should’ve gotten your sizes ahead of time. Oh well. Here, these will help.” He rummaged through another plastic bag on the table and produced two black braided belts, both two inches wide with hefty silver buckles. Mason and Joey both put them on, then paused when Sanderson said, “And you have to tuck in your shirts.”

Both boys groaned. “Why’s it matter?” Joey whined.

“Because it’s dress code, and you need to look crisp and professional at all times. If that’s not a good enough reason for you, then let’s say because it’ll stop you from going to jail.”

“You can’t play that card every time,” Mason said.

“Sure I can,” Sanderson smiled. Joey wanted to knock his teeth out.

Mason and Joey reluctantly stuffed all the extra shirt fabric into their pants, then tightened their belts to the last notch to hold it all together. It was nice to know that the trousers weren’t going to fall down now, even if the belts pulled them dorkily high on their waists.

“And these.” Sanderson pulled two pairs of shoes out of the bag: chunky black Oxfords with a hi-gloss finish. They were a size too big, but the boys laced them up on their feet, over the ribbed black crew socks Sanderson also made them put on. The shoes made loud clomping noises as Mason and Joey moved around.

Sanderson started gathering up the clothes the boys brought with them, filling his arms with their jeans, t-shirts, and expensive sneakers. He held up Mason’s pair of Nikes. “You steal these too?”

“No. I paid for them, so I want them back.”

“Sure. But they’re getting locked up.” As the boys protested, Sanderson held up his hand. “I want to be sure you don’t leave the mall overnight. So I’m putting you in full security uniforms, locking up your real clothes in the safe, and setting the door alarms. You can walk around the mall but all the stores are locked. You’re guards on patrol for the night. In fact…” Sanderson balanced the collection of clothes in his hand and dumped the rest of the accessory bag on the table. A tangle of wires and fabric fell out. “Those are your radios and hats. Put them on.”

It took Mason and Joey a moment to figure out how it worked. Chunky walkie talkies clipped on their belts over their right hips, wired to speaker microphones that clipped onto the front of their uniform shirts. Then, reluctantly, they put their hats on: bell crown caps, like what policemen wore. The tall hats stood three inches above their foreheads, like a screen broadcasting the insignia of the security company.

Sanderson chuckled as he looked at them. “Look at the little mall cops. Bet you didn’t think this is what you’d be doing tonight, huh? Or what would happen when you stole all those video games? Now you gotta guard the game store.”

Joey spoke through a jaw locked by fury. “Yeah right. Real guards have to go through training and stuff. You’re just making us wear uniforms to embarrass us. You can’t make us work.”

“Sure I can! Once I lock up your clothes, I’m going home and going to bed. You’ll be here overnight keeping the mall safe, just the two of you. Remember, you can’t leave. Court’s signed off on this. And if you did decide to walk outside into the pouring rain and set off the alarm, you wouldn’t be able to get back in, so when I get back in the morning I’ll know you left and I’ll turn your ass in.” Sanderson chuckled as he saw the two thieves’ shoulders slump. “Yep, you’re stuck. You’re mall cops now. Good news is the Segways are charged, so you can ride around on those all you want and save yourself the walking while you’re on duty. Do me a favor and read from that paper there, so you know what’s expected of you.”

Joey and Mason picked it up and started to read before Sanderson clarified, “Read it out loud.”

Joey glared. “Security officers are expected to be observant and provide a visible deterrence to crime and disruptions in the Valiance Mall. Officers assist guests, enforce rules and regulations, and ensure access control. The security officer's mission is to maintain a safe, secure and professional environment by interacting with the public, vendors, client's staff & other event support staff.” He turned to Mason. “You read, dick.”

Mason snatched the paper away, speaking haltingly as he read. “The security officer must be able to stand and walk for several hours at a time. Officers must possess superior interpersonal skills and be willing and able to speak confidently and professionally with people or groups of people while representing the company and the client. Officers must be able to operate common communications equipment such as 2-way radios and cell phones. Officers must have exceptional written and oral communications, organizational and time management skills and be able to work alone or with groups of people for long periods of time both inside and outside.”

“Sounds fun, huh?” Sanderson teased. “But don’t worry, you shouldn’t have to talk to customers, or anyone except each other…unless you decide to do this full-time.”

Mason and Joey rolled their eyes in unison.

“We’ll check all the tapes in the morning to be sure you went on your hourly patrols. If you damage anything, or you sleep through the night, I’ll know and I’ll tell the judge. Oh, and one more thing,” Sanderson stretched out his free hand, tucking the bundle of clothing under his arm. “Give me your cell phones.”

“You can’t do that. That’s not safe, we need a phone if we need help,” Joey pointed out.

“I completely agree, which is why there’s one there…” Sanderson said, jerking his head to the phone mounted on the wall by the door, “and one in each room back here, along with in each of the hallways, plus your radios.”

Thoroughly defeated, Mason and Joey angrily slapped their beloved iPhones into Sanderson’s hand. They followed him to the office where he dumped everything in the safe. A lump formed in Joey’s throat as he heard the safe click shut. “You kids and your phones,” Sanderson said, sensing their despair. “You’ll be fine without them for one night. Maybe you’ll learn to live without them, even.”

“What happens if we get tired?”

“Make some coffee. There’s vending machines with other caffeinated stuff too. I told you to bring cash for tonight, remember?”

“Yeah. I did,” Mason said. “I just don’t want to spend it.”

“Be grateful you can. You can’t just walk over to a vending machine and buy a Red Bull in-”

“-in jail, I know, I know, Jesus Christ,” Mason said, cutting Sanderson off. “I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Mr. Sanderson said, “but you will. Alright, my little mall cops, I’m outta here. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun tonight.”

Joey opened his mouth to snark back to the creep, but his world went dark as his security guard cap fell down over his eyes. He wrenched it off angrily to see Mr. Sanderson and, more annoyingly, Mason laughing at him. 

“Put it back on, kid, it’s part of your uniform,” Mr. Sanderson ordered with an amused smirk. Joey grit his teeth as he put the cap on his head, this time shifting it further back to sit on his crown. It wobbled as he walked down the hall behind Mason and Sanderson, toward an emergency exit that Sanderson opened with a ring of keys. Rain was pelting down outside, but a canopy prevented the man from getting wet. 

Mr. Sanderson extended his hand to Mason, who looked at it like it was a dead fish. But when Sanderson kept staring at him with those cold, arrogant eyes, Mason reluctantly shook the man’s hand.

“No, no, come on, you’re a security guard now, you’re supposed to be tough. Give me a proper man’s handshake.” Sanderson pulled his hand away and made Mason shake it again. “Much better. Now say, ‘I am proud to be a mall security guard.’”

“You gotta be kidding.”

Sanderson and Mason’s hands were both red from how hard they were squeezing each other, but the handshake didn’t break. “Say it,” Sanderson said.

“I am proud to be a mall security guard,” Mason grumbled.

“Well done, officer,” Sanderson said, patting the epaulet on Mason’s shoulder before turning to Joey. “Now you.”

“I don’t have to shake your fucking hand,” Joey sneered. “The judge told us to be here and to work, not be your slaves. You already made me dress up like I’m an action figure or something. You gonna tell the court that we didn’t do what we were supposed to do because I wouldn’t shake your stupid hand?”

Mr. Sanderson didn’t react. He didn’t even flinch. “That’s exactly what I’ll tell them,” he responded simply, the flatness of his voice making the hair on Joey’s neck stand up.

“FINE!” Joey slapped his hand into Sanderson’s with comical aggression, trying to squeeze the life out of it. “I’m super proud to be a mall security guard!” he said cloyingly.

Sanderson laughed. “See? That was easy. Until tomorrow, fellas.” He shut the door and a few seconds later, Mason and Joey heard the lock click - and noticed the “ALARMED” light flicker on. They both flipped off the door and hoped Sanderson felt their disdain on the other side.

But the middle fingers were an empty show, and they knew it. The truth was that they were alone. And they were stuck.

“This is the dumbest fucking thing,” Mason swore, stomping back to the break room. He and Joey immediately wrenched off their hats and untucked their shirts. “While he was talking I was thinking we could just fall asleep in here and leave in the morning, and then he was like, ‘oh I’ll check the security footage hurrdurr.’ Fuckin’ retard.”

“Maybe jail would’ve been better,” Joey joked and Mason laughed. For all their posturing, they knew this was the far superior option. Better than paying a fine, even, because they didn’t have any money. Guys with money probably weren’t stealing a thousand dollars worth of games from GameStop.

They tried to waste time by talking. They covered school, teachers, girls, parents, games. After a long silence, Mason bent backwards and looked at the wall clock.

“We’ve been here forty minutes,” he groaned. “God, this is going to be the slowest night ever.”

“Literally, can we call someone and ask them to smash out a window so we can call the cops and leave?”

This seemed like a viable idea, until they realized they only knew a couple people who would be willing to commit an actual crime for them, and they didn’t have those people’s phone numbers committed to memory. Plus, Mason pointed out, the mall phones probably had call records, and if someone put two and two together they’d be hauled back to court.

The boys forced conversation for another fifteen minutes as it dawned on both of them that they’d never had to talk for this long. There was always another task to distract them: a movie, a game, a meal. Now, in this boring-ass room, there wasn’t even anything to prompt new topics. It was like being on a bad date.

They were arguing the merits of their favorite colors when Mason finally stood up. “I gotta get a change of scenery, man. I’ll take a walk around. Might as well since we have to anyway.”

“Saves me from having to do it.”

“You’re gonna make me walk around this dark-ass mall alone?”

“You’re gonna leave me in this dark-ass room alone?” Joey rocked his chair backward and looked at Mason standing by the door. “That uniform looks so dumb on you.”

“Right back at you, dick.” Mason opened the door and stepped into the hall. “These dumb shoes. So fucking noisy. I wonder how much walking counts as a patrol. Like, can I just walk around this floor a little bit? Or do we have to walk around all three floors…or can I do one and you do another…”

“Just GO, man.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Shit doesn’t matter as long as we’re seen on camera, right? I’ll just do a loop I guess. See ya.” 

Joey listened to Mason’s footsteps clomp away. He heard the door that separated the back security area from the main mall swing open with a creak, then softly click shut. It was then that he realized how bored he was going to be. There was literally nothing to do, and now no one to talk to either. But he wasn’t going to go chasing after Mason, so he stood up and ambled around the small room, looking for anything to occupy his thoughts like a drug addict searching for a fix.

Next to the microwave - which, Joey noticed, really needed cleaning - was a brochure detailing the Christmas offerings of the mall. It was something that had words printed on it, and that was good enough for Joey. He didn’t care that Christmas was months prior. He was going to read about how to meet Santa and where to park if you just wanted curbside pickup for your pre-ordered gifts, and he was going to pretend to find it fascinating.

The tri-fold pamphlet took about two minutes to read. Joey read it front-to-back three times, then looked around the room again. The next thing he found was a three-ring binder which, to his crushing disappointment, was a yellowed instruction manual for the mall’s security guards. He would not be reading that, no matter how bored he got. 

Joey left the room and went to the next one down the hall, where he was greeted by a wall of black-and-white TVs displaying security footage from around the mall. Everything was so still that Joey wondered if the televisions were frozen, but then a movement in the lower left corner got his attention, and he turned to see Mason walk by the camera. “Look at that loser,” Joey chuckled to himself, trying to spot Mason on the other monitors. Every now and then he’d see a stuttering feed display his friend for a few moments, glitching his way across the screen. Mason was probably bored out of his mind too. It sucked they couldn’t actually go into the stores.

And finally, Joey found a game he could play: in the upper right corner of the bank of screens was a feed of the mall’s entrance, and cars would regularly drive by. Joey would lean in closely and try to guess the make and color of the car. Sometimes he could make out a hood ornament, other times he had to go off of the shape. It kept him engaged until he finally heard the hallway door swing open and click shut, heralding the return of his buddy.

“I’m in here,” Joey said, sticking his arm out in the hall and waving. “Watching security camera stuff.”

“Comin’.” Clomp clomp clomp clomp clomp. “These stupid shoes…”

Joey almost jumped when his friend walked in the room. It took him a moment to recognize Jason. Something was different about him, but Joey couldn’t put his finger on what. It was just…something in general. The way he carried himself, maybe. Joey had never seen Jason put his hands on his hips before, which is how he was standing as he looked at the screens. That was how Joey noticed Jason’s shirt was tucked in.

“Look at you, Mr. Crisp and Professional,” Joey teased, echoing Sanderson’s words from earlier.

“Huh?” Jason looked down at his precisely tucked shirt. “Oh. Yeah, it snagged on a door handle, so I tucked it in.” His voice was a little lower, too - not quieter, just deeper.

“Need some water, bro? You sound hoarse.”

“Maybe. Actually, I’m gonna make some coffee. Gotta wake my ass up.” Jason walked out of the monitor room and back into the break room. 

Joey followed. “I thought you hated coffee.”

“Have we ever met? It’s just about all I drink,” Jason said, but Joey remembered all the times Jason chugged a Bang in class at 7 in the morning because he didn’t like coffee. Or all the times they’d gone to Starbucks and Jason got a hot chocolate because he didn’t like coffee. Or all the times Jason turned down Joey’s uncle’s homemade coffee ice cream because he didn’t like coffee. Jason really didn’t like coffee. And yet, there he was, brewing up a pot of bitter brew, which he poured into a styrofoam cup and drank black. “Want some?”

“No. What’s with you?”

Jason lowered his cup and stared at Joey. “Uh…nothing?”

“You seem weird. There’s something…I don’t know. There’s something different about you.”

Jason shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you, dude. Is this some kind of game to make you less bored? You trying to start something?” He took another long sip of coffee and shut his eyes. “Damn, that’s some good shit.”

“You’re like an inch taller or something. I can’t figure it out.”

“You sound like a crackhead. Chill.” Jason crushed the rest of his coffee and poured a second cup. “In case you were wondering, it’s boring out there too. I was hoping at least for some spooky noises or something, but nope. Nothin’. Well, actually, I did hear a car peel out one time. I was hoping it was gonna smash through the side of the mall like the Kool-Aid man in Family Guy.” 

Joey chuckled at the joke, but was drowned out by Jason’s low, rumbling laugh, which was a far more robust sound than Joey was used to him making. That was all Joey could think about as Jason recounted the rest of his route: Jason’s weird, deep laugh. It sounded like one of their teachers. He was completely lost in thought when he heard Jason say, “Did you see anything like that?”

Joey blinked. He had no idea what Jason was asking about. “See anything like…what? Sorry…”

“Dude, are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, I’m just distracted.”

“By what? There’s nothing to do here, that’s what we’ve been talking about!” Jason unleashed his manly laugh again. It made Joey’s stomach flip. “The scanner, that’s what I was asking about. There’s checkpoints all over the mall with barcodes that you scan to show that you were there, but I didn’t have a scanner. I was just wondering if you saw one for when I go out there again.”

Joey felt his irritation rising. “Why do you care about doing this shit correctly? That fucking weirdo didn’t tell us about using barcodes or scanners or anything so why should we worry about it?”

Jason’s eyebrows knit together. His expression turned defensive. “Because I’m trying to not die of boredom, so let me pretend I’m playing laser tag, okay? I can go around and try to find all the checkpoints. It’s like a fucking treasure hunt and it’s more interesting than sitting back here scratching my nuts for an hour. Calm down, what’s your fucking problem?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Joey raised his hands and leaned back. “I just thought you were taking this seriously for a second and it pissed me off.”

“Nah, this shit is dumb, dude,” Jason agreed. “I mean, it is serious, in a way, because it’s keeping us from going to jail. But the actual work is pointless. And clearly, it doesn’t matter much, if they’re putting this whole mall in the hands of two high school guys who can’t even leave of their own volition.”

“Of their own what?”

“Volition.”

Joey chortled. “The fuck does that mean?”

“We can’t leave willingly. Voluntarily.”

“Oh.” Now Joey just felt dumb. Not only because he didn’t know that word’s meaning, but because he could tell something was up and he simply couldn’t figure out what it was. This night had him fucked up. Unsettled. Wearing the uncomfortable uniform, sitting in a strange room, talking to his best friend who he didn’t know as well as he thought. “I wanna go home,” he grumbled.

“Me too. What I wouldn’t give to be in my recliner with my feet up…” Jason sighed. Joey had been to his buddy’s house a million times and never noticed a recliner. But they were both on edge already, and that wasn’t a fight worth picking. “Watching some football, drinking whiskey,” Jason continued. “That’d be nice.”

“I’d be in bed playing games,” Joey said.

“What kind of games?”

Joey humored him. “Video games, dude. C’mon now. Xbox, Playstation, Nintendo…”

“Oh, right, those.” Jason took a long swig of coffee and looked at the ceiling. “I’ve never been into those.”

“You’re…” Joey had a million things he wanted to say. They were literally stuck in this situation because of video games, specifically because Jason was a shitty thief who got them caught, and now here he was saying he didn’t even like video games to begin with. It kind of made sense, in one way, because Joey couldn’t recall Jason ever actually playing. He always sat next to Joey and watched - sometimes even with a controller in his hand - but never joined in. But Joey couldn’t piece together why Jason would try to steal a thousand dollars worth of games if he didn’t even like them. There’d never been plans to resell them. They were stealing them to play them. “...really?” Joey finally squeaked out.

“Yeah, you know me. I like football, muscle cars, things like that. Guy stuff.”

Joey felt like he didn’t know Jason at all, actually. Everything he was hearing felt new to him, but he could recall pockets of memories that backed up what Jason was saying. He’d just never connected the dots. 

There was a clunking noise and Jason leaned forward, looking for the source of it. “Oh, it’s the scanner,” he said, holding up a small black cylinder. “For those checkpoints.”

“Where’d that come from?”

“It was clipped on my belt, actually. Sanderson must’ve put it there. Do you have one?” Jason asked. Joey looked down and shook his head. “Pew pew,” Jason chuckled, flicking the laser onto Joey’s chest. “Gotcha.”

“Please actually kill me,” Joey said. “It’d get me out of here.”

Jason stood up, shining the scanner’s laser on the wall. “I think I’ll take this baby for a spin,” he said, twirling the item like he was a gunslinging cowboy. “Go find me some checkpoints.” He grabbed his security cap and jammed it on his head, pushing his nest of hair down around his ears.

“Want me to come?” Joey offered, even though he didn’t want to.

“You don’t have a scanner! You don’t need to, it’s fine. You’d just be bored. Anyway, I’ll be back in a few. I won’t do a full facility tour this time.”

Joey felt a chill when he heard Jason call it a ‘facility tour.’ That sounded like an official phrase. And as he watched Jason tuck his shirt tighter and adjust his security cap, he thought Jason looked a little too official as well. But when Jason stopped at the door, spun around and flashed the laser beam on Joey’s chest again, with another high-pitched “pew pew,” Joey relaxed a bit. Jason wasn’t actually taking it seriously.

As Joey listened to Jason’s steps thud loudly down the hall, he thought back to their conversation. Jason was behaving oddly, there was no denying it. The coffee was one thing, but also his posture - so straight - and an occasional bluntness breaking through. Jason and Joey were supposed to be a united front during this stupid punishment, but now it felt like Jason wasn’t fully seeing it for the bullshit it was. Even though he’d been joking about it, Jason seemed to genuinely want to go on a - what had he called it? - a ‘facility tour.’ Where had he picked that term up, anyway?

Joey only wanted to see eye-to-eye with his buddy. Literally, in fact. He hadn’t noticed until a few minutes prior that Jason was taller than he was, which also gnawed at him. It was only by an inch or two, but still, it mattered. Joey didn’t like to lose. It was already bad enough that Jason was getting into working out. Joey never thought his friend would be the type to have tubs of protein powder and pre-cooked chicken breast in his kitchen, but Jason was pretty dedicated to it nowadays. He was too lazy to have ever played sports in school - despite having some natural athletic talent - but with the weightlifting, he was getting pretty strong. 

It’d be hilarious to see Jason all jacked, Joey thought, but he knew that would never happen. Jason never saw his obsessions through long-term.

Clomp clomp clomp clomp. Joey perked up at the sound of Jason’s thunderous footsteps coming back down the hall. Sounded like he had a pair of cinderblocks strapped to his feet. “Those fuckin’ shoes, huh?” Joey said, as Jay walked into the room.

“Shoes?” Jay looked at his shiny Oxfords.

“They’re noisy.”

“Oh. I guess. I walk heavy too,” Jay said, his voice deep and resonant. Joey had never heard him sound like that. Like a man. “God, I need more coffee.” He looked tired, Joey noticed. Kind of…worn. Yet there was a strength to the features. Was his jaw wider? No, that’d be crazy…

“Where’d you get those patches?” Joey asked, noticing Jay’s sleeves.

Jay swallowed down a gulp of hot coffee. “Hm?”

“Your sleeves. They have the mall security patches on them.”

“Oh.” Jay looked casually at his short sleeves, which bore bright blue iron-on patches that depicted the mall’s logo, along with the same insignia that was on his bell cap. “I didn’t notice.”

“I don’t have those,” Joey pointed out, raising his arms to show his plain sleeves.

“Different factories, probably,” Jay shrugged. The motion drew Joey’s eyes to Jay’s collar, where there were gold stars pinned to each point. Had those been there even a second ago?

“Maybe that’s why your shirt fits better than mine,” Joey griped. 

Jay’s uniform shirt was still too big on him, but only by a size. His workout regimen was paying off nicely - he had square shoulders, veiny forearms, and chest definition that showed through his shirt. Even his neck looked to have gained a couple inches, which was why he reached up and unbuttoned his collar, the points springing apart to reveal a bulging Adam’s apple. “Ahh, that’s better. I don’t know why I buttoned that. I always leave my collars open.” He took his cap off and ran his fingers through his short, choppy hair. 

“How’s your working out going?” Joey asked.

Jay’s eyes lit up. He was suddenly more spirited than he’d been all day - maybe than he’d ever been. “Good, dude! Thanks for asking! I actually just upgraded my gym membership so I could go to all of the locations in town. There’s one right by here, it’s really nice. I’m getting a lot stronger. It’s really more about the nutrition than anything else - that’s the hard part for me - but I’m getting better with that. I’ve outgrown some of my clothes, isn’t that crazy?”

Joey tried to interject a non-committal “yeah, crazy,” but Jay kept talking, about his favorite lifts and his new gym buddies and all the things he was learning. Before this moment, Joey had never heard about any of these supposed gym friends, or seen evidence of Jay meal prepping, but according to Jay he no longer ate fast food and he brought all his meals from home, cooked and weighed ahead of time.

Finally, the monologue stopped for Jay to take a breath and a sip of his precious coffee, and Joey was able to speak. “I’m not gonna make fun of you for being like a jock, because you look like you could beat the shit out of me,” he said, “Just don’t get so big you look gross.”

Jay’s deep, masculine chuckle reverberated through the room. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that big. I’m naturally skinny. I just want to be able to carry my groceries up to my apartment in one load without getting tired.”

Joey wondered what apartment Jay was talking about, but figured maybe he was planning ahead for college. He eyed Jay analytically as his friend sipped his coffee, biceps making small peaks each time he raised the cup to his lips. Finally, Jay noticed the stare. “What?”

“You just seem different today. I can’t figure it out.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Not this again. I dunno what to tell you. I don’t think there’s anything different about me.” He looked down at himself and straightened the mic hooked to his shirt. “Maybe it’s the uniform. Seeing you in one is throwing me off too, because you actually look good for once.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Joey laughed. “I don’t feel like I look good, I feel stupid.”

“No, I mean, it’s stupid we have to wear them, but they don’t look bad,” Jay said, checking the points of his collar to make sure they were standing up around his neck. “If I had my phone I’d send a picture to my aunt. She always says the best jobs are the ones that make you wear a uniform. I thought she meant, you know, like a doctor or a soldier, but maybe she meant-”

“-yeah, she definitely meant being a fucking mall cop,” Joey interrupted with a grin.

“Maybe she did!” Jay said with an agreeable smile. “Keeping people safe is important!”

“Is that what we’re doing? Or are we rolling up on our Segway to yell at a kid for sticking his gum on a bench?”

Jay snapped his fingers. “The Segways! I wanted to try riding one.”

“Stop fucking with me, man, this is so weird.”

“What? I’m serious. When else am I gonna get to ride a Segway? And it isn’t one of those dumb two-wheeler ones, it’s the Patroller model with three wheels. It looks like the Batmobile.” Jay trailed off when he saw Joey’s judgmental glare. “Don’t want to ride it? Suit yourself, I’ll go alone.” He flipped the uniform cap onto his head and tossed out his coffee cup. “Should make this next facility tour a lot easier. I’m gonna try to scan every single checkpoint this time, I think I missed a few last time…”

He ambled out of the room, leaving a dumbfounded Joey behind. “You’re not actually a mall cop, Jay,” Joey muttered to himself. He felt slightly betrayed by his friend no longer mocking the whole process. Tucking in his shirt, wearing his hat, doing the hourly patrols, riding the fucking Segway-

The Segway! Joey realized he could use the security cameras to watch his dork-ass friend ride it around. Apparently Jay knew enough about Segways that he knew the names of the models. “It’s the Patroller model, it’s a Batmobile,” Joey mocked aloud. “Dumbass.”

He walked into the room full of monitors and distracted himself with the car-identifying game for several minutes. “Ooh, a Tesla,” he spotted. After several minutes, Joey began to wonder where Jay was. Maybe he couldn’t get the Patroller to turn on, or he didn’t know how to start it. It was pretty crazy that Sanderson was letting a couple of proven delinquents run wild inside the mall with machinery that cost thousands of dollars. Then again, they couldn’t pick up much speed-

Joey’s head snapped to the left when he saw a flicker of movement on one of the monitors. “There you are,” he whispered, leaning forward. Jay on a fucking Segway, looking ridiculous. It rolled out of frame before Joey had much time to analyze it, and then his viewing became like a game of whack-a-mole, as he watched all the monitors waiting to see where Jay would pop up next. Jay was right, the Segway had three wheels - it reminded Joey of a jetski fused with a police bike, with the rider standing upright on the back and controlling it using the big handles. The white exterior shell had the word “SECURITY” emblazoned across both sides, big enough for Joey to be able to read on the security monitors, and it looked like it had the mall logo and security insignia on the front.

What was most surprising was how Jay was driving the thing. Joey’d assumed Jay would be acting like he was in Fast & Furious, zooming all over the place, making donuts. But Jay just went in a slow, straight line, from one area to the next, his head swiveling back and forth as he surveyed his surroundings. Every now and then he would stop the vehicle and hop off, presumably to scan one of those checkpoints he wouldn’t shut up about. As Joey watched his friend check all the main doors of the mall, pushing against them to ensure they were locked, he said out loud to the screens: “You aren’t a real mall cop, dumbass!” Jay was playing it cool when they were together, but he was busted now: he was taking it seriously, and Joey couldn’t believe it. Punkass Jay, wearing a uniform with little stars pinned to the collar, riding around on a Segway, acting like he was a goddamn mall cop. If only the other guys from school could see him now.

He watched Jay step back onto the Patroller and check the tuck of his shirt and angle of his hat. “Loser,” Joey spat angrily, having seen enough. He got up and stormed back to the break room, kicking his feet up on the table and waiting for Jay to walk back in so he could lay into him.

But after ten minutes, Jay still wasn’t back. Granted, he didn’t move nearly as quickly as he used to, because he’d broken his promise and gotten much bigger. Another betrayal. Joey and Jay barely hung out anymore because that motherfucker was always in the gym with his stupid lifting bros, eating dry chicken and drinking gross protein shakes.

The wait was long enough that Joey’s bladder began asking for relief. The teen got up with a sigh and walked to the door. Where was the bathroom in this place? He hadn’t seen one in this hallway. He pawed blindly on the hallway walls for a lightswitch, but felt none, and since he couldn’t use his phone to see, he made it all the way to the end of the corridor and opened up the metal door that led into the mall. Most of the light was courtesy of the moon through the skylight, which gave the silent atrium an eerie purple glow.

Joey shuffled past stores, his oversized shoes making it hard to walk practically. He’d just spotted the sign pointing toward the restrooms when-

“STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Joey nearly jumped out of his skin. The bellowing voice made his ears ring. He clutched his heart and whirled around to see the outline of Jay zooming up on his Patroller. “You’re in trouble now, kid,” a deep voice snarled from the darkness.

Joey felt his throat knot up, making his words barely audible, but he squeaked out, “D-d-dude, it’s me! Joey! I-it’s Joey!”

The Patroller came to a stop a yard away. “Joey? Who’s…oh! Joey!” Ray hopped off his vehicle and walked into view, and Joey’s eyes widened. He hadn’t noticed how big Ray was until now. Ray was a full head taller than Joey, for one. And he was built. Thick, bulging muscles rippled across his tensed frame. His square jaw was locked, ready for a fight. And his voice was unnaturally deep, almost preposterous to listen to. Like a growl. “My mistake, kid. I forgot you were here. Why are you out walking around? You should’ve radioed and let me know.” He put his hands on his hips and looked down at Joey sternly.

“Sorry, I didn’t think I needed permission from my friend to take a fucking leak,” Joey said furiously. “I was looking for the bathroom, but don’t worry, I don’t need it anymore cause I think I pissed myself just now.”

“You…oh, that’s a joke!” Ray’s deep, dull laugh echoed through the mall. He pushed his hips forward and leaned back, laughing heartily. The shirt button over his chest pulled open and exposed two solid blocks of muscle where there had once been nothing but a flat board. “I can show you where the john is if you still need to go, bud.” 

“How do YOU know where it is?”

“‘Cause I check all of them, make sure no one’s hiding in there or anything. C’mon.”

“You know you don’t actually work here, right?” Joey muttered, slouching behind Ray’s confident, long strides, which provided a view of his muscular butt straining the back of his uniform pants. Joey felt like he remembered Ray’s clothes being too big, like how his own were, but Ray usually had the opposite problem - most things were too small on him, especially in the chest and shoulders.

“I could, though. I’m good at it.” They walked into the bathroom and the automatic lights came on, bathing them in more light than they’d had all evening. 

Ray stood at a urinal and took a hearty piss, not seeing Joey staring at him in shock from the side. Joey’s mind was racing. This was wrong…something was very, very wrong…Ray wasn’t supposed to look like this, he knew. He didn’t remember what Ray actually needed to look like, but it wasn’t this. His friend wasn’t supposed to be built like an amateur bodybuilder with thick veiny arms that threatened to tear his shirt sleeves if he moved them wrong. Not only did the open buttons on his shirt show off his shockingly thick chest, but the muscles were sporting little sprouts of hair, just like Ray’s square, bulging jaw was. 

Ray strutted to the sinks, still zipping himself back up, re-tucking his shirt and tightening his belt around his cobbled waist. He swept off his hat to reveal his treasured hair was now shorn into a barely-there flat top, the half-inch bristles standing straight up to form a surface as level as a table. Joey caught sight of it and froze. 

“What happened to your hair?”

“Hm?”

“Your hair. It used to be long.”

Ray made a face. “I hate long hair on men,” he said, before his eyes fell on Joey’s shaggy curls. “No offense.”

“But a flat top, dude?”

“Of course a flat top. It’s perfect for me.” Ray clenched his jaw at the mirror, the tendons around his neck hardening and releasing. Joey remembered Ray having a pointy, elfin chin, but now Ray had a broad box with a dimple in it, the kind of chin that went with a flat top. It made his whole face look different. In fact, his whole head just seemed bigger. Stronger. Joey felt stupid for thinking it, but he couldn’t convince himself otherwise.

“It makes you look like you’re on steroids,” Joey said, delivering it like a joke even though it wasn’t.

“I think it’s the muscles that make me look like I’m on steroids,” Ray said cockily. On the left side of his chest was a gold shield, pinned above the breast pocket. Ray checked it in the mirror and made sure it was straight. “But I’m not doing anything crazy. Just cruising test right now.”

Joey didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it. He wondered if it had anything to do with Ray’s chest hair. Hadn’t it just been bristles a second ago? Now it was long and curly, shading Ray’s collarbone and the center of his square pecs. Ray smoothed it down as he admired his reflection, then gave his chest a not-so-subtle grope. “You good, kid?”

“Don’t call me a kid, asshole. We’re the same age.”

“You’re right. Just a habit.” Ray’s low chuckle once again gave Joey the creeps. His entire voice, really. It was too deep, like a bad guy in a cartoon.

Joey followed Ray out of the bathroom, noticing his friend’s back muscles squirming under his shirt. “Why did you get so buff, man, it’s freaky,” Joey said.

“Because I’m a man, and all men should be bodybuilders,” Ray said firmly. “I want to be strong and big and manly, and you should too.”

“But you didn’t use to be like that,” Joey stammered, annoyed with himself at how meek he became around Ray. He didn’t feel like Ray’s equal anymore. And why was that? Because Ray had bigger muscles and some chest hair? That was stupid. And yet, Joey couldn’t overcome it.

“Yeah, I used to be a little punk asshole, but I’ve got my head on straight now,” Ray said, hopping back on his Patroller. “You coming?”

“No,” Joey said, bewildered. The sight of Ray, muscular and uniformed, standing atop the vehicle, shook him to his core. “I’m not gonna do work for that Sanderson dick.”

“Lazy,” Ray said. “But whatever.” The Patroller powered to life, and he rolled past Joey into the darkness without another word.

Joey didn’t know whether to be sad or mad. He felt abandoned by Ray, but it was also so ridiculous to see Ray pretending to be a fucking security guard that it almost made him laugh. He wanted to shout “Loser!” into the darkness, but if Ray came back to beat his ass, it would not be a fair fight. So he trudged angrily back to the break room, catching the low hum of the Patroller echoing through the empty mall before he slammed the door to block it out. He finally said it aloud as he stormed back to the break room: “Loser! Dick!”

Curiosity got the best of him, and he stuck his head into the monitor room to look at Ray scooting around the mall. But after a few glimpses, he didn’t want to watch anymore. Ray just looked huge. Even the small, blurry monitors couldn’t hide his size. The Patroller looked kind of silly with such a big man piloting it - like an adult riding a child’s tricycle. 

Joey didn’t know what happened to Ray. They had so much in common when they first met. He never imagined Ray to be the type to get obsessed with bodybuilding, but Ray had allowed it to completely consume him. He made himself so huge that he tapped out his body’s potential, then he started on steroids - another thing that shocked Joey - and grew so enormous Joey barely recognized him anymore. And when he was tanned for those weird competitions he did, Joey really couldn’t recognize him. Ray, painted an unnatural copper, body shaved, dick stuffed into a little pouch, flexing and posing and dwarfing all the other men onstage. It wasn’t the guy Joey knew. Ray was a new man. A stranger.

Joey bought a Red Bull and chugged half of it before he remembered he didn’t like Red Bull, but it provided a blast of adrenaline that fueled his anger toward Ray. That stupid fucking meathead, taking himself so seriously in his gay uniform. Who the fuck did he think he was. The real Ray was fun, adventurous, wild, and he’d given all that up to…do what, exactly? Live in the gym and act like a goddamn Boy Scout? 

“Blech,” Joey said, unable to endure any more Red Bull. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, unsure of what else to do except sleep. Before the surge of caffeine he’d consumed could hit him, he dozed off.

A loud metallic bang woke him, and Joey’s head jolted up. With his eyes still navigating through the blurry purgatory of semi-consciousness, the enormous shape he saw from behind didn’t register as human to him. The thing was rummaging through a locker, like a bear attacking a campsite.

It was only when Joey’s vision brightened that he could see the beast was wearing a uniform, and that there was a human hand pressed against the lockers for support. It was the biggest human hand Joey had ever seen, as broad and thick as an oven mitt, but it was a human hand nonetheless.

Dread knotted in his stomach. It couldn’t be him, could it…maybe there was another guard here…just please don’t be…

“...Roy?”

The locker slammed shut and Roy turned around. “So you are awake,” he rumbled.

Joey stared in utter horror. He knew Roy, he’d known Roy for years, but it was like he was seeing him for the first time. It was a monster that stood before him, not a man. It couldn’t be Roy - there was too much muscle. Bestial, terrifying muscle that seemed to fill the entire room. Joey’s brain didn’t know how to process the man’s size. What his eyes first saw as a grown man’s thick, muscular leg was Roy’s arm, which meant Roy’s actual legs were off-the-charts massive, making the heavy polyester pants he wore look like a ballet dancer’s tights. His shirt fared even worse, offering the same coverage as a Kleenex would wrapped around a brick. The bottom three buttons were holding on for dear life over his abs, leaving the rest of the shirt to fall open and expose his gargantuan chest. Parked above his broad rib cage were a pair of square pecs so dense it was as if two or three extra sets were grafted onto them. They were each the size of Roy’s head, bursting proudly out of his uniform shirt.

But even ignoring the muscle - which Joey couldn’t, but he was trying - Roy was positively freaky. His skin was like a rhino’s hide, leathery and worn, covered head to toe in angry veins. Veins bulging from his temples, veins slashing across his mighty pecs, and the biggest veins of all across his biceps - those ones looked like goddamn garden hoses. His extreme vascularity brought a permanent flush to his skin, but the ruddiness was offset by body hair as coarse and colorless as steel wool. Thick mats of hair prickled out of Roy’s immense forearms, but they were nothing compared to his beautiful pelt of chest hair, so silver it made his pecs look metallic. Like he was the Terminator. His silver flat top drove home the killer machine look.

“What’re you starin’ at, kid?”

Joey’s eyes flicked to Roy’s face when Roy asked the question. His jaw was too square, like an action figure’s unrealistic dimensions, with a chin so powerful it was almost a parody of masculinity. Sharp cheekbones set his eyes deep in his skull, beneath a bushy dark brow. The skin of his face was weathered, lightly wrinkled as a 50-year-old man’s was supposed to be. Joey struggled to recall why he knew a middle-aged man so well, because there was no denying that Roy was several decades older even if Joey didn’t remember him that way.

“Y-you…your…” Joey choked and wheezed, his mouth hanging open at the colossus. “Your uniform doesn’t fit.”

“It fits how I want it to. I’d say yours fits worse.” Roy yanked a chair out from the table and crashed his bulk into it. There was a plastic container on the table, and he popped the lid off to expose a pile of grilled chicken and jasmine rice, which he began shoveling into his mouth with the plastic cutlery he’d retrieved from his locker.

“Where’d you get food?”

Roy didn’t look at Joey. He was too busy eating. He shrugged, which made his rainbow-shaped traps bulge up to his ears and out of his open collar. “Brought it from home, of course. You gotta for overnights.” Joey noticed a tear in Roy’s short sleeve right over his bicep, which was the size of a cantaloupe.

“But where did you store it, they took all our stuff away-” Joey’s mind was swimming. Hadn’t he walked in with Roy? And Roy didn’t have food then…

“They took your stuff away. I have a locker ‘cause I work here, kid.”

Joey’s confusion tripled. He sat quietly, absorbing what Roy had just said. As Roy ate an entire fucking chicken like it was a light snack, Joey was trying to reconcile the man before him with the boy he thought he knew. Bits and pieces went together, but nothing made sense. “You don’t work here,” he said as boldly as he could, though he hesitated when he saw Roy’s body tense up. “You just think you do. You’ve been, like, brainwashed somehow…that Sanderson guy, I think he did something to you. He changed you. It doesn’t make sense but-”

“Derek wouldn’t do shit to me,” Roy growled. “And I fucking work here. I’ve worked here for years.”

“Dude, seriously, that’s impossible, you’re just a kid-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Roy barked, and Joey did so. In the silence, Roy stood up and threw out his disposable dishes. He turned back around and put his hands on his hips, flaring his lats and puffing his chest. “Does this look like a kid to you?”

“N-no-”

“That’s fucking right, because I’m not a kid. I don’t wanna be a kid. I’m a grown fucking man.”

“But you’re not!” Joey tried to reason. “That guy is just making you think you are! We’re supposed to be in here because we stole games and now you-”

“I’ve never stolen anything in my life,” Roy shouted, thrusting a finger as thick as a hot dog at Joey. “I’m a good man. I work hard. I’ve spent my whole life protecting people from shitheads like you. You think you know me, kid, you don’t know a single fucking thing about me. My name is Roy McCollum. I am 54 years old. I’m a combat veteran who served my country. I’m a masters division bodybuilder. I work as a bouncer and a security guard and I love it. I’m proud to be a mall security guard. There’s nothing else I’d rather do.” Every muscle in Roy’s body seemed to flex in agreement.

“That can’t be right, that can’t be right,” Joey mumbled, half to himself. “No, something’s happening, you’re…you…mustache?”

In the five seconds since Roy stopped talking, he’d grown an epic horseshoe mustache that put Hulk Hogan to shame. 

“Jealous?” Roy smirked. “Maybe you’ll grow one someday.”

“Wh-what happened to you, man?”

“Nothing happened to me. I worked out, took a nap, got my dinner together, and came to work. The only surprise is I have to babysit some little asshole young enough to be my grandkid.” Roy arched one of his bushy eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re just not used to being around a man like me.”

Joey shook his head. “No, I’m just trying to remember…you were young, we came in together, and you just…transformed, and now I’m having trouble thinking back to how you used to be-”

“Good,” Roy snarled, pushing his hips against the table. His skin was flushed, his breathing ragged. “Good. Forget all of that. I don’t want to be a kid. I want to be a man. Forget anyone weak you’re confusing me with. I was never weak.” His hips pumped faster, fucking the air. “I’ve never been anyone else but Roy McCollum. I’m a veteran and a bouncer and a security guard…and a bodybuilder…FUCK, I love being a bodybuilder…makes me feel like such a fucking man, and I love being a fucking man…if I’ve changed, then I’m glad I changed! Listen to my voice! Look at my fucking body, oh FUUCCK-”

He slumped forward, a wet spot spreading across his crotch before vanishing moments later. He groped his cock and moaned happily, pearly teeth peeking out from beneath his mustache. Then the room went silent. Roy caught his breath. He stood up, smoothed down his shirt and re-tucked it, then looked at Joey. “Sorry kid, what was I saying?”

“I don’t remember,” Joey said truthfully. He was so confused. He felt like he’d had his head slammed into the ground. Who was this roided silverback ape in front of him…

“Well then stand up,” Roy ordered, and Joey did so. “Tuck your shirt in. Tight, like this.” Joey obeyed, but Roy shook his head. “Not tight enough. Look how a vet does it, we know how to tuck in a fucking shirt. There you go. Now put your hat on and stand up fucking straight.”

Joey followed his orders like an obedient soldier and hated every moment of it, but he was stuck with this big juicehead and powerless to do anything about it. His spine ached from being so upright. God, he wanted this night to end…

“Follow me,” Roy said, walking out into the hall. When Joey hesitated, he said again, “Follow me, and don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

“Okay, okay.” Joey trailed behind the hulk reluctantly, wishing he had some companionship for the night. First things had been boring, now they were weird. He had a hazy memory of shoplifting stuff with a friend, but when they’d gotten caught, suddenly he was alone. And now he was stuck one-on-one with this freak.

They walked into the mall and up to the parked Segways. Roy cracked his neck from side-to-side and looked at Joey. He reached out and pushed Joey’s hat a smidge further back on his head. “You’re a mall cop now,” he said. “Take pride in your appearance.”

Joey wanted to correct Roy, but before he did, he asked, “Why is it okay for you to have your shirt open like that?”

“We don’t have to wear ties, so this is allowed. You can open yours up too, I know you get hot and itchy.” Roy didn’t wait for Joey to respond - he took the liberty of undoing the top three buttons of Joey’s shirt himself, pulling it apart to expose the center of Joey’s flat chest. “Shit, that’s a lot of hair, kid.”

“A lot of…” Joey looked down and saw black where he expected to see skin. With a shaking hand, he touched the center of his chest, his fingers bouncing against a forest of black curls. He had chest hair. He had a lot of chest hair.  More than Roy. More than anyone he’d ever seen. It looked like the type of hair that belonged on top of someone’s head, and it was so glossy it shone in the lights of the mall.

“Ladies like that?”

Joey shook his head no. Girls thought his chest hair was gross. He got a lot of shit for how it puffed out of the collars of his t-shirts and polos. And it was warm, especially against his sheets when he slept. It was strange how he was essentially hairless everywhere else, but could knit a sweater out of his chest fur. But it had never dawned on him to shave it, either.

“Didn’t think so,” Roy said. “But be proud of it. It’s manly.”

“I am,” Joey lied, as he hesitantly climbed onto his Segway. He didn’t have the confidence atop it that Roy did. It felt like he was going to fall off, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. When they started rolling forward, he noticed Roy went slowly, staying right beside him instead of leaving him behind. It was the first nice thing the old gorilla had done that night.

“First checkpoint is over here,” Roy said, pointing to a small piece of metal mounted on the wall. Joey wondered how many hundreds of people walked by it every day without noticing it. “Scan it.”

“I don’t have a scanner.”

“Yes you do, on your belt.”

Joey patted his hip and sure enough, there was a scanner holstered right there. He hadn’t noticed it all evening. As he removed it, he noticed a patch of black hair across the back of his hand, which led his eyes up his forearm. He remembered light, fuzzy blond hairs there. But now there was the same kind of hair as his chest: black, coarse, curly. And when he hopped off his Patroller to scan the checkpoint, he took the opportunity to scratch his nuts without Roy seeing. Damn, were they itchy…

The second time he got on the Segway, Joe felt a lot more confident about it. This time around, he knew it wasn’t going to somehow buck him into the air. Roy was a full head taller than he was, so if Roy could maintain his balance, Joe knew he could. He just had to remember to not scratch himself as he was driving, because it could throw off his equilibrium. But that was an exercise in mental fortitude, because goddamn, was he itchy. His bush was so thick it acted like a second pair of underwear, and the pattern barely narrowed as it crawled over his stomach and up to his gloriously hairy chest. From there, it did thin out some - but there was no missing the coverage on his back and shoulders, especially with his collar spread open to display it. The prickles he felt in his polyester uniform trousers were a reminder that his legs hadn’t been left behind, either.

He stole a look over at Roy and looked again at the man’s extraordinary mustache, like a big silver horseshoe mounted right to his face. “Facial hair is allowed?”

“Yeah, this ain’t the armed forces,” Roy said. “Otherwise I woulda made you shave.”

Joe never had visible beard growth - his whiskers were blond and light, and he only shaved once a week if that - but if Roy could see them, maybe they were darker than they’d once been. He’d check them out next time when he got the chance. For the time being, he was occupied with following Roy’s lead and going from checkpoint to checkpoint. He’d been so bored in the breakroom that it was nice to have a task, even if it was one he didn’t want to do. But if he pretended he wasn’t being forced to police the closed mall, and was instead just tooling around on his little Patroller, then it became palatable. At least he wasn’t having to work when there were customers around and he was at risk of seeing someone he knew. 

Roy seemed to expect a horde of burglars to pop out of the shadows at any moment, judging by the way the older man swiveled his head back and forth as he drove, looking in every corner with a steel glare. Joe was amused by how seriously the guy took his work. The mall was completely empty, so any sort of movement or sound would be noticeable, Joe assumed. But Roy acted like he was guarding Fort Knox.

They rolled by a vacant storefront, its papered windows providing a mirrored surface, and Joe saw something that made his blood run cold. He stopped his Patroller and jumped off without realizing he was even doing so, stumbling over to the glass. From behind him, he heard Roy screech to a halt and yell “Hey, kid!”

But Joe ignored him. He was too distracted by his beard. His full, thick, jet black beard. It covered his face entirely from the cheeks down, the dense whiskers blocking out his skin. He stroked the inch-long hairs and inspected his neckline, where the beard came to a perfectly trimmed stop and gave way to a shaven throat.

“You can’t just stop, we have a job to do,” Roy said, storming up behind him. But when Joe whirled around and Roy saw his bulging eyes, he stopped. “What is it?”

“When did I grow a beard?”

Roy’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“I didn’t have a beard when I walked in here!” Joe looked down at his hairy arms and the cavalcade of curls pouring out of his shirt. “Or chest hair, I don’t think! I didn’t think I could even grow a beard…”

“The fuck are you going on about? Of course you had a beard. This some kind of joke or somethin’? Some kind of TikTok shit?”

Joe shook his head and turned back around, staring bug-eyed at his furry cheeks. That was when he noticed his eyebrows, dense and full, only a millimeter away from connecting into a unibrow. “I’m so hairy… I don’t wanna be a short, hairy guy!”

“How tall are you, five-six? That’s a perfect height for a bodybuilder.”

“I’m not a bodybuilder!” Joe practically shrieked, still scratching at his beard.

“Jesus Christ,” Roy sighed, pinching his nose. “Let’s get you some water. Maybe throw it on you...” Before Joe could respond, Roy had already walked over to a vending machine, scanned a credit card and purchased a bottle of Aquafina. He wrenched the cap off as he stormed back over. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Joe said, chugging it. Droplets of water streamed down his whiskers and collected on his big fluffy mustache. “That was nice of you.”

“I take care of my men,” Roy said. Joe recalled what he’d said earlier, about being a protector his entire life. “You got a great beard anyway,” Roy continued. “Dunno why you’re so freaked out about it. I know fifty guys who’d kill for a beard like that.”

Joe nodded glumly. He knew that was true. Tonight was just so strange.

“Enough pouting. We got work to do. You’re a mall cop now.” Roy motioned Joe back onto the patroller, so Joe clambered on and rolled his vehicle up to meet Roy’s. He didn’t like how Roy kept saying he was a mall cop, but there were too many other things on his mind to pick a fight about that. So he zoned out as they patrolled, thinking about all the odd happenings of the evening, and wondering how he’d ever forgotten he was so goddamn hairy. Even the hair on top of his head was thick and lush - he could feel his cap sitting higher on his head, buoyed by the sheer volume of his follicles. Blocking out his thoughts lessened his heartbeat and let him focus on small things: like his nipples rubbing the inside of his shirt, or the breeze in his chest hair, which got an erection pumping up in his pants. 

It became a vicious cycle of manliness. His hair and beard made him feel masculine, which boned him up, which made him feel even more like a man. He got hornier and hornier as he drove, beads of sweat popping out across his brow.

They navigated the mall in silence, Joe scanning each checkpoint as he was told. After fifteen minutes, when he got off his patroller again, he noticed his pants felt tighter, as did his shirt across his back. A quick check in a store window showed an athletically built Sasquatch looking back at him. “When did I gain-” he started to say, then he swallowed his words. His voice was a rumble now, rich and deep like Roy’s. He’d never thought of his voice as feminine sounding, but the sheer virility emanating from him now would make anyone else sound like Marilyn Monroe. “My voice!” he boomed, stroking his beard. His fingers tapped against the stars pinned to his collar, like Roy had. “I think something’s happening to me,” Joe said, trying to put the pieces together. He turned to Roy. “Are you doing something to me?”

“Only thing I’m doing to you is trying to get you to do your damn job.”

“I don’t recognize myself.” Joe fluffed his chest hair with his fingers. “Maybe it’s the uniform. I just feel strange…”

“We’ll get you your medicine back in the break room.”

That encouraged Joe. If Roy had meds, that meant whatever was happening - even if it was mental fog - was curable. So Joe bounded back up to his Segway and tried to not worry as he drove. Even when his clothes started feeling even tighter, he didn’t worry. 

They finished the circuit without talking much more. Joe continued to have a strange feeling about Roy and the niggling thought that he wasn’t there at the beginning of the evening, and he wasn’t in the mood to make conversation. Which was likely fine with Roy, since he didn’t seem like a chatty guy. And the silence had the side benefit of decreasing Joe’s heart rate and calming his erection.

“Picked up the driving fast, kid. You’re a natural mall cop,” Roy said as they walked back into the break room. He went to his locker and began rummaging through a backpack inside.

“One night only,” Joe said. “Or whenever they say I’ve done my time, I guess.”

“How much did you steal?” Roy asked.

“Thousand dollars worth of shit.”

“Goddamn. How’d you do that alone? Sounds like at least a two-person job.” Roy turned around and approached Joe. “You wanna lean against the wall for it?”

“For what?”

Roy raised a syringe full of…well, Joe wasn’t sure what. “Your medicine.”

“Oh. It’s not a pill?”

“Intramuscular.” Roy pressed his palm against Joe’s back and guided him to the wall. “Glute?”

“Um…yeah, glute…” Joe mumbled, feeling a strange sense of familiarity with the situation. He fumbled with his belt buckle and dropped his pants, exposing his hairy ass to Roy.

“Just relax, kid. Don’t clench.”

Joe did his best to be calm. He wasn’t great with needles, but this would make him feel better. He trusted Roy, for some reason. He knew he didn’t know the guy, but Roy was clearly a leader. So when he felt the pinch of the tip breaking through his skin, the needle sliding into his muscle and injecting its contents into him, he didn’t flinch. But he did get hard. And he moaned.

“Yeah, you like this, don’t you?” Roy chuckled behind him.

“Uh-huh…” Joe panted, wondering why he was being so compliant. He slid his hand inside his shirt and played with his nipple, relishing the burning sensation in his glute.

“There we go. No blood. That was a good pin.” Roy gave Joe’s glute a little smack. “Pants up. Tuck your shirt in.”

Joe did so. He made sure his shirt was tight as a drum when he tucked it and buckled his belt. His ass felt so warm. His dick was so fucking hard…

“Gonna take a piss,” Roy said, and he clomped out of the room and down the hall, leaving Joe to grope his crotch in peace. He groaned, a guttural noise coming from his dry throat. The warm tingle of his injection site was spreading through his body, he could feel it…down his legs…up his torso…

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, suddenly covered in sweat. That big ape had given him steroids, he knew…a whole potent cocktail of them. They did make him feel better, though. More like himself, somehow - and so horny…his body hair stood on end, goosebumps raising on his skin. He moaned louder. He stroked his beard. “Oh FUCK…”

His butt felt huge. He could tell it was so tight in his pants that the seams were about to give way. He turned and looked down at it, and he could swear it was swelling…it looked like a big, muscular man ass.

Then his chest popped outward.

Joe jolted and looked down, his pecs suddenly bulging proudly from his torso. He prodded them gingerly, finding them hot to the touch. Even though he had three buttons open, his shirt felt tight - across the back and shoulders, and in the sleeves. He raised an arm and looked at his bicep, which sported a vein snaking over the peak…he remembered being disgusted by how veiny Roy was, but the veins looked cool on his own body. He flexed his bicep and grinned as it tensed into a big ball. His fingers looked thicker, too, and his forearms were meaty…

“Unh!” Joe’s lats flared out like plane wings, reshaping his back into a V, throwing his arms further out to the side. His chest widened with a crack, striations rippling out under his pelt. He rolled his shoulders…so tight…so broad now, too…vast mountains sweeping outward from his neck, rolling down into a huge hypertrophied back and thick, powerful arms.

“I’m not a bodybuilder,” he grunted to himself, fondling his new muscle tits, but his body was defying that assessment. He could feel himself swelling, taking up more space, uniform getting tighter and tighter. His abs bulged out over his belt buckle, pushing his shirt buttons to the brink, but the size added to his waist was balanced by his expanding thighs and back, which kept him impressively X-shaped. He swung his left leg further out as his hamstrings shoved together, forcing him into a permanently wider stance. The shapes of deeply cut quads emerged like a pattern on his pants. “I’m n-not…I’m…not…I’m-”

It felt like his entire body took a deep breath. The expansion was spectacular, capped by his chest swelling into absolute enormity, pecs inflating like party balloons that his shirt could barely contain. His chin knocked into them as he looked down, noticing that his body hair looked less dense now that there was so much more body for it to cover. His trap muscles pushed up under his ears, splaying his collar even further open, and his massively wide shoulders thickened into a jaw-dropping yoke. Delts the size of pumpkins developed above his arms, which drew Joe’s attention to his sleeves that now sported the same little rips as Roy’s - and the same security patches, too.

His eyes rolled back into his head. He was so confused, and so horny, and so fucking big…he had to sit down, or else he was gonna faint…he staggered to a folding chair and plopped onto it, and it only supported him for a moment before the cheap metal pancaked under his mass and sent him tumbling onto the concrete floor.

That was when Roy walked back in.

“Moe!” he said, shoving the table aside to get to the heap of muscle on the floor. He crouched down and put his arm around the younger man, hauling him upright. “Our big asses can’t sit on the folding chairs, that’s why they got us the stools!”

“I…I…whuh?” Moe stammered, looking down at himself. “Oh my god…” He held his hands up to his face. Broad, hairy paws. They looked like Mickey Mouse’s gloves. “Am I bigger than you?” he croaked to Roy.

“Different builds, short stack. Can you stand up?”

“Yeah. Give me a minute.” Sitting up was hard. Pecs were too big and blocked the range of motion. He rolled to his side, which also yielded no results, so then he flopped onto his stomach and pushed off of the floor, standing up out of a squat.

Roy stood too. “See? You ain’t bigger than me,” he said, making a show of looking down at Moe, who was six inches shorter.

“But I’m thicker,” Moe pointed out, a slight grin on his face. He loved sticking it to the old guy. He knew he was completely stacked. There was so much mass on his small frame, the muscle groups all pushed into each other. He looked and felt like a total fucking freak. And for some reason, that word made him proud instead of ashamed. “I’m a muscle freak,” he said aloud.

“We both are, kid. Get some water or something, take a leak, we have another facility tour to do.”

Moe nodded. He noticed he breathed loudly now. Or maybe he always had? His head was still jumbled, maybe from the fall. He tried to clear his thoughts as he got some water, listening to his big dopey breaths and trying to make his clothes look somewhat presentable. He had a shiny shield on his chest, like Roy had. “I’m not a real mall cop, am I?” he asked.

Roy paused and snorted. “You look like one to me.”

But Moe knew that was wrong. This was just for tonight…because he’d been stealing something, with…one of his friends? Or alone…fuck, nothing made sense anymore. Why would his dumb ass think he could get away with stealing anything? People were always staring at him because he was so big. A squat, roided ball of muscle. He couldn’t even sneak up on anyone because he waddled when he walked and breathed like a car without a muffler.

He slammed three cups of water and felt better. A guy who sweated as much as he did had no business not carrying a water bottle at all times. Even though he didn’t feel the need to piss, he waddled off to the bathroom anyway, just to kill time.

He didn’t make it to the urinals before the sight of his arm stopped him. It was like a man’s leg stuffed in his sleeve. He didn’t know how the fabric was even holding around it. Moe stopped and turned, looking at himself full-on in the mirror. He gasped. His cock sprang to full mast.

He was a masterpiece.

He was a fucking god.

So much muscle his body didn’t know where to put all of it, cloaked in a gorgeous layer of black hair. He was as wide as he was tall, bursting out of his comically small uniform. His clothes didn’t fit at all, but that was fine, because it showed how small his waist was and how enormous his lats and pecs were in comparison. Up top was his beard, the manliest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. His eyes were locked on it as he unzipped his fly and dug out his meaty cock, stroking it at the sight of himself. He could remember not wanting muscle…why on earth had he felt that way? Muscle was a gift from heaven. So was body hair. He loved every inch of himself, even his height, because being short just meant he looked bigger.

Moe pumped on his cock and smiled at himself, his white teeth shining through his beard. He looked down at his penis and wondered why it looked so ruddy - the same could be said of the hand stroking it, in fact. He’d always thought of himself as pale. But the man in the mirror had tanned skin with reddish undertones. It made sense with his dark hair, it was just different.

Different…

His features looked different too, somehow. Especially his eyes. Most of his face was covered by his beard, which made his eyes stand out all the more: they were so large. Round and dark. Soulful. Combined with his almost-unibrow and prominent nose, he looked kind of…

Kind of…holy shit…HOLY-

Suddenly panicked, Moe ran out of the bathroom and back to Roy. It wasn’t until he was looking at the older man that he realized-

“What the fuck, put that thing away,” Roy barked, staring at Moe’s cock protruding from his open fly. “Jesus! Be professional.”

Moe stammered an apology and tucked his manhood back into his trousers. “Sorry, I…I’m…am I an Arab?”

The room went silent. Roy drew his shoulders back and stared straight at Moe. “What is wrong with you tonight?”

“I was looking in the mirror and I – my face, it looks almost–”

“You just gave me this big long lecture about how you weren’t an Arab.” Moe did not remember this, but the revelation calmed him down, until Roy added: “Because being Persian isn’t the same as being Arab.”

Persian… 

“It is not the same, no,” Mo agreed, and that was when he heard his own accent. How long had he had that…and why did he speak accented English, when he’d been born in America…hadn’t he? “I...I’m sorry, for being a problem tonight,” he stammered out, listening to how the words sounded. 

“You’re not a problem, kid. But you are making me worried. Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Mo wasn’t sure that was true, but he didn’t want to look weak.

“Are you good for another go?”

Mo nodded. He was eager to get back on the patroller and clear his thoughts. And with that thought came the realization that he wasn’t thinking in English, he was thinking in Farsi. He spoke two languages. Why did that surprise him, and why was he thinking he was white when he was clearly not. Few white men had his hairiness, his virility. He was proud to be Persian.

But as Mo clambered back onto his Segway and fired it back up, he couldn’t get all the contrasts in his memory out of his head. He recalled his uniform being like a baggy tent on him, and now he was exploding out of it. He thought of himself as skinny, but he was built like a professional bodybuilder, just like Roy was. Roy, who he thought of as both a boy his own age and a grizzled older man. And “boy his own age” was a loaded identifier, considering Mo himself didn’t look like a boy. With his sensational beard and giant muscles, he appeared every inch a grown man. That little white punk…who was he? How could he be the same as the hairy Persian muscleman? The night was full of flashes of memory like that. He recalled another young man in an ill-fitting uniform who, every time he came back to the room, was a little bigger, a little older…a little more like Roy. Mo wondered if he was changing like that. He didn’t want to change. He liked being a huge Persian stud. He hoped he didn’t turn American, but that thought seemed silly - impossible. You couldn’t just turn American. It took a lot of work to move there, and he was happy he’d done so, but he was forever Iranian.

“What are you thinking about?” Roy asked from his Segway.

“Home,” Mo answered. Shiraz, where he was born…

“Do you miss it?”

Mo thought through his words carefully. “Some. But I had to leave, so that makes me miss it not as much.” He couldn’t remember why, but he hadn’t had a choice. He was proud of his heritage, but it was stuck in the past, and he had to either leave, be someone he wasn’t, or risk death.

“Your English has gotten really good,” Roy complimented.

“Thank you. I practice.” Mo was proud of the speed with which he was picking up the native language. It was what he’d been most worried about before immigrating. That and disrupting his bodybuilding routine, but after some initial hiccups he’d figured that out. He hadn’t lost much size or shape. His body was used to being big. It wanted to be big. His muscles were as mature as they were massive.

Damn, was that right…could teenagers get that permanently grainy look? It took years and years and years of lifting, Mo was pretty sure. Not that he was old. Not like Roy, he chortled to himself. Mid-30s wasn’t old. He was in his fucking prime. He was in a new country where he could live the life he wanted, using his immensity the way he’d always dreamed of: sexually. He was a virile Persian stud, after all; a man built to fuck. And he loved to fuck. In America, you could fuck as much as you wanted. And the gym provided an all-you-can-eat buffet. Big, strapping men who were down for whatever. Mo loved to pick up a bodybuilder, run his hands over the man’s muscles as the guy did the same to him…bury his face in a hairy chest, bite a bearded lip, plow a tight hole…

“N-no,” he squeaked as he drove, realizing what was happening. He wasn’t gay. Or he was gay. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to be gay, did he…but was that was why he’d left Iran? So he could have sex with men and be openly gay. Wear a harness in a Pride parade. Maybe even marry another man eventually…not now, but someday…

He rolled past a reflective window and surveyed himself. A gay fantasy in a skintight uniform. A masculine, hairy beast in touch with his gentler side, the side that mewled as he got his nipples sucked and cuddled after a rough fuck. He’d spent so many years living in fear of his sexuality that now when he held another man, he felt euphoria.

Roy interrupted his thoughts. “I know dawn’s pretty close, so let me know when you need to stop for your break.”

“Thanks,” Mo said. A break sounded nice, even though he hadn’t worked most of the night. Which seemed unlike him, because he was a hard worker. He liked working. You didn’t get as huge as he was without enjoying work. But did he like this job? Was this his job? He felt so jumbled.

They didn’t talk much while they patrolled. Roy was a quiet man, and Mo was wrapped up in his own confusing thoughts. He needed to focus on something and quiet his mind. Usually he was good at that, but tonight, he felt anxious.

But then he saw rays of sunlight breaking through the skylights of the mall, and his heart soared. Daybreak! His strange night was almost over.

“I need my break now,” he told Roy.

“That’s fine.” Roy paused, and seemed to be considering something as Mo stopped his patroller and climbed off. Finally, he spoke again. “Do you mind if I watch? I’ve never seen-”

“I don’t mind,” Mo said. He moved on muscle memory, as if he’d been in the exact place, at the exact time, before. Maybe he had. He didn’t know. But he pushed through all his disordered thoughts and clicked his brain into a single priority for the moment: “I shall offer the Fajr prayer for Allah,” he said under his breath, positioning himself to face slightly northeast. That felt right. It felt right to say these words, in his native tongue. It flowed naturally in a way nothing else had that night. He blocked out his confusion and his surroundings and just prayed to Allah, and it made him feel like himself again.

“Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah,” Mohammad finally said, completing his prayer before standing up from his knees. He turned and looked at his colleague Roy, who was leaning against his patroller watching. “That is how a Muslim prays the Fajr Salaah,” he said.

“I never knew there was so much movement,” Roy said. “It’s like a dance.”

“It is. I don’t have to think about it. I have done it so much, it’s like moving a muscle for me,” Mohammad said. 

Roy nodded. “Thanks for letting me watch. Back when I was in the service, we didn’t really…we made fun of that stuff. Makes me feel like shit now.”

“Good. You should feel like shit,” Mohammad joked, eliciting a rare laugh from Roy. 

They got back on their vehicles and spent the next half hour finishing their tour. It flew by for Mohammad. He liked his work, and it had the extra benefit of familiarizing him with American culture. He learned about brands, holidays, and customs from the ever-changing signs and sights within the mall. Everything was sponsored. Everything. The West worshiped money. Mohammad knew money was important, but it wasn’t everything to him. All he needed was enough to support his bodybuilding and have a little fun.

“You feeling better?” Roy asked, his voice cutting through the silence of the mall and Mohammad’s thoughts.

“I am,” Mohammad nodded. He still felt slightly off, but had a remedy in mind that he didn’t dare tell Roy. It was a phrase he’d learned from a hook-up, as they lay in bed after fucking: “post-nut clarity.” The guy had needed to explain it to Mohammad, but they’d laughed about it. It was definitely a real thing, too. Mohammad would get so horny he could barely see straight until he found release. He knew once he blew a load, he’d be fully fine. Roy was kind of uptight about that sort of stuff - a holdover from his military days, Mohammad assumed - so Mohammad kept it to himself, but allowed his erection to protrude as they drove back to their break room. 

“Thanks for saying I need to work tonight,” Mohammad said as they parked their patrollers. “I don’t know what my problem was.”

“Yeah,” Roy said, his brow furrowing. “I forgot about that already, but that was unlike you. No problem though. I won’t snitch on ya.”

“Snitch?” Mohammad didn’t know this word.

“It means to tell on you. Turn you in. Report to Derek that you were being lazy.”

“Oh!” Mohammad just nodded, but the mention of Derek Sanderson made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He remembered the guy making him put on his uniform earlier in the night. That was a strange thing - why hadn’t he been wearing it already, when he showed up for work…

The whole night was full of bizarre flashbacks like that. Looking down at a hairless, underfed torso…that confused white guy staring back at him in the mirror…and his hands, so small and slender, nothing like the big callused mitts he had now…

Mohammad drank in the sight of Roy’s big ass pushing against his uniform trousers, and his giant lats that were one wrong move from ripping through his shirt. The image was enough to get him staggering to the bathroom, sputtering out an excuse to Roy, who nodded and headed back to the breakroom.

The thick Persian bodybuilder barely made it inside the men’s room before his cock was out of his fly at full mast. “It’s time,” he said in Farsi to the empty bathroom, and he didn’t know why he’d said it or what he meant - all he knew was he was ready for the horny fog to dissipate for a while. But he also loved celebrating his own male power and beauty. The soft skin of his shaft felt so good against his rough palm. He stared lovingly at his black chest hair. “I’m a man,” he grunted.

It plopped into his head, that white boy - Joey - swimming in his uniform and resenting his work. Mohammad remembered Joey. And he realized Joey spent half the night changing. Just like how Mason had. Those pipsqueaks were so pathetic until they received their gifts - deep voices, gargantuan muscles, facial hair - morphing into grown men right before each other’s eyes. Now they belonged in their uniforms. That meant Sanderson had won, but Mohammad didn’t care. He wasn’t about to give up his beard and his accent and his roided mass. Nothing was a loss if he had those.

He crunched his abs and his shirt caught in between their deep grooves, making him moan louder as he stroked his cock. Who cared if Sanderson got what he wanted? Mohammad was bigger than him now anyway. Bigger and hotter and completely shameless, a Persian muscle bear let loose in America. With a body like this, Sanderson wouldn’t give him shit. No one else would either. It didn’t matter that he was gay, or had an accent, or was short. All anyone had to do was get one look at his monster pecs - Mohammad popped them up and down and felt them strain his shirt - and they’d leave him alone. It hadn’t been like that when he was a kid.

But he wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t want to be, either. He remembered Roy saying that, too. “I don’t want to be a kid. I want to be a man.” He understood now. He fucking loved being a man. He didn’t want to be younger. He just wanted to be Mohammad, the sexiest, hairiest Persian roid bull America had eve-

“UuuuUUUNNNNHHHHHHH!” The cum erupted out of him in long, roping spurts that splattered across the counter and sinks. It came hard, and it came heavy, oozing into a thick creamy puddle. Mohammad’s manly essence. He stared at it lovingly, tugging on his nipples and flexing his muscles until he’d squeezed out of every drop of spunk from himself. Then he toweled up and tucked his dick away. He’d nut again real soon. Once he got off work, he’d go home, masturbate, fall asleep for a few hours, then go to the gym, work out, find the second biggest guy there, and they’d beat each other off in the steam room. It was an awesome fucking life.

The Persian stud strutted back to the break room, the fog of his brain clearing to free up his big ego that manifested in extreme cockiness. When he walked in, he was surprised to find Roy chatting with their supervisor, Derek Sanderson. The small guy turned and smiled broadly at Mohammad.

“Well, well, look at you. It’s been a busy night.”

“It has?” Mohammad asked, looking at Roy. “Nothing happened.”

Sanderson chuckled. “Sure. Nothing happened.” He walked in a circle around Mohammad, who gave him an odd look. Sanderson whistled. “Those are some big arms, man,” he complimented. “And your chest is incredible. You’ve worked very hard, I can tell.”

Mohammad nodded. “I like to work.”

“It shows,” Sanderson said. “I’m glad you work here and not in construction or something like that.” He hooked a finger into the small tear on Mohammad’s sleeve. “You and Roy both need bigger shirts.”

“But then all our hard work would be hidden,” Roy said. “Right buddy?” He slapped Mohammad on the back. 

It was a rare show of friendship from stoic Roy, and Mohammad relished it. He puffed up tall, chest hair bristling. “We show off!” he said, hoping he got the words right.

“I’m sure all the storefronts appreciate it,” Sanderson said coolly, staring directly at Mohammad’s tits.

“Why are you here so early?” Mohammad asked. It had to be barely daylight outside - hours ahead of when Derek normally clocked in.

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited to come in,” Sanderson smiled. “Wanted to see how the night turned out for you fellas.”

“It went well,” Roy said.

“I’ll say it did,” Sanderson agreed. “I’m glad you both have taken so well to your work. You like your job, Mohammad?”

Mohammad wasn’t paying attention. He’d been flexing his glutes and thinking about sex. “Hm?”

“I said, do you like your job?”

“Yes,” Mohammad nodded, giving his beard a stroke. “I’m proud to be a mall security guard!”

Hope you enjoyed! My patrons really responded to this one. Sign up now for first access next time!

[amysticbearperson]

Banger.

[visceral-stories]

Family Man

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The fifteen-minute walk to Elliott Schmidt’s house was just long enough to make Mason Zimmerman question the legitimacy of using a car. But it was a nice summer day and the eighteen-year-old enjoyed taking the extra time to listen to his music. He preferred to make the trip to his best friend’s house by foot - it was an excuse to listen to more music on his AirPods while he strolled through the scenic suburban streets. After two fast-paced rock songs, Mason was relieved to find himself in front of the Schmidt household. The light cinnamon shade of the house provided a rustic feel that the other estates on the block lacked. 

The text message arrived at the very second that Mason Zimmerman rang the doorbell. Mason pulled out his phone and frowned at the text from his friend Elliott. 

“Dude, jazz band practice is running late. I’ll be at my house in 20.”

“So now he decides to text me,” Mason grunted with a roll of his eyes. It was typical behavior though. Elliott had told him all about how strict the new band conductor was at their school. He just wished his friend had let him know before he walked a mile to get here. Putting his hands in his pockets, Mason debated if he should just turn around and go home or wait outside the Schimdt’s house for Elliott to come back. Suddenly, the front door swung open in front of him. 

The booming resonance of the Schmidt family patriarch filled the air. “Oh, hello Mason,” he said, his face not conveying much emotion. Dressed in a white dress shirt and a pair of dark brown khakis, his broad yet pudgy figure filled most of the doorway. His long black tie swung with his movements, bouncing over his round yet flabby pectorals and his potbelly. There were dark circles under his eyes and his shirt was a little crinkled at parts. “How are you?” he asked feigning a smile. 

“Hey, I’m doing good Mr. Schmidt,” Mason replied warmly. “Sorry, Elliott just texted me and said that jazz band practice will be done in a half-hour.” 

“Oh, is that where he’s at today?” Mr. Schmidt said, scratching at his receding widow’s peak. “I can never keep track of what that boy is up to each day.” That was definitely true. Not even Mason could keep up with his best friend’s inconsistent schedule. With jazz band and his computer science club, Elliott always had some event to go to every few days. “You could stay here until he gets back if you want,” Mr. Schmidt offered.

“Oh yeah, that’d be awesome,” Mason replied. This was a fairly normal occurrence considering how often he was over. “Thanks,” he made sure to add after a silent five second pause. Mr. Schmidt was certainly a nice guy after you got to know him, but he still could be a bit of a hardass. Despite knowing him for a few years since he and Elliott met in freshman year, Mason was still a little daunted by his father. There had been a recent situation where Mr. Schmidt had threatened to ban Mason from coming over ever again due to a rowdy night of late-night gaming a few weeks ago. Ever since then, he’d made sure to tread lightly to not provoke the angry giant once more. Although the ice had been broken since then, Mr. Schmidt’s penetrating leer still prompted Mason to focus on being polite. 

Feeling a loud set of vibrations emanating in his pocket, Mr. Schmidt scooped out his phone and grimaced at it. “I’ve gotta take this,” he sighed. “Help yourself to anything you want in the fridge.”

“Okay, awesome. Thank you!” Mason replied courteously. Since he was over all the time, Mr. Schmidt practically treated him like a second son. That was, if Mason didn’t get on his bad side. 

“Don’t mention it, bud. Make yourself at home,” Mr. Schmidt replied, now with that stoic expression back on his face. 

That was a pretty good interaction, Mason thought. He’d even been called “bud.” 

Not breaking eye contact from his phone, the short, disgruntled man walked away and began promptly dialing up a number. Mason couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Schmidt’s body had a noticeable bounce to it when he moved, especially the way his love handles protruded from his shirt and the way his paunchy rump bounced up and down with his footsteps. Mason would never judge his friend’s father for his weight gain, but ever since he’d gotten a promotion to be a manager for his job, it’d become increasingly noticeable. Over the course of a few months, Mr. Schmidt must’ve gained around sixty pounds as a result of working weird hours and eating out, often at fast food and local diners. Mason sympathized, but he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything. It wasn’t like he knew a thing about being a general manager for a bunch of retail stores across the whole metro area anyway. 

Mason migrated over to the granite kitchen island, which separated the kitchen from the living room. The living room also had quite a nice flatscreen television in their living room. If Mason and Elliott weren’t downstairs playing videogames in Elliott’s room till the early morning hours, they were up here. Mason plopped the drawstring bag that held his gaming laptop down on the cushiony couch like he had thousands of times before and made his way to the kitchen, hungry for a quick snack to tide him over while he waited. 

Opening the fridge, Mason noticed that it was stocked full of food! Almost every square inch of it was occupied by some kind of wrapped up meat, vegetable, or tupperware containers with meals inside. That was so odd. He visited the house every other day and usually the fridge was pretty scarce - mostly just filled with leftovers or various snacks. It seemed like an absurd amount of food for only Elliott and his father. Initially daunted by the unusual display, Mason finally landed on a plastic bag that contained what appeared to be a cold turkey and cheese sandwich. Noticing two other identical bags filled with it behind it, Mason figured Mr. Schmidt wouldn’t mind. He ate so much of their food anyway. He was over so often that he was practically Elliott’s twin.

Mason glided over to the living room table, plopping down on their couch in front of the tv, which was playing commercials. Placing the plate with his sandwich down on the ottoman in front of him and looked to either side of him, but the tv remote was nowhere in sight. “Crud,” Mason huffed as he begrudgingly stood back up and began to search through the couch cushions for it. As he did, he was treated to the sound of Mr. Schmidt’s flustered conversation in the other room. 

“Yes, I understand your concerns Mr. Brafford. Well, every store needs quarterly audits and the store in Maple Heights is up next...Why is that? I…uh….I dunno, man, but like…I’m only the messenger ...Uh-huh…Yes….yes I know it’s very umm…in…inopportune. Ah jeez, what were we talking about again?” 

A wave of second-hand embarrassment washed over Mason. It was difficult to hear how stressed and exhausted Mr. Schmidt sounded. Usually, he was a very composed individual, but ever since his new promotion, he’d seemed much more disheveled and fatigued. Mason couldn’t blame him. Having to travel to places across the metro and answer phone calls all day didn’t seem ideal. 

Suddenly, the sonorous bass of a sports announcer’s voice filled the air. Mason spun around and grimaced. “Ugh. Not football,” he grunted as he looked at the pixelated screen, which showcased players of two different teams assembled across the field. Mason checked for the remote, but it was nowhere to be seen. Scouring all of the adjacent tables and reaching into the cracks of the leather cushions turned up nothing. Football, and most sports for that matter, bored him to no end. It just seemed like a legion of huge, spandex-clad men assaulting each other, and millions of people around the country were obsessed with it for some reason. And now he was forced to listen to the rowdy announcer yell about some stupid play that a guy had made. Mason begrudgingly pulled himself from his seat and crouched down to look under the couch, but all he found was dust. In the distance, he could still hear Mr. Schmidt’s weary voice. 

“What’s come over me? Sheesh, I don’t know, man. I just uh…I think I haven’t had lunch is all….Yep….Yep I know…I promise to get back to you in the hour. I apologize for the inconvenience. I’m terribly sorry. Something…like came over me, I swear…man. I mean-thank you so much sir.”

Mason stood back up, fruitless in his search so he decided to check the surrounding tables on either side of the couch, mostly as a distraction from listening to Mr. Schmidt’s verbal struggle. The announcer’s shrill voice filled the room as he revamped his energy to boisterously narrate the next play of the game, making it harder for the young man to zone it out. Glancing back down at the gray sofa, Mason still could not find any trace of the elusive tv remote. However, something else caught his eye. Just below his chin, he noticed a long black thread protruding from the center of his clavicle. That was weird. The long, spindly fiber wasn’t even the same color as his light green-colored shirt. 

“Owch!” Mason cried as he plucked at it, only to find that the thread had actually been a long black chest hair. Puberty was weird, but this was even weirder. He had blonde hair, but maybe mens’ chest hair was darker than their head-hair or something. That seemed right. He’d probably heard that in health class or something. 

“Whatcha lookin’ for, kid?” came Mr. Schmidt’s familiar voice. “Ah, just the tv remote-.” Mason stopped himself as he looked at Mr. Schmidt. The forty-eight-year-old’s look of dishevelment was still there and his shirt was still wrinkled, but for some reason he was wearing….a backward black cap? It seemed so out of place on an older man like Mr. Schmidt, but he didn't seem to care. “What’s with the hat?” Mason asked after a few wordless seconds. 

“I figured I’d wear it to remind me of my high school days,” Mr. Schmidt replied. 

“Oh nice,” Mason answered. In the six years that he’d known him, this was the first time that Mr. Schmidt had even mentioned high school. 

“This job has been so much more than I asked for,” Mr. Schmidt confided as he sidled over to the fridge and swung open the door, revealing his dress shirt was only tucked in a few places on his back. Mr. Schmidt continued, seemingly eager to vent. “I swear, I’m running around town every single day, trying to keep all these stores in line.” He grabbed a half-gallon of milk and without hesitating, he twisted the cap off and brought the bottle to his lips, taking large gulps before pulling it away with a noisy exhale. A few stray drops even dripped from his mouth and trickled onto the floor, nearly falling onto his shirt. 

Mason was aghast. He’d never seen Mr. Schmidt act so casual before. It was so off-putting, like he was about to snap back to his stoic self and pull a “gotcha” moment. Mr. Schmidt always yelled at Elliott and Mason when they left a mess in the kitchen from their late-night snacks. But today he didn’t seem to care. The dark rings around his eyes said it all. 

“Man, that’s heckin’ loud,” Mr. Schmidt said as he glanced over at the tv which was assaulting them with the announcer’s loud voice. He’d always had a habit of not cussing and even through the strenuous day he appeared to be having, he did not break that habit. As he put the container of milk back in the fridge, he wiped a stray droplet from his mouth before spinning back to snatch the remote sitting on the kitchen table and lowered the volume. So that’s where the damn thing was. 

All of a sudden, Mason felt another tickle on his chest. This time when he glanced down, he froze. There was an unmissable black patch of hair. It wasn’t very large, but it was certainly noticeable. The wiry sable follicles dangled over the hem of his green shirt. A brief tug indicated that the patch was very much attached to him. Cautiously, he ran his hand through the individual fibers and watched how they bent like blades of grass. 

“What on earth are you doin’ over there, kid?” Mr. Schmidt asked, now holding a container full of food. 

“My chest. It…it has hair,” was all Mason said as he craned his neck back up and realized Mr. Schmidt seemed taller than him for some reason. That was different. Usually the two of them were around the same height. 

“Yes it does,” Mr. Schmidt replied with an indifferent expression before walking over to the kitchen cabinet. 

“No…I’m not s…supposed to have chest hair,” Mason said before squirming. A wave of itchiness spread across his torso and he swore he could feel more hairs emerge. 

“Sure you are!” Mr. Schmidt loudly assured, the tone of his loud voice carried across the whole kitchen and living room. He grabbed a plate from the cabinet and placed it down. With his back still turned to Mason, he unloaded his food onto the plate with a fork and casually continued. “Getting a hairy chest is just a natural part of life! I’ve always trimmed mine though.”

“No, I’ve never been hairy,” Mason insisted as the itchy feeling was mounting across his slender torso.

Mr. Schmidt didn’t respond. He was too busy scooping the pieces of rice, chicken, and broccoli out of the container and onto his plate. Mr. Schmidt’s black cap taunted Mason - the object looked so out of place on his friend’s imperial father. Even more strange was the fact that his dress shirt seemed a little tight. It certainly didn’t complement his unsightly back fat. As Mason happened to be staring intently at his friend’s dad, he swore he saw the man rise taller by a few inches. Mason shook his head, figuring he must’ve been seeing things. Mr. Schmidt didn’t seem to notice as he plopped his plate in the black microwave and started a timer for his food. The paunchy man spun back around and only confirmed Mason’s suspicions: he had grown a few inches. But that was an absurd thought. People didn’t just get taller, especially not when they were forty-eight years old. 

As Mr. Schmidt walked closer to Mason, the young man was relieved. It had only been an illusion and the two were still the same height. What a relief. But for some reason, Mason noticed that his clothes felt a little…tighter. To his dismay, he noticed that his patch of chest fuzz had not got away. In fact, it seemed even more prominent.

Mr. Schmidt had an uncharacteristically casual swagger as he snatched a water bottle off the table. “So have ya thought about where you're gonna go for college?” he asked before taking a sip. 

“Oh, um, not really,” Mason admitted while he subconsciously scratched his chest as more hairs spread down his skinny torso. He hadn’t even applied for colleges yet. Neither had Elliott. The two knew they were probably gonna end up going to the same university anyway. It wasn’t like they had any strong opinions about any of them.

“Have ya thought about Michigan? The Wolverines are kickin' butt this season!” Mr. Schmidt said. He leaned against the table and Mason swore he shot up another inch taller. Even his typically round potbelly seemed less pronounced - its curvature still remained, but its circumference had undoubtedly dwindled. “Nebraska’s also got a great program. So does Minnesota, Notre Dame, Ohio…”

“Program?” Mason asked. “Like for math or science or-” 

“No, for football ya dunderhead!” Mr. Schmidt exclaimed, punctuating his comment with a roaring guffaw that ended in a goofy-sounding “huh-huh-huh” before he coughed to correct it. His eyes were wide, like he was surprised he’d sounded so silly. “Anyway,” he said, regaining his composure, “I think you should really check out the football programs at any of those places. That’s what I tell Elliott all the time!” 

Mason couldn’t believe his ears. In the six years he’d known him, Elliott’s father had never once conveyed an interest in football. And neither he nor Elliott had ever conveyed any interest in the sport. Before he could interject, the microwave’s timer went off.

DING! DING! DING!

“Freakin’ finally,” Mr. Schmidt said, maintaining his lax attitude as he swiftly glided over to the machine. Mason was just flabbergasted. He’d never seen the man act so…chill. Not to mention that he was looking slimmer by the minute. Mason didn’t know that the kitchen lighting could make someone look that much skinnier…or taller? The microwave released a brief wave of steam as the older man swung the door open and promptly reached inside. “Don’t burn yourself!” Mason impulsively exclaimed. 

It was already too late as Mr. Schmidt carelessly grabbed the plate. “Ow, ow, ow,” he muttered as he picked it up before rapidly setting it down on the kitchen counter, steam still brewing from the ceramic plate and his appetizing lunch. 

“What did I just tell you?” Mason scolded before clamping a hand over his mouth. Why was he talking like this?

“No I’m not, man,” Mr. Schmidt replied casually. His pronunciation of the word “man” sounded extra forced, like he was trying to relate to teenagers, but he didn’t seem to care. “You just gotta be quick with your hands like me,” he gloated before grabbing the plate once more and hustling it over to the granite countertop. “Easy as pie.” “Uh-huh,” Mason replied, unsure how to reply. As he watched the forty-eight-year-old sit down at the stool next to him to eat his lunch, there was no denying that he had gotten taller. And skinnier too. Even the jowls on the sides of his mouth had faded and his neck seemed skinnier than before. 

“Oh word, this is the Patriots-Cowboys game from last night!” Mr. Schmidt erupted before taking his first bite. He snatched the remote and turned the volume back up. Mason just wordlessly watched as the man was instantly glued to the tv, lingering on every word the raucous announcer bellowed. Upon closer inspection, Mr. Schmidt’s shirt was still a ruffled mess, but there was no doubt that his body was not filling his shirt up as much as before. A low rumble in Mason’s belly reminded him that he was also starving, so he decided to dig into the sandwich sitting next to him on the counter. The sense of unease had not left him though, so as he started eating, he took out his phone and texted Elliott: 

Dude, your dad is being super weird. Since when does he like football? He’s literally watching a game right now and talking to me about college football. Are you almost home? 

Noshing away on his sandwich, Mason decided to scroll through social media for the next few minutes until Elliott’s reply finally came through: 

Omg weird. Practice just got out tho, I’ll see ya in like 10 mins dude.

Finally some normality, Mason thought before taking the final bite of his small sandwich. 

RIIIIPPPP!

Mason jumped and nearly threw his phone across the table. His t-shirt had torn somehow and he could feel the faint breeze of air conditioning tickle his newly exposed chest. A black forest of hair greeted him as he glanced down at his upper body. Not only that, but his pectorals had grown…fuller? They had an irrefutable roundness to them, only accentuated by the mass of black hair that was even visible through his tight green t-shirt! As Mason tensely breathed, he was horrified to see his pecs do the same. 

PING! PING!

Confused by the additional noise, Mason perked up to see that the top two buttons to Mr. Schmidt’s dress shirt had popped open. “Ah, that’s better,” Mr. Schmidt sighed. Just like Mason, his pecs were now on display, only his looked more strange. They also had an odd rectangular shape to them, like they were being stretched out, and unlike Mason’s, they were completely devoid of hair. “It’s nice to have the collar open, huh Mason?” Mr. Schmidt said with a smirk on his face.

“I’m not supposed to look like this,” Mason sulked. 

“Like what?” 

“I’m not supposed to be hairy,” Mason muttered weakly. However, just as he finished his sentence, a rapid wave of hair growth radiated across his chest in record speed. The black hairs multiplied into the millions, covering every area of his torso ranging from his shoulders to his back to the bottom of his stomach. Mason’s t-shirt, once light green, had now taken on a darker complexion due to the carpet of hair that now coated his torso. It clung tightly to his hairy, slender chest and its torn collar allowed a fair amount of the spindly hairs to be on full display. 

“Sheesh, you aren’t kidding! You really are a hairy guy, Mason!” Mr. Schmidt said as he stood up from his chair, glancing at the black bush that hung just below Mason’s chin. With his black tie now undone, the forty-eight-year old’s hairless clavicle taunted him with its modesty. Mr. Schmidt’s pecs jiggled when he walked, causing Mason to grow more confused. Mason averted his gaze and looked down at his hairy self. He looked like a hairy freak! And to make matters worse, his stomach even looked a little bloated. It also had an irrefutable fullness to it. “Don’t feel bad about it though,” Mr. Schmidt continued as he placed his plate in the sink. “Getting hair in other places is just a natural part of life.” he said as he turned back around. 

An influx of dark hairs curled out over Mason’s hands and gradually crept up his forearms. “Yeah but I don’t-”

“Ah, shoot, I’ve gotta get back to work,” Mr. Schmidt interrupted as he looked at his phone, holding it out a few inches from his face the way older people did. He then placed it down and rebuttoned his shirt buttons, which rewarded him by constricting his rectangular pecs. Surprisingly enough, they withheld some firmness beneath their flab. Luckily, the buttons held together, allowing Mr. Schmidt to fix his tie. 

As Mason took some more time to scroll through his phone and figure out what was happening to him, he found that it was harder to click on things. A quick Google search on sudden hair growth turned up nothing substantial so he turned to social media, however he found that he had to jam his thumb into the screen to click through snapchats his friends had sent. The new dark hair on the back of Mason’s fingers taunted him, although it was nothing compared to the thick carpets of hair that had covered his skinny forearms. Frustratingly enough, Mason found that his phone was slowing down until eventually, his social media feed wouldn’t even refresh no matter how hard he tried. After a few seconds, Mason gave up with an infuriated huff and powered down his phone to restart. When he glanced back up, he noticed that Mr. Schmidt was still fumbling over his tie.

“You having trouble over there?” Mason asked, trying not to laugh at Mr. Schmidt’s tangled tie. 

“Yeah, a little,” the older man said, changing his flummoxed expression to a feigned grin. He aggressively yanked on the round knot at the top of his tie. No amount of effort would rectify that pitiful Windsor knot. 

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Mason cried out as he stood up and instinctively walked closer. 

Mr. Schmidt’s face turned a crimson red. It was rare to see the stoic man look so embarrassed and vulnerable. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what’s come over me. This used to be so much easier. I just-”

“It’s alright,” Mason comforted, noticing the clear duress on the guy’s face. The poor guy must’ve been really pushed to his limit mentally if he couldn’t even tie his tie correctly. “Let’s just try and redo the whole thing,” he suggested. Luckily, Mason had some unlikely expertise in this field. The junior-scientist conventions he and Elliott had attended ever since middle school had taught him how to seamlessly tie a tie. 

“Yeah, yeah I think that’s best,” Mr. Schmidt agreed, before promptly obeying. He flicked his white collar up further and tried again, crossing the two sides of the tie over his chest to create an X. He did a few more maneuvers successfully before giving up in a huff. “This job’s been really doing a number on me, huh?” he said, trying to compensate for his fatigue. He took the tie off and held it out to a confused Mason. “Could you just show me how you do it? I think I just need to see it done to get it back in my head.”

“Oh umm, yeah, of course,” Mason replied, a little astounded by Mr. Schmidt’s request, but he accepted the offer nonetheless. Positioning the black tie around his neck, Mason failed to notice that a collar had swiftly fluttered into existence around his neck. It promptly flapped down around it, leaving just enough room for him to move the tie. Beginning the process, Mason was surprised at how quick he was in his execution. As he went through the steps with ease, his doubts alleviated by Mr. Schmidt’s rapt nods and encouragement. Through some unseen force, Mason’s shirt also mended itself, unfortunately concealing the swelling hairy spheres that his pecs were becoming.  After a minute-long attempt, Mason ended up with a semi-deflated Windsor knot. “Well, it can be hard to get on the first try. That’s for…SURE!!”

Mason sputtered from a tightening pressure as the black tie coiled tightly around his neck. Pulled by some unseen force, his mediocre Windsor knot rapidly cinched itself into an exemplary one that unfortunately concealed the young man’s shaggy chest. The wave of force wasn’t finished yet though as it continued to ripple through him like a tidal wave. At an impressive rate, Mason’s flat pecs bulged out in unison with his bloated stomach. It wasn’t a drastic change, but it certainly gave him a new fullness all over. His body looked far less scrawny and awkward and far more adult. “What the hell,” Mason gasped as he teetered on his long legs. Sure enough, he’d been endowed with a pudgy belly that hung out from his collared t-shirt, which looked like it was fit to burst due to how tight it was. 

“MMFF!” came a subdued grunt from Mr. Schmidt. Peering over, Mason watched in disbelief as the middle-aged man sprung up even taller in height. His 5’10” figure launched up to a staggering 6’5”. The rapid growth also caused Mr. Schmidt’s pudgy gut to suck in on itself, giving him an extremely lean appearance. However, the weight that Mr. Schmidt lost seemed to dissipate directly into Mason who moaned as his gut developed a brand new roundness. And in an instant, it ceased, leaving the two men breathlessly panting as they stared down at their radically different figures.

“HOLY COW! I’M THIN!!” Mr. Schmidt exclaimed as he stared down at his flattened abdomen. All of his fat had vanished. 

“HOLY CRAP! I’M HUGE!” Mason exclaimed, looking at his new bulbous belly. Somehow, he had absorbed all of Mr. Schmidt’s fat and then some. 

“Are those abs?” Mr. Schmidt cried as he noticed six indentations beneath his baggy polyester shirt. Even his pecs made distinct shapes, but instead of their usual fat, they felt much more…rigid? A quick goose of one of them only proved his point - they had some muscle to them.

Mason, meanwhile, held onto a chair by the kitchen island, nearly toppling over from his new volleyball-sized stomach “What…what is happening?” he mewed breathlessly, giving his rotund orb a poke. Yep, it was real - and there was still a carpet of hair beneath that made his chest feel even hotter beneath the tight shirt. Desperately, he tried to lift it up, but the shirt had other ideas. It danced free from Mason’s fingers, magically generating more fabric as it descended past his waist and tucked itself into his gym shorts. The round young man squirmed as he felt two objects wrap around his upper thighs. As soon as they were fastened, Mason’s new shirt garters locked his silky new shirt in place, eliminating any wrinkles and enhancing the curvature of his belly. “No, no, no,” he cried as he sprung to yank off the garters from his thighs, however his swift action was promptly punished. As Mason feverishly tried to unclench his brand new shirt garters, his already pudgy belly swelled larger and larger until his belly was a firm hemisphere that brazenly protruded out. It looked like he had swallowed a yoga ball! Interestingly, it didn’t sag like Mr. Schmidt’s belly had; instead it stood still in place like a boulder, balanced just above his widening waistline. As one final show of its permanence, a line of white buttons shot up the center of Mason’s new oversized t-shirt, tethering it even tighter to his huge, hairy figure. 

Mr. Schmidt’s chuckled dimly. “Wow Mason, you’re built like a brick shithouse!” 

Mason perked up, forgetting that he now had to glance up at the taller man. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Mr. Schmidt, did you just swear?” he asked, still in disbelief that Elliott’s authoritative father had actually sworn. 

“Hm? Oh yes…it certainly appears I did,” Mr. Schmidt replied, his voice trembling for a moment. Before he could speak further, his pectoral muscles suddenly exploded to the size of party balloons. “WHUH?” Mr. Schmidt choked, his composure ripped from him once again. This change was far from subtle; his flabby pecs swelled larger, first becoming lean like his abdomen before inflating further and further. It wasn’t long before a cacophony of loud pings filled the room, as Mr. Schmidt’s muscular jugs and ripped torso sent all of his shirt buttons flying. Mason could only watch in horrified mesmerism as the pair of enormous pecs swelled so large that they rivaled the size of his head. Finally, Mr. Schmidt’s pecs settled on their final commanding width. The middle-aged man sighed in relief and his porn-star pecs heaved in unison. 

Both men looked at each other with wide-eyed expressions. Mason’s was one of shock, but Mr. Schmidt’s was one of raw excitement. “What is happening to us, Mr. Schmidt?” Mason asked in an attempt to clear the awkward silence. “I think that-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t need to be formal with me,” Mr. Schmidt interrupted, still with that cocky smirk on his face. 

“I…I don’t?”

“Yeah man. Mr. Schmidt sounds waaay too formal,” the middle-aged man replied, his manner of speech was becoming less eloquent. He still had that confident smirk plastered on his face, but it flickered intermittently, as if he was fighting to regain his self-control. “I just go by Doug,” he said before his weak shoulders immediately broadened. “Huh-huh. Doug sounds a little d-dorky, doesn’t it?” the changing man muttered as a bulge started to rise in his pants. His new pair of broad shoulders looked like they belonged to a pro-athlete and they only sent more muscles cascading down Doug’s torso. The muscle radiated downward, making Doug’s abs really pop! As one final reward, his white dress shirt flung itself free from his loose-fitting pants, revealing that his waistline had shrunk! The torn shirt provided a window for all to see that Doug’s love-handles had faded completely, giving way to a pair of show-stopping obliques and a perfectly-tapered waistline befitting of someone far more in-shape than him. 

“This has to be a dream,” Mason muttered to himself. Morbidly curious, he ran a hand down his line of shirt buttons and found that his belly wasn’t a tub of fat - it was all muscle! Hidden beneath a carpet of thick hair was an array of tight abs, just like Mr. Schmidt…or Doug as he’d rather be called. Sitting down on a tall kitchen chair only made Mason’s huge belly look even larger! As he prodded it, he grew distracted by his hands. His palms had grown enormous and his fingers had become far more fat and stubby. Even worse was the fact that his nails were now perfectly manicured! 

“Oh shit, the game’s back on!” Doug said as the announcer’s deep yet calming voice refilled their airwaves. He glided past Mason and plopped down on the sofa. The supposed patriarch of the house had now lost his stoicism completely and had placed his elbows on his knees as he sat on the edge of the couch, leering at the tv with youthful wonder. As a matter of fact, his face seemed a lot more…relaxed. Instead of a permanently gruff frown, Doug had a subtle grin. “So what do you and Elliott have planned for today?” he asked casually without looking away from the screen.

Elliott! What will he think of this whole mess? Mason thought. He wanted to text him again, but he wasn’t even sure how to explain the whole predicament. “Hey dude, your dad’s acting like he had a mid-life crisis and I got really fat out of nowhere” didn’t really sound all that realistic. Hell, if Mason wasn’t feeling the breadth of his hairy tits heaving up and down when he breathed, he would’ve thought he sounded crazy too. 

“Mason!” 

Mason rocked his head back up. “Huh what?” That was weird, he thought, Doug’s shirt looked so tight now that his nipples could be seen pressed against the fabric. Gross. 

“I asked…like…what are you and Elliott gonna be up to?” Doug asked slower than before, allowing the words to linger on his tongue for longer. He’d also thrown his right arm up on the side of the couch.

“Probably just…videogames or something,” Mason mindlessly replied as he gazed at the newest spectacle in front of him. Mr. Schmidt…or…Doug actually had biceps! They weren’t small either. Cradled by the elbow-length vestiges of his tattered dress shirt, they were on full display. 

“Oh word,” Doug replied calmly. There was a brief silence until another splitting “RIIIPPPP” that filled the room. Both men were wrought with bewildered as Doug’s biceps exploded through his shirt sleeves, causing white fabric to spill to the floor. Huge, hulking biceps and triceps took their place, complemented by broad forearms.​​ They extended back to Doug’s circular shoulder muscles. His arms were bigger than any arms Mason had ever seen. After a few more tense seconds, Doug finally exhaled with relief as his huge biceps and triceps finished solidifying. They were enormous - so enormous in fact, that Mason could even see their long, striatic veins from his perch at the kitchen table. 

As Doug flexed one of his new massive arms, Mason espied Doug’s waist as it tapered itself to a smaller width, making Doug’s faded dress pants oversized. They hung loosely below his midriff for a moment before they pulled taut once again while his round thighs swelled a few inches larger. “Oh fuck yea, dude,” Doug purred, his voice sounded different so he cleared his throat. It sounded less like a man in his forties trying to act hip and more like a younger man whose deep voice now had an air of juvenescence to it. 

It was at this moment that his fatty thighs ballooned forth, stretching the black polyester of his fading pants. Cradling his growing erection, Doug’s thighs rapidly stretched tight with muscle, becoming just as robust as his arms and pecs. His pants also seemed eager to show his thighs off as they suddenly crept up his legs until they stopped just above his knee. In those short few seconds, the black color disappeared from them, replaced by a dark brown, then a deep maroon, until finally settling on a scarlet red hue. Doug shook his legs and felt the brawniness radiate through them, aggrandizing his thighs and turning his slender calves into round ovals of muscle. Even his feet swelled larger and his black nylon socks turned to skimpy white athletic ones. Doug gingerly ran a hand over one of his new, muscular thighs, ogling at how spectacular they looked in his new bright red gym shorts. These were the type of legs that belonged to a very athletic individual, something Doug had never considered himself to be before. 

Mason couldn’t help but notice that the back of Doug’s palm and wrist kept bumping into his tenting bulge as he squeezed his thighs, causing his cock to jiggle with each touch. Man, Doug sure was bad at being slick. Mason rolled his eyes - even he knew that trick. 

“Ooh!” Doug said with surprise before that same dopey grin returned to his face. He was raised a few inches in the air as his buttcheeks inflated beneath him. As he placed his new brawny arms behind his head to relax, his torn shirt began to reform, quickly exposing his armpits. The remnants of his tattered sleeves vanished as the remaining fabric grew much skimpier and revealing. The shirt’s white coloration switched into dark black and compressed around his muscular barrel of a chest. Two thin straps appeared around Doug’s shoulders, pulling his new black tank top tight. “Fuck man, I’m so huge,” he gloated, giving one of his huge biceps another self-indulgent flex. 

With the sudden changes seemingly over, Mason snapped out of his flabbergasted daze. It had been impossible to turn away and it was even more impossible to fathom. Somehow, the most stoic man he knew had become this dopey, muscular dude. If it wasn’t for his middle-aged face, Doug could be mistaken for a young athlete, the kind that just commanded attention. “I’m so fucking jacked! Let’s go!” Doug exclaimed, boisterously and lively like a college kid would. 

Mason wanted to respond to Doug’s out of character cursing, but something stopped him. For the first time in years, the middle-aged man seemed so happy, even while wearing a younger man’s clothes. The crow’s feet around his eyes had vanished and his whole face had a new glow to it. Mason felt oddly proud. It felt wrong to stomp on Doug’s joy. 

Then, Mason’s butt expanded beneath him. 

“Whoa!” he cried as he was launched up from his stool. It nearly toppled to the floor over as the massive globes recentered the round young man’s posture. Mason’s new oversized rump was double the size of Doug’s! It was so large that it had propelled him up out of the stool, forcing Mason to instinctively hop out of the teetering chair, a reflex as to not fall over. Standing up also had an adverse effect on his dark gym shorts: they now had a collection of sharp white lines running down them. Even worse was that they couldn’t even be called shorts anymore. As additional fabric quickly unspooled to his ankles, Mason realized he was wearing a pair of black pinstriped pants! To complement them, Mason’s short white athletic socks stretched up his hairy legs and shifted into thin, black nylons: just like Doug’s old ones.

A presence at Mason’s stomach caught his attention. “Whuh?” he muttered, realizing that his stomach had pressed into the granite tabletop. It had grown even bigger? “No, no,” he pleaded. “I’ve gotta be like three hundred pounds! And I look like a f…fatass.”

Doug looked over, clearly noticing Mason’s distress. “What? You’re not a fatass,” he comforted. “You’ve just got the body of an ex-bodybuilder. At least, that’s what you’ve always told me.”

“Ex…body…builder…” Mason mewled. He flexed his arms and suddenly, they exploded with muscle right before his eyes. Thick, sinewy muscle radiated across his biceps and triceps, spreading to his delts and forearms in record speed. In a matter of seconds, his arms had surpassed Doug’s. They were huge and his black hair complemented their mass perfectly. Mason’s frayed shirtsleeves stood no chance against their magnificent mass and they began to immediately lengthen to cover them back up. “Mmm that’s right,” Mason grunted uncontrollably as the sleeves descended past his elbows until their reached his wrists - at which point they terminated into sharp new French cuffs. It was such a confusing, fiery feeling: to be mortified for having a huge belly, but then to be given arms that rivaled Schwarzenegger’s. A fancy new silver wristwatch appeared above the right hairy mitt that his right hand had become. “Errg no! This isn’t right! I don’t d-dress like this,” Mason huffed, his rich, sonorous bass ricocheting around the huge room.

“What are you talking about, Dad?” 

Mason was in his own little world, just as his pastel-colored shirt dyed itself a rich shade of indigo. “I feel so…grown up. I feel…Wait a minute, Doug, what did you call me?” 

“Umm… I called you Dad,” Doug replied peremptorily, as if Mason should’ve known. He glanced at the tv screen and then back ahead. “Why’d you call me Doug?” he retorted. His weak chin squared up and his thin lips became fat and kissable. “I feel like that’s such a dorky name! I’d rather go by Jack or Tristan or something. Yeah Tristan! That’s it!” To reaffirm the newly-minted muscular jock’s new name, the final wrinkles vanished from his face as he readjusted his crooked backward black cap. 

Before Mason could inquire further, a wave of cold air rushed against his head from all directions. He nearly screamed as he brought his hand up to his head only to feel…nothing. There was zero hair remaining, no bristles, no nothing! Somehow, the one spot where Mason wanted his hair to say had been taken from him, while the rest of his body was coated in it. His head of long blonde hair had been taken from him in one moment. “What the hell!” Mason cried, abruptly jumping out of his seat. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Tristan asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Mason replied as he ran away, although it wasn’t very fast. His huge drum of a belly had repositioned his center of gravity and his reduced walking pace was to a lumbering waddle, only encumbered further by his humongous legs and arms. The stout man frantically headed down the adjacent hall toward the nearest bathroom. There was only one room at the end of the hall and that was Mr. Schmidt’s or…Tristan’s old room, but Mason didn’t care. He shuffled inside and darted into the master bathroom. However, his worst fears were confirmed.

“Holy shit!” Mason exclaimed. The reflection that greeted him was a total stranger that shared his face. This man had a huge, commanding, round barrel of a stomach and was dressed up like a businessman. He also must’ve grown a little taller and not even realized it! Reckoning he was almost taller than the mirror, Mason figured he must’ve been around 6 feet tall. His fear began to turn into intrigue. He actually looked…kinda cool! His immense width even eclipsed the width of the mirror, and he had to step back to take in his full breadth. This huge, formally-dressed beefcake of a man was actually him! The grapefruit-sized bulge in his pants indicated that there was certainly something different there too! Maybe, this wasn’t all bad.

The sound of Mason’s ringtone filled the bathroom. It took a few tries for him to jam his square hands into his wide pocket, but he finally found success. And to Mason’s relief, it was Elliott. 

“Hey what’s up?” Elliott asked. “I just saw your text. What’s going on?”

“Dude!” Mason cried, his deep, unfamiliar voice echoed through the bathroom. “You won’t believe what’s happening. I know this sounds crazy, but I changed! I’m huge now and I’m dressed all fancy. And your dad is acting crazy! He looks just like a jock!l And he called me his dad and-”

“Jeez, you’re talking a mile a minute,” Elliott interrupted. “Listen, I just opened the garage. I’ll see ya in a sec."

“Great! Meet me in the master bedroom!” Mason exclaimed before promptly hanging up. It was almost comical to hear his low, sultry voice riddled with anxiety. He returned his attention to his domineering reflection. He shook his huge bulge and gave one of his pecs a squeeze. Fuck, that felt good. Curiosity struck again as Mason couldn’t resist the urge to try to bounce the rectangular slabs that were now his pecs. To his joy, they wiggled with ease and he bounced up and down beneath his silky cerulean dress shirt. He exited the bathroom and reentered the bedroom, observing the football pennants and modern art on the wall. This room seemed super personalized. On one of the dressers, Mason noticed there was a line of trophies: all little golden muscular dudes flexing their disproportionately-huge arms. 

“Mason! What’s up?” Elliott called as he walked through the open bedroom door. 

“Elliott!” the larger-than-life man bellowed as he spun around. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said as he strode a few steps over to give the tall young man a hug. Mason was so hairy now that he could feel his shoulder hair crumple during their embrace.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Elliott asked, confusedly before reciprocating the bear hug. 

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you!” Mason praised as he released his huge arms from his friend and stepped back. “I can’t believe I look like this! I’m dressed like this and I’m like 350 pounds! And your dad changed! He got so much younger and…” Mason trailed off as he looked at his friend. Elliott was wearing a bright red tank top, and skimpy black shorts, but unlike his father, he wasn’t wearing a baseball cap.

“Whoa dude, slow down,” Elliott said, immediately noticing his friend’s duress. “Do you need to sit down or something?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just sit down and talk this through,” Mason acquiesced. He sat down at the edge of the king-sized bed, trying not to think about his size. His massive pecs heaved up and down as he tried to calm down and his mountainous buttcheeks took up quite a lot of space on the bed.

Luckily, Elliott didn’t notice as he sat down. “Dude, dorky shirt,” he added playfully, with an awkward laugh punctuated by a teenage voice crack. 

“Like you’re one to talk. What’s with the tank?” Mason quipped. 

“What do you mean?” Elliott asked, he seemed genuinely confused. “I wear tank tops all the time. But you’re dressed like you work for Wall Street.”

“God, I know!” Mason grumbled and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m so huge I can’t even see my feet! Not to mention, I’m frickin’ bald now!” 

“That’s not a big deal. You’ve always been…MMFFHH…eh…bald. And huge,” Elliott’s sentiment was interrupted by his torso suddenly swelling with muscle, pulling the loose tank top taut against it. His pecs developed a new fullness. “Whoops, sorry,” Elliott apologized. His back began to stretch out behind him in accordance with his brand new broadening shoulders. The stimulation spread to his thin neck, which promptly began to thicken and sink into his brand new trap muscles.

Mason’s heart plummeted and he could feel sweat forming all around his bald head. “DUDE! You’re changing too!” he cried, his strong voice rife with panic. “You’re dressed like just like my son….I mean…your dad!”

“My dad?” Elliott replied. He stared off into the distance like he didn’t know. 

“Yeah! The man out in the living room!” Mason frantically replied. 

“Oh, you mean Tristan?” Elliott asked right as his abs burst forth, blossoming into eight sharp ridges visible beneath the red tank. Simultaneously, his arms began to balloon with muscle. It took only a few seconds for Elliott to follow the temptation of his former father and succumb to the urge to flex them. Immediately, he was smiling ear to ear as he watched engorged veins embellish his arms as they went from lanky to moderate to brawny. Mason had to admit, it was a little wholesome to watch: the way Elliott’s eyes lit up with unbridled excitement the same way that Tristan’s had. 

“Yes! Um…I mean no.” Mason’s head was swimming. Recollections of the past and present were mixing together, like two timelines were intersecting. “Look. You’re changing too! Just like I did and just like T-Tristan did! We aren’t meant to look like this!” 

“Yes we are,” Elliott calmly refuted, his voice sounded much deeper this time, similar to Tristan’s dopey baritone. “We put the work in the gym to get this big!” Paired with his huge pecs and round stomach, Elliott reminded Mason of a powerlifter. His thin waist had broadened to complement the girth of his growing muscle gut. His bulkier body was engineered for raw power while Tristan’s was engineered for agility. “And I never skip leg day. I take up after you, old man,” Elliott smiled, patting Mason’s muscular thigh. As he did, black strands began to blossom over his exposed chest, coating his muscular pecs with bristles. 

“No, I’m not old!” Mason cried. He was so stressed that he could feel warm sweat start to accumulate under his hairy pecs. He didn’t know that was even possible.

“But you’ve literally got a mustache, dude,” Elliott said, accompanied by the sound of his gym shorts straining from his growth.

“I have a…what!” Running a finger over his upper lip, Mason could feel bristles, like he was touching a brush. Even stranger, he could feel them spreading further to the edges of his lips. Thick black hairs sprouted from oblivion, enhancing the young man’s facial expressions and making him appear far more stern. “Shit, this can’t be happening,” Mason huffed. His wooly mustache bobbed up and down with each word that left his lips. It looked ridiculous on his youthful face as he began to breathe heavier. “I…I can’t be old. I…I can’t be a father.”

“Hey, hey, I think the mustache is a great look,” Elliott comforted as a five o’clock shadow appeared on his face. The red tank top, once loose now was perfectly fitted to the young man’s new frame, showcasing his arms and obliques. He could discern the anguish in Mason’s eyes. “Seriously, are you feeling okay? What’s going on?” Elliott asked, wrapping one of his muscled arms over Mason’s broad pillar of a back. 

The sight of a hulking businessman was on the brink of tears was almost comical. He couldn’t help it though. He didn’t know the first thing about being an adult! To make matters worse, the longer he looked at Elliott, he could see a younger version of himself, especially from the dusting of hair forming across his body. “Dude I’m freaking out. I don’t even remember which house I live at. Or what my parents look like. Or what their names even are! I…I….It must be this house! That must be the reason I’m l-like this,” Mason tried to stand up from the bed, but it took a few extra seconds longer due to his gargantuan size. 

“I don’t really know if I know either,” Elliott admitted. His attempt to be helpful only muddled his brain further. As he stood up after Mason, his nonexistent butt suddenly inflated forth, becoming two thick globes of muscle. Elliott couldn’t resist the urge to gawk at his huge body: his junior powerlifter’s stomach, his brawny arms and hairy, muscular legs. His build almost made him look fat, similar to Mason’s, but the sheer force and power he exuded more than made up for it. “Whoa, look at me dude,” he said, a smug grin appearing on his face. “I’m huge! Nothing like you though!” 

A dwindling part of Mason’s brain wanted to resist the urge to ogle over his size, but the temptation was too much to bear. Just like the younger man in front of him, Mason flexed his arms and was instantly rewarded with a rush of dopamine. His pecs were nearly twice the size of his head and his butt protruded nearly a foot behind him. “I really am huge,” he agreed. A cocky smirk appeared on his face as his doubts began to fade. More rushes of testosterone inundated his system and calmed his anxieties. As he looked at Elliott’s confident smile, he could tell his friend was suspended in equal bliss. His familiar boy-next-door face was changing. His chin was widening like a shovel, his nose was ballooning larger, and his shaggy blonde hair rapidly was darkening to a jet black color, short and slicked back. His eyebrows became the same black color and his eyes grew even fuller and dreamier. When Mason looked at Elliott, he felt a new sense of friendship, one of deep, paternal love. He wanted to see his future son succeed the way he had at that age. 

Although the feelings were surreal, the guilt about becoming a father was too much for Mason to bear. “Elliott, I’m erasing your family though,” he blurted.

“Hm?” The brawny jock asked while his handsome face aged from an eighteen-year-old to a twenty-two-year-old. Aside from his burlier build, he looked extremely similar to his brother Tristan. With his broad chin and short haircut, this guy was a far cry from the geeky high schooler that had walked in minutes earlier. “What do you mean, Dad?” Mason twiddled his fat hands nervously as sweat formed above his bushy eyebrows. “You and your brother…you look like my sons and I…can’t…remember what you used to look-” 

The roar of Tristan’s low voice came from the living room and easily traveled to the bedroom. “Bennett! The game’s back on, bro!” 

The dazed jock had a moment of confusion before that confident smile returned to his face. “Later Dad,” Bennett replied, his voice completely devoid of its adolescent awkwardness. Immediately accepting his new name, the hulking young man headed toward the door at a walking pace so much slower than before. His larger, linebacker stature inhibited his speed and his heavy stomps were far more intense than his dainty footfalls when he was taller and lankier. Elliott turned sideways and flashed a jovial grin at his new father and subconsciously pulled the bedroom door shut as he left. Seeing his reflection in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door only reignited Mason’s fiery self-worship as he was greeted to another sight of his gigantic, tightly-clothed frame. 

Mason wanted to yell out and tell the young man that he wasn’t his father, but that wouldn’t be true. Elliott…or Bennett Holt was his son and a beefcake of a twenty-two-year-old, just like his twin brother Tristan. Mason was so proud of them. They had both blossomed into an inseparable duo of college football players who put in the heart and soul to get to the top. The “Holt Colts,” as they were colloquially known, were a force to be reckoned with, and Mason Holt, their ex-football player turned bodybuilder of a father, was their central impetus. It was all so much to think about. 

“Fuck,” Mason cursed as he looked at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. His cock sprouted in his pinstriped pants so he promptly unzipped it before gently stroking it. The skinny young man who had walked inside the house was a far cry from this beefcake of a dad who was in his place. This man was so huge that his immense figure barely fit in the mirror’s frame. This strong, middle-aged man always had that problem wherever he went. Having to take a few steps back was an everyday practice of his: whether that be in his home or work mirror. Where did he work again?

“I’m a father,” he affirmed to himself. He snarled his teeth in the mirror, enamored by the way his mustache accentuated every emotion. The huge bodybuilder of a man turned to the side and ogled at his endearing new shape: his rigid stomach and colossal butt were nothing less than eye-catching. “I’m just a big ol’ daddy,” he growled. He was too. Not only did he have two sons to show for it, but he could remember a vivid, sex-filled life. He was a sexual beast, having satisfied the likes of many men and women alike. “Mr. Holt” they always called him. “Daddy” was the one that really got him fired up though. 

Mr. Holt ripped his black tie off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dark blue dress shirt to let his saucer-sized pecs breathe. As his strokes grew more intense, he watched his hairy pecs bounce up and down with his movements. The forty-eight-year-old behemoth radiated so much pride. He wasn’t some bumbling, nervous kid anymore. He was Mr. Holt to almost everyone he met. Bennett and Tristan Holt, a linebacker and wide receiver respectively were both entering their final year of university football and were on their way to join the pros. Mr. Holt couldn’t be prouder. Even in middle age, he’d taken up bodybuilding and his calming, sultry voice - it was very recognizable. He loved to ramble on and on about football. He knew practically everything about the sport and was good at it too. He’d played the pros for a few years before retiring and raising his sons, all while transitioning into a bodybuilder on the side. 

Mr. Holt pumped his cock harder, fascinated by the way his bull-sized balls bounced underneath his dress pants. “I’m just a big muscle daddy now,” he moaned with no more hesitation. His new master bedroom changed all around him as he pumped away. The cruddy wood trim of the walls vanished and they became a nice pastel shade of tan. A mounted flatscreen tv appeared on the wall and the queen-sized bed stretched out into a memory foam-filled king. Pennants from a multitude of colleges and framed pictures of him and his sons now adorned the modern walls. In the corner of the room, a moderately-sized glass trophy case appeared, filled with shiny medals and little statues. With his erection fit to burst, the 350-pound man waddled over to it, eager to read the various accolades he’d been rewarded. There were a lot of trophies and medals inside, many from his years in professional football and many from bodybuilding. One trophy bigger than the rest beckoned his attention. It read “IFBB 1st Place” and under it was the name “Stan Holt.” 

“MMMM!” Stan Holt growled as his thick, hot, cum shot through his floodgates. It shot down onto his work desk, narrowly missing his desktop computer. It felt so good: the oozing, glopping testosterone, his rippling muscles, his hairy body - he felt like he’d been given the greatest gift in the world. All memories of the Schmidt family were expunged from existence forever, replaced by the new Holt family with Stan finally becoming the proud, handsome patriarch he was predestined to be. The panting forty-eight-year-old bodybuilder gripped his muscle gut as the vestiges of his orgasm trailed out of his girthy cock. Luckily, he’d gotten none on his fancy clothes - it was a skill that he’d mastered over the years. After putting his thick member back in his pants, Stan promptly reached under his work desk and snatched a vial of colgine. He kept a his full of wipes and sprays under there so he could purify the room after his bouts of raunchy self-expression. 

“You dirty perv,” Stan whispered to himself as he spritzed himself and the ventilated room with tropical cologne. That always did the trick to rid the smell of his spunk. With his head now cleared, he sat his big ass down on his new office chair and breathed another sigh of relief. Now settled into his new life, Stan Holt opened up his computer and fired away a few emails. Many of them were about the company he worked for. They called him their star media personality because he was. Looking at his silver wristwatch, Stan realized he only had a few more minutes before he had to leave. 

As a sports announcer, Stan Holt had mastered the art of projecting his voice. Being an ex-football player turned sports announcer wasn’t all fun and games, especially being a bodybuilder on the side. Responsibility came naturally to Stan though. After all, it was far easier than his past challenge of raising a pair of twin sons with a divorced wife. With that thought, Stan stood back up, giving his black leather office chair some much-needed respite from carrying his weight. The hulking man grabbed a suit jacket from the chair and black tie he’d thrown on the bed and threw them over his shoulder. He’d wear them later once he was at work, but he always let his hairy pecs breathe during the convertible ride to the stadium. As Stan exited his room, his shoulders and colossal butt nearly filled the doorframe - both just further indications of his massive size. 

Walking down the hallway, Stan paused for a moment and looked at his favorite picture on the wall. It was one of him and his two sons taken at a banquet all donned up in dress clothes. It had been a few years ago, back when Stan had had hair and hadn’t yet decided to grow out his mustache. He was in the middle with one massive arm over each of his sons. Bennett was in the middle of saying something, most likely a jokey remark, and Tristan was laughing, while Stan was the only one beaming for the camera. The picture always made him smile and he always glanced at it every day.

As Stan entered the living room, which he was surprised to find it vacant. Although he didn’t think anything of it, the whole house had lost its old character. A more modern and uniquely stylish decor had overtaken the tacky, old wooden walls, turned them a light gray color, and adorned them with a plethora of colorful pictures and art pieces. More interestingly, Stan could hear a familiar sound filled the air: his own voice. Sure enough, the television was playing a rerun of one of his old games. Stan just smirked and turned the tv off. It was always a pleasant surprise to hear his own deep, macho voice was broadcast to millions of homes worldwide. Recording it in the studio was never the same as hearing it on tv. 

It didn’t take very long for Stan to find his twin sons predictably tossing a football in the backyard. Both heads turned at the recognizable timbre of his deep bass. “Guys, I’m headed to the stadium. Bennett, you’re in charge of your brother.” This was a common joke between them and their dad since they always had debates over who was the more-trustworthy sibling. 

“Like he could even take care of himself,” Tristan chuckled, slugging Bennett on the shoulder. 

“Shut up man,” Bennett laughed, giving his brother a playful shove back, nearly causing Tristan to drop the pigskin. 

Even twenty-two years after they were born, it was still surreal for Stan to think of his sons as strong, young men, but there was no denying it. For the moment, he still had them beat in mass, but the boys were definitely on their way to rivaling and possibly surpassing his size and he couldn’t be prouder. “And if one of you eats that prime rib I got in the freezer, it’ll be your ass.” Stan commanded, although his light-hearted tone made it obvious that he wasn’t being serious. 

“He’s talking about you, dude,” Bennett said. 

“Yeah, I know, you hairy ape,” Tristan joked. 

“This is why we label things in the freezer boys,” Stan interrupted. “Take care of each other now,” he said, his black and silver mustache contrasting perfectly with his pearly veneers, and headed back in the house. His boys were always mischievous to each other. Despite the fact they’d matured into astute athletes, they still bickered with each other like schoolchildren. Stan always loved when they came over, as any parent does. Tristan and Bennett both had their own places across town but were over all the time. Dad’s house had the best food after all. 

Putting on the pair of shiny, black Oxfords that Stan kept by the door was always a laborious task. Stan’s huge belly stifled his flexibility severely, but he was used to it. The fact it took a few tries for him to get down to tie his shoes was a small price to pay for being a giant among men. Standing back up, the colossal man marveled at his impressive side-view in the mirror by the doorway. His posture was perfect, his face was handsome, and his husky stomach, prominent bulge, and tight, firm glutes were impossible to miss. 

Stan Holt opened up his garage and stepped inside his chic maroon convertible. He tossed his suit jacket and black tie on the passenger seat - he always used the drive there as a way to air out his hairy chest. Firing up the car, he threw on a pair of black sunglasses and reversed into the street. The warm wind caressed Stan Holt’s hairy chest as he turned on the radio. The content smile remained on his face. He was eager to narrate another game. The exodus from being a pro football player into a sports announcer and pro bodybuilder had been more than fulfilling. Placing one of his muscular arms on the car door, Stan Holt cranked up the radio and sped down the road, excited to spend another day doing what he loved.

Didja like it? 👀 Thank you for reading and here’s a reminder that I work for tips! 😘  

[atelierforyou]

Must’ve been the wind

Trapped.

These three boys were trapped in a cabin due to the violent snowstorm that had just blown through moments ago. Now looking like a colossal pile of snow, it would have been hard to realize that underneath all of the cold and white mass was actually a quaint and cozy cabin. 

“NNH,” One of the boys slammed his shoulder into the door, trying desperately to get it to budge so they could make it outside. As many times as he pushed into the door, he found himself being pushed away from the door, feet sliding along the hardwood at the entrance of the house. “There’s no way this thing is going to open, man! We’re fucked! Absolutely, positively fucked!” he protested with a firm swat at the door with his fist.

A second boy chimed in, “Chill out, Jack. Look, yes we’re trapped but it’s not like we’re going to be dying any time soon. There’s still food, it’s still warm and even if it starts to get colder, we have tons of blankets and pillows, even all of our extra clothing we can put wear,” Standing further away from the door, this second boy watched Jack’s attempts to open it while knowing with certainty that he wasn’t going to be able to open it even a crack. With how much snow apparently piled up against that thing, they had to be monsters to swing it open.

From across the room, another voice arose. “Are we really going to die, Thomas? I don’t want to die while stranded in here! I want to go home!” The third boy’s voice was noticeably more shaky, clearly scared of the situation the three found themselves in.

Staring down the door in defeat, the first boy was out of breath, hand trembling “Yeah, ain’t nobody here going to come help us at this point. We gotta figure this out on our own…” He muttered this without turning, punching the door had hurt more than he thought, and he surely didn’t want anyone to catch that actually it hurt.

“Can you be quiet and listen to me? Will you, Jack? There’s no need to scare Alex more about the situation,” Thomas turned towards Alex, who was slinking in the corner of the room. “We’ll be fine, Alex. People will come get us for sure.”

Jack tutted, “Yeah, right…” Causing a fearful look from Alex, and an annoyed look from Thomas.

“Forget this, I’m going to the other room.” Thomas turned with a huff and started off to the back of the house, winding through the hallway and into the bedroom. Plopping himself down on their soft bed, he laid back and stared at the wall. 

How did this snowstorm happen so fast?

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[visceral-stories]

A Corner Office Downtown

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“Spot B60…B60,” Austin Brooks said to himself as he shut the passenger door. The young man opened up the back door and picked up a brown leather briefcase from the backseat.

His older brother Landon Brooks, who was dressed in a salmon-colored polo, spun around in the driver’s seat. “Remember Austin, we’re in spot B60!” he exclaimed, his obnoxious volume was not suited for small spaces.

“Yeah, I know,” Austin replied as he pulled the briefcase out of the car.

“Don’t be taking a while either, bro,” Landon said while scrolling through Instagram. “I’ve got a lunch date with Ava Schultz at 12 and you’ve got a habit of forgetting things.”

“Hey, be quiet dude,” Austin retorted before punching his older brother on the shoulder. Landon was only a year older than him, but already looked like he was in college thanks to his large, jock-like stature. He had all the makings of a future frat boy. If it weren’t for their similar faces, the Brooks brothers would be polar opposites. “Why don’t you bring it in if you don’t wanna miss your date so bad then?”

“Can’t. Older brother privilege,” Landon replied as he played with his few beard strands.

Austin scoffed and rolled his eyes. His preppy brother’s arrogance was nothing short of aggravating. Landon had already gotten a full ride to attend college next year and his prim and proper parents were overjoyed. Meanwhile, Austin could care less about college despite his parents’ efforts to encourage him to take it seriously. His father kept trying to incentivize him to want to become an engineer, which was what Landon planned on doing. Austin didn’t know what he wanted, but he didn’t want to be like his brother, that was for sure.

“Look,” Landon said as he put down his phone. “I’m the one who drove us here. Now you’re gonna give Dad his briefcase. Unless you think I’m wrong and you’d like to fight about it?” He raised his fist before bursting into vapid, mocking laughter.

Austin hated when Landon flaunted his larger, muscular stature against him.  “You don’t have to be such a jerk,” he huffed before slamming the door. It wasn’t his fault that he was forgetful.

“Spot B60…B60,” he murmured to himself as he turned around to walk through the nebulous underground parking garage. It was stuffed full with cars, many of which were significantly nicer than his brother’s hand-me-down.

Austin was a little nervous as he navigated his way to the edge of the lot. He had never even been to his dad’s downtown office building before. He had never even been downtown before and was just a lax suburban kid whose life consisted of high school and playing videogames. With his attire of a white t-shirt and cargo shorts, he worried that he would look out of place at an office where he presumed everyone dressed nice.

After a minute-long walk, Austin opened a glass double door and stepped inside. On the furthest away wall, there were six elevator doors situated underneath a wide plaque that had a long list of businesses engraved on it. Austin pressed the button and scanned the list for his dad’s office. Unfortunately, it was hard to find.

One of the elevator doors dinged much sooner than Austin expected and a large suited man stepped out. Judging from his salt and pepper hair, he had to be in his early fifties. He was immense too. It looked like a middle-aged bodybuilder had painted a suit onto his body, as if it did anything to conceal his hulking figure. The man glanced over at Austin and their eyes met for a brief moment.

Austin quickly looked back at the plaque and hoped the man hadn’t seen him staring.

“Whatcha looking for, kid?” the guy asked as he sidled up next to Austin. His voice was a shrill mixture of commandeering and earnest.

Austin hadn’t expected the man to even acknowledge his presence. “Oh…I’m uh…looking for Marshall Industries.”

“Hey, that’s where I work!” the man excitedly replied. His smile revealed a set of extremely white teeth that made his clean-shaven face look much less intimidating. “It’ll be on Floor 60. Which sect are you going to?”

Austin suppressed an immature giggle about the word sect. It took him a second to remember what his dad’s job actually was. “Oh…um…My dad works in sales,” he said.

“No way! I work there as well,” the guy replied with boyish delight while straightening his red tie. “You’ll take a left and it’s the third door on the right after the hallway.”

“Okay, thanks,” Austin replied as he felt himself start sweating next to this giant. It was hard not to be daunted by this guy’s immense presence. He had to be at least a foot taller than him and probably two hundred pounds heavier.

“Don’t mention it, kid,” the guy replied as he stuck his hand out for a handshake. “Name’s Calvin Burke.” “I’m Austin,” the young man replied before suppressing a squeal. Calvin had quite the firm handshake and his meaty hands had to be twice as large as Austin’s. When they released hands, Austin’s hand felt like it was on fire.

“Who’s your old man?” Calvin asked while checking the time on a very expensive-looking silver watch.

“Brooks,” Austin said, unsure why he hadn’t just said his father’s full name.

“Ah, Brooks. That guy’s a real poindexter, eh Austin?” Calvin whimsically said.

“Oh um…yeah he is,” Austin replied. He didn’t even know what that word meant. He decided to give Calvin an additional nugget of information. “He doesn’t even let any of us swear.”

“Now that’s a fuckin’ travesty, isn’t it?” Calvin said, his gruff baritone pitch filled the room.

Austin wasn’t sure how to respond. He had only sworn once at his brother when he had broken his xbox. But it wasn’t like he wanted to swear anyway. It was a very rude thing to do and his parents highly discouraged it. They wanted their sons to be well-mannered at all times, although that idea seemed rather disconnected from reality as the boys grew older and were often at each other’s throats. As Austin grew older, he was unsure if he even wanted to be like his parents.

“Ah sorry, kid. Bad habit,” Calvin chuckled. “Don’t be like me.”

Austin had no desire to.

“I will say though, the sales department has never run smoother,” Calvin continued. “Your old man and his advisors have done so much to help us out this month.” He then bent his knees to get down to Austin’s level. “That’s cause now it’s got Marshall’s finest on the case,”  he said before lightly elbowing him in the ribs. A very odd gesture indeed, which would’ve almost felt sincere if Calvin hadn’t crouched down.

“Yeah,” Austin said before punctuating his response with a forced laugh. He couldn’t discern what this jolly older guy’s deal was.

Calvin continued. “How do you like your coffee, Austin?”

“Oh…um…I don’t drink coffee,” Austin replied, very confused why Calvin would ask that.

Calvin erupted into boisterous laughter that filled the small room. “I’m just messin’ with you. I know you like it black.”

Austin was rendered speechless. This had to be the strangest interaction of his life. “Oh, umm-”

Calvin lightly patted Austin on the shoulder as he headed towards the exit. “But you take it easy, big guy. I’ll see ya up there in a bit.”

“Oh, umm…thanks Mr. Burke,” Austin replied as the man walked out the door. He crinkled his nose with confusion. That was oddly formal of him. Once the door closed, he exhaled a sigh of relief before chuckling. Calvin’s butt was tightly pressed against his blue suit pants and bounced with his footsteps. Austin had been glad that the man had been kind, but he seemed almost too friendly.

By this time, the elevator Austin had selected was long gone so he pressed the button again. A few seconds later, he heard the familiar ding and walked to a different elevator. He paused for a moment when he noticed how many buttons the elevator had. After a few moments, he finally found the number 60 on the bottom row.

CLICK!

Austin’s stomach churned when the elevator sprung to life. Initially on Level B, the red number on the screen began rapidly increasing as the machine effortlessly propelled itself upward, gaining significant speed in a matter of seconds. “Unghh,” Austin groaned with discomfort. Elevators always made him a little motion-sick, but this was the worst thing he’d ever endured. As the red number ascended to two digits, Austin clenched the handrail and swore he could feel the ceiling getting closer to him.

The elevator climbed to the 20s and Austin’s legs stretched taller and taller. The g-force was elongating the young man like taffy, eradicating his 5’4 height in an instant. His stomach felt like it was in his throat as he watched his cargo shorts ride higher and higher up his legs. “UNNGHHH!” Austin grunted before shutting his eyes. He had never had motion sickness like this before.

Now traveling faster than Austin had ever imagined, the elevator cleared the 30s, 40s, and 50s floors with jet-like speed. More tissue formed around Austin’s limbs as he grew taller and taller. With each passing floor, Austin’s skinny legs and arms pushed further out of his clothing, causing it to bunch up around his shoulders and upper thighs. His cargo shorts now looked more like short-shorts. All he could do was white-knuckle grip the briefcase and handrail and just pray for this roller coaster ride to end.

Finally, the elevator slowed down before stopping on Floor 60, leaving the young man with a towering height of 6’5. Austin warily reopened his eyes as he heard the elevator ding and waited for the doors to open.

“Oh shoot,” he said as he spun around and realized the doors had opened behind him. Briefcase still in hand, Austin was greeted to the sight of an opulent lobby with chrome-colored walls and marble floors, bespeckled by a few important-looking business folk conversing.

Austin nearly lost his balance when he took his first step onto the marble floor. He glanced down to investigate. That was weird. The floor looked much farther away now. And his shorts looked really tight. He could feel the presence of people around him so he awkwardly staggered towards an adjacent wall, all while not taking his eyes off his lower body to make sure he was balancing correctly. It felt like he was walking on stilts. Finally, he reached one of the walls and leaned against it.

“What the…” Austin said as he quizzically examined his new gangling frame, which was hardly concealed by his very restrictive clothing. His white t-shirt looked more like a tank-top that thinly concealed his torso. Not to mention, his spindly arms and legs made the clothes look so…so…thoroughly undignified. It almost looked like he had actually grown a foot taller in the elevator. But that was crazy. Bodies didn’t just grow taller in a matter of seconds. Still, his clothes looked like they had shrunk in the wash. His father was going to give him an earful about how he looked.

Austin exhaled noisily. This was just great. As if he couldn’t look more out of place here.

Across from the elevators, Austin’s eyes drifted towards a giant black and white framed photograph of a lone African tree in a desert. The bichromatic picture was oddly placating and eerily familiar. The sound of voices echoing caught the young man’s attention. A group of formally-dressed men and women headed towards the elevators deeply immersed in conversation. Austin almost expected them to treat him with the same hospitality that Calvin had, but they paid him no mind.

Then Austin raised his eyebrows in surprise when he realized he was taller than all of them. Not only that, he was so tall that he unintentionally looked down the men’s and women’s dress shirts as they walked by. Some of the men had even larger tits than the women. They must’ve spent years lifting in the gym to get them that huge, Austin thought. He wanted to look away but couldn’t bring himself to. There was something so exciting about this formally-clad display of the human body. Austin found himself loving the way their muscles were partially concealed beneath their clothes. The employees all looked tremendously regal in their professional attire, which probably was worth more than Austin’s bank account. Their clothing displayed every curve yet also concealed them with a degree of regality. Austin felt his cock stir at that thought. A twinge of guilt ran through his head. It felt wrong to stare so he quickly averted his gaze.

“Focus,” he whispered to himself while eyeing the brown briefcase in his hand. If he dawdled, Landon would never let him hear the end of it.

Without ruminating further, Austin headed down the left hallway, which thankfully was much emptier than the lobby. His gait was still uncoordinated, but with each set of clumsy footsteps, his pace slowly developed from a lethargic wobble to a seamlessly elegant stride. More black and white photographs of various locations dotted the walls, each displaying exotic locations around the world. The faded lighting above enhanced the ambiance of the stunning photographs. Austin thought that was a very nice touch. The marble floor also created a pristine echo of his footsteps.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

That sound was so…satisfying to hear.. The clicks sounded more resonant with every step.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Austin’s tight clothes gradually loosened with each footstep. The additional fabric allowed his gait to be fully uninhibited. However, the opposite happened. Austin instead started to walk slower, more captivated by the tapping now, as if it was a metronome at a more relaxed tempo.

Click…Click…Click…Click…Click…

Austin’s cock twitched again. His footsteps just sounded so formal and poised, like he was walking with more purpose. What kind of floor was this?

The young man suddenly stopped in his tracks. “What the…”

Glancing down at the céragrės floor, Austin noticed a pair of lighter shoes in place of his black sneakers. There were four black laces resting above a gorgeous shade of mahogany. The shoes looked nicer than anything he could afford. What on earth were they doing on him? Austin felt himself rise slightly higher off the ground as heels burst out from the bottoms of both shoes, making him an additional quarter-inch taller. Panic filled Austin’s head. Was he going crazy?

CLUMP! “Crud,” Austin muttered. He had clumsily dropped his father’s briefcase. Promptly, he bent over to pick it up, cursing his own incompetence, when suddenly he felt a wave of energy radiate through his spine. “RRGGHH,” he hissed as he stood back up, still unaccustomed to his lofty stature. A faint pain was emanating from his lower back. It reminded him of the time when Frank Davis kidney-punched him back in grade school after they’d gotten in a scuffle over a girl. What a strange memory, Austin thought. He couldn’t think of any Frank’s from his school.

Looking down the hall, he realized he was surrounded by doors. Was the office on the right side or left side? And which door was it again? Austin groaned as he ran a hand through his auburn hair. Not only was he a bumbling klutz, but he was also forgetful.

Austin perked up when he noticed a shorter businessman walking past. “Excuse me?” Austin asked without hesitating. He winced as his voice reverberated through the expansive hall.

The man turned around. “Yes, sir?”

“I was just wondering where the…uhm…sales department is.”

The guy looked a little nervous before he spoke. “It’s right behind you, sir.”

“Oh, thank you,” Austin replied curtly before promptly heading to the door. Too preoccupied by the pristine echo of his Gancini Oxfords, he didn’t even notice that his white athletic socks had dyed themselves black. As he opened the door, his cotton socks yanked themselves up his shins and a pair of black garters materialized to hold up his new black nylon dress socks in place. They clashed heavily with his casual attire.

Austin made eye contact with a black woman in a ruffled white blouse at the reception desk whose disinterested expression brightened when she saw him. “Good afternoon, sir. Anything I can do for you?”

Austin stepped closer to the desk and hesitated for a moment as he looked into her beautiful, emerald eyes. “Yes, I need to drop off a briefcase to my dad.”

“Sure and what’s his name?”

“His name…” Austin trailed off. For some reason, he couldn’t remember his own father’s name. The harder he tried, the further it drifted from his memory. He had trouble even placing his face. “Last name Brooks,” he bellowed.

“Justin Brooks?”

“Yep.” Austin wished that name rang a bell for him.

“Unfortunately, he is out to lunch at the moment, hun. But he should be back shortly. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?” “Not at all,” Austin courteously replied. His eyes drifted towards the rows of office cubicles in the distance behind the reception desk.

“Great. I’ll let you know when he’s here,” the receptionist continued before she began typing on her computer, giving him no further instruction.

“Excellent,” Austin replied. His eyes darted around the office as the two waited in an awkward yet brief silence. “Excuse me but, where should I wait?”

“Oh!” The receptionist stood up and pointed in the distance. “It’ll just be the corner office on the left after you pass the cubicles.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” Austin said. That was weird. How did he know her name? Maybe she had a nametag or something.

When Austin took his first step, a shirt collar exploded into fruition around his neck. It was a crisp white, much nicer than the cotton of his t-shirt. He absentmindedly pulled on the collar as he continued walking, merely thinking his small shirt was being difficult. He could also feel the breeze against his legs, another uncomfortable feeling.

As Austin entered the open office space, he couldn’t help but notice many people perking up as he walked by. Some side-eyed him, some looked away, and others straightened up their posture. Conversations quieted and the sound of people typing on keyboards intensified. He was almost thankful since his attire clashed heavily with theirs. He noticed a water cooler to his left. A drink would be nice.

A man and woman stepped aside from the water cooler and kindly nodded their heads as Austin stepped closer That was nice of them, he thought as he picked up a paper cup and began filling it. He guzzled down one cup. And then promptly drank another. And then another. With his thirst fully quenched, he tossed it in the trash. As he did, something with a rich shade of blue caught his eye.

“Whoaaa,” he said. Somehow, a fancy-looking watch had appeared around his wrist. The watch looked brand new and fancier than anything he had seen in his life. It practically screamed luxury with its platinum plating and aqua-colored dial. There was even a little crown where the 12 should be. What was up with that?

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Austin turned around and muttered an “Oops, sorry” before continuing towards the far-away room. After only a few steps, his shirt suddenly flung upward, exposing his belly to the entire office.

“Oh shi…I mean shoot,” Austin apologized. He frustratedly began to tug down on the shirt, hoping it would cover his abdomen. With each tug, the shirt grew closer and closer to covering his exposed belly-button until he was finally met with success.

Now satisfied, Austin continued walking, unaware that his shirt was still generating more fabric to keep his upper body concealed. He gazed off into the expansive set of cubicles to his right. Just like the lobby, the office’s marble floors and chrome walls also looked marvelous. The words “Marshall Industries” were painted in large black letters on the opposite wall. They were positioned a few feet below the high ceiling, their looming presence impossible to ignore. Down below, the only blotches of color were from the employee’s formalwear. Austin mused. Formalwear was almost like a uniform of its own. The employees had a high degree of liberty to make their fashion unique.

An odd sense of tranquility overcame Austin as he slowed his pace. What was the point of frantically rushing anyway?

Click…Click…Click…Click…Click…

There was that wonderful rhythm again. The 6’4 young man loved the sound of his dress shoes. He always wore a different pair every day too. His footsteps always caused people to step aside when he walked past. Productivity always makes businesses look better, he thought.

FWOOSH!

Two black suspenders suddenly shot out from the top of Austin’s cargo shorts, effectively holding his larger shirt firmly in place. They glided up his torso, over his shoulders, and fastened themselves above his buttocks before raising up his shorts. If the waistband hadn’t widened simultaneously, he would’ve been in tremendous discomfort. A wave of new fabric emanating from the suspenders surged across the old t-shirt, refining the old cotton. The new fabric cascaded down Austin’s arms as he neared the corner office, descending rapidly from his shoulders to his forearms to his wrists. His back still felt funny so he decided to lead more with his chest as he walked, which seemed to fix it. “Much better,” he said while straightening his collar. Unseen to him, a column of white buttons materialized in the center of his torso, tightening the shirt around his lean frame. By the time was within arm’s reach of the door to the office, his brand new poplin dress shirt neatly tucked itself in beneath the loops of his cargo pants.

Austin couldn’t help but crack a smile and chuckle when he looked at his resplendent dress shirt. “I look…just like an adult,” he said as he stepped inside the room. Suspended in a masculine daze, Austin ogled at the beauty of the new French cuffs at the end of his sleeves. The combination of them and his aqua-colored Rolex looked extremely dapper, practically beckoning him to enjoy his luxurious attire. Austin never thought that dressing up could feel this gratifying.

Austin’s cock rose in his shorts at that thought. He needed to sit down. Luckily, the finest office chair he had ever seen in his life stood before him. Positioned behind a broad and lavish wooden table, the comfy leather chair had a gorgeous blend of brown and mulberry, which was held up by lacquered cherrywood that screamed class. The urge to feel its snugness was irresistible. It would be fine to sit in it for a second. Then he would get back up and sit in one of the other chairs on the other side of the room.

“Whoa…that feels…really nice,” Austin purred as he sat down in the chair. He placed the briefcase down on an oriental rug next to him, too preoccupied by how comfy this chair felt. It was perfect for a man of his height. Or…kid of his height. Unlike the rest of the sixtieth floor, this spacious office had a much darker color scheme. The brown walls, two bookshelves, and faint lighting created such a soothing atmosphere. Looking straight ahead, Austin noticed that there were no windows to the rest of the office and there were two gigantic bookshelves, one to his right and one to his left. Most of the open space remaining on the walls was covered by small black and white photographs, similar to the ones in the office. The only difference was that these ones had plum-colored picture frames. Austin spun around in the executive chair and looked out of the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of downtown. It must be nice to work here.

Austin’s hand glided to his cock and he began gently massaging it. This chair felt amazing against his sore back. Paired with the gentle pressure from the poplin dress shirt around his torso, it felt like he was receiving a warm hug. Austin started to stroke harder before-

PING!

Austin took his hand off of his semi-hard erection and watched his top shirt button fly across the room. “Huh?” He noticed that the culprit was his pecs since there was an exposed portion of his smooth skin. They also looked firmer for some reason, almost like they had slightly expanded. But that wasn’t right. Austin had never even lifted a weight in his life.

PING! PING!

Now with three missing buttons, Austin’s pecs erupted through the dress shirt. Their immensity was baffling. They promptly grew to a size larger than his head. His nipples had also grown larger, making noticeable indentations beneath the tight poplin. Faint, wiry black hairs appeared on his chest and many poked out of his shirt. His suspenders started to bend around his meaty pecs, endowing their spectacular obscenity with a brush of regality. Austin’s cock pressed against his strained underwear. He’d never had chest hair before and now he was getting more than he ever expected. Somehow in a matter of seconds, he had been endowed with muscle tits that looked like they belonged to a bodybuilder, not a seventeen year old kid.

“No…what is…happening,” Austin moaned. His back muscles swelled out behind him and his shoulders broadened further than any of the preppy jocks from his school. In a matter of seconds, he had been endowed with a heart-shaped figure that looked more imposing than anyone he could think of. He delicately brought his hand to his cock and began massaging it. Each pump caused more muscle to flow into his arms. He continued flexing with his right arm while he stroked away with his left. As he watched his biceps and triceps expand, Austin could remember the years, no decades, spent going to the gym. His arms were 19.5 inches around, he remembered. Fuck, that was so hot. Nobody could call him a kid with these twin behemoths. Austin watched with testosterone-laden bliss as the dress shirt began straining against their size.

No. This was wrong. He was just here to deliver his dad’s briefcase. He needed to sit in the smaller chairs on the other side of the desk and behave like a guest. Thank goodness, he’d shut the door before he came in. Wait, why had he done that?

Half of him wanted to resist the changes but the other half of him was too busy enjoying himself. These clothes felt very nice. They looked like nothing he would ever wear and he started to enjoy that idea. Landon would never boss around a 6’4 man as well dressed as him. Fuck. That only caused Austin to get more aroused.

A force from deep within his gut caused Austin to gradually lean back into the chair. It started with a ten pound increase to his slender stomach, then it increased to twenty. “Mmmm…shit,” Austin said, oblivious to his out-of-character cussing. “What is…going on?” he asked as he watched his suspenders bend forward, enhancing his new body shape. His belly swelled to the size of a medicine ball and certainly weighed more than it. A bizarre fusion of terror and wonder filled Austin’s head as he watched his stomach expand further out than he ever thought possible. Thankfully, his dress shirt expanded with it, gingerly cradling the brand new sphere. Austin cautiously placed his hand on it and realized it was harder than he expected. His imposing, beach ball sized stomach was a delicate amalgam of muscle and fat that completely eradicated his scrawniness.

“Fuck!” Austin grunted as his erect cock pressed against the bottom of his belly and the pressure only caused him to get even more aroused. In a matter of seconds, his belly obscured the sight of his crotch. The sensation caused his member to throb harder than ever before.

“UUNNGGHH!” Austin exclaimed, jolting upright in the chair. The motion caused excess fabric to spill from his cargo shorts and begin a descent down his slender legs. This new fabric felt much softer against his skin. The brown color of the shorts began to rapidly fade into a light black-colored wool that smoothly concealed his lower body. Austin grunted with pleasure in his chair as the woolen texture of his pants stretched over his brand new silk underwear. It gingerly pressed against the nerves between his cock and butt and Austin bucked his hips with pleasure. The tender touch of his new luxury undergarments felt incredible.

He wanted to stand up and see, but was powerless against the changes. He was just thankful the wooden desk concealed his throbbing erection. Thin white lines formed across the new pants accompanied by sharp creases in the center of the legs. The khaki material was eliminated completely and in its place was an expensive wool fabric that covered Austin’s lower body beautifully. The new pinstriped dress pants looked magnificent and they rested just above his Oxfords. He could only look at them with disbelief. What was his father going to think when he saw him? How would he even recognize him? Austin had the torso of a bodybuilder and the dashing attire of a suave businessman.

RING! RING! RING!

Without thinking, Austin grabbed the ringing telephone to his left. “Ba-rookshh,” he said before wincing. Why had he just answered the phone? And why had he said his last name so weirdly?

Wanda Douglas’s familiar, sweet voice came through the line. “Yes, I’m just sending Justin back to your office.”

“Excellent. Thank you Wanda.” Austin said. He sounded like a professional newscaster as his voice dropped to a pitch lower than his brother’s or even his dad’s for that manner. A confident smirk appeared on his face. He loved the fact that she thought it was his office. Maybe he should lean into the role a bit. What was wrong with pretending he was a businessman? After all, he was a bit of a troublemaker in his youth.

Then, a wave of fear rushed over him. Austin worried that his father would judge him for his scandalous attire. It surely was undignified to have his meaty pecs exposed in a place of business. However, Austin remembered the businessmen he’d seen earlier. If they could dress flagrantly, so should he.

A man opened the door and Austin breathed a sigh of relief. He had auburn hair just like him, so it must be his father. Finally, he could sort out all of this strangeness. But as Austin looked at him, he couldn’t help but feel disconnected. He had a much smaller figure than Austin and was a few inches shorter.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Justin asked as he sat in one of the black leather chairs.

“Oh…um yes,” Austin said, getting goosebumps from the intense bass of his voice. His father didn’t look as stone-faced and intimidating as he’d pictured and he didn’t he even comment on Austin’s exposed, hairy pecs. “You um…you really don’t find my attire undignified?” Austin asked, stopping himself before he said the word “dad.”

Justin had a quizzical look on his face. “Not particularly, sir, why?”

Austin nervously ran a hand through his hair. That was odd, his hand brushed over a large amount of forehead before it reached his hairline. “I just feel like you don’t like…dress the same as me.”

Justin held his hands in his lap. “With all due respect, most of the guys in the office dress like you, sir.”

“They do?”

“Yes,” Justin cracked a small grin. It was nice to see the stoic-presenting man smile. “Now quit busting my chops. I know my attire is more modest than most guys here.”

Austin erupted into raucous laughter that filled the office. Of course, all of the muscular office guys weren’t shy about showing off their pecs because they took after their boss. Seeing them around the office always gave Austin some magnificent eye candy throughout the day. He lightly caressed his cock beneath his chair at that thought. Still, there was still one lingering question on his mind. “Don’t you recognize me, Justin?” he asked bluntly.

A bemused expression crossed the other man’s face. “What do you mean?”

“I…I think…that I’m…your…” Austin trailed off, unsure how to articulate what he was trying to say. His eyes darted around the room nervously until they landed on a side mirror next to the bookshelf on his right. There was a hulking man staring back at him from his side of the desk.

Holy shit. That man was him.

His new receding hairline made his auburn hair thinner than before. He could even make out faint wrinkles on his cheeks and forehead. “Whoa…I look old,” Austin said as he gently touched his hair and realized it was much grayer than he had thought. With hair that white and a voice deeper than Justin’s, there was no way that he could be the man’s father. In fact, he almost looked old enough to be Justin’s father. “Sorry, sometimes I forget I’ve got white hair,” he chortled. His vocal timbre was saturated with eloquence.

Justin laughed in response. Although it was clearly forced.

Austin broke eye contact with his reflection. He was unsure of what to say until he remembered the briefcase. He picked it up from the floor. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Justin’s face lit up. “Oh my gosh! Thank you so much, sir. I was hoping I left it here last night,” he said while taking it from Austin’s hand. “Too many long nights, you know how it is,” he added with a wave of his hand.

The office was always vacant by five o’clock and most days and Austin was always one of the last to leave. Justin had never stayed late, at least not yesterday. He was always a bit of a suck-up, but Austin didn’t mind. Justin still was a great worker. It was actually somewhat comical to think that a grown man was sucking up to him. Austin let out a laugh, although it his baritone voice reminded him that he sounded like a grown man. He swiftly punctuated his guffaw with an earnest “I certainly do.” There was another awkward silence where Justin looked at him like there was more to say.

Austin’s fear returned. Breaking eye contact, he placed his hand on the computer mouse and the monitor turned on instantly. It felt really small in his hand. Looking down, Austin was aghast when he saw his right hand. It was a gigantic mitt that completely eclipsed the computer mouse. A quick glance towards his other hand warranted the same result. His fingers looked as large as sausages and there were even hairs above his knuckles. These hands looked like they belonged to a pro football player. Shaking his head to loosen those confusing thoughts, Austin noticed that there was an important-looking line graph with multiple lines on the screen. As he was running his cursor over the lines to see what they meant, Austin’s hand brushed up against a pair of black tickets he hadn’t noticed before. That would be a nice gift to Justin, he thought.

“Our sales are up 20% than last quarter,” Austin said, reading the information from the graph. Then he looked back at Justin. “I just wanted to thank you and your department for all that you do.” He grabbed the rectangular-shaped tickets and noticed that his huge hand almost covered them up completely. “And here are two front row tickets at the opera this weekend for all your hard work.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Marshall,” Justin graciously replied, putting the tickets in his pocket before extending his arm out for a handshake.

“Don’t mention it,” Austin Marshall replied as he stood up to return the handshake, his spectacular Rolex and custom cufflinks were on full display. He noticed the initials “RJM” on it but couldn’t think of what it meant. What an odd choice on his behalf. “Thank you again for your hard work, Justin,” Austin said as the shorter man stood up and exited his office. He even shut the door behind him.

His office.

He loved the sound of that.

Austin decided to stand up, but immediately lost his footing and grabbed onto his cherrywood table, slightly hunched over. He hadn’t realized how top-heavy he was. Legs this slender were not made to support a burly man of over two hundred pounds. Luckily, that was rapidly changing. Still clutching the table, Austin’s thighs swelled within his suit pants, their burgeoning circumference curved the pinstripes. His shins and calves followed suit, endowing him with a sturdy undercarriage necessary to elevate his bulky upper body.

“NNGGHHH” Austin grunted as he felt his erection return stronger than before. He was really becoming the man he envisioned, a macho colossus who everyone around the office respected. Feeling the urge to step away from his desk, Austin’s leg muscles expanded further, his enormous thighs could crush skulls and expertly cradled his growing bulge. Next, his small butt quickly swelled out behind him, becoming an enormous muscular shelf that was larger than anyone else’s in the office. His pecs and his butt were two of his most defining characteristics around the office and he was okay with that. They only enhanced his muscular mysticism. The well-dressed muscle bear calmly paraded himself around his office, observing the way his body moved. He was so delectably plump, the combination of his muscle and fat was nothing short of intimidating. Austin’s cock throbbed at that thought. His bulky figure was always delicately concealed beneath the fanciest of garments. Austin’s semi-erect chub grew to a larger size, its presence was always noticeable in his dress pants, but he kind of enjoyed it.

He placed his hands on his wide waist. Man, he was a wide man. 44 inches around he remembered. Like his custom-made shirts, his trousers were always tailored to contain his immense mass. It was all he wore. Even outside of work, he would wear sartorial-wear in public. He loved the clothing so much that the office even dubbed him the man of a thousand outfits. Austin liked that. And maybe he was just an old perv, but he loved the way everyone’s bodies looked in them. But he loved no one else’s body more than his own. As Austin walked past one of the bookshelves he noticed his reflection in the mirror again. Up close, he looked larger than he had ever thought possible.

“Holy shit!” he said as he delicately grabbed his immense stomach and flexed his hulking arms. He was so excited to grow even more intimate with his herculean frame. He could remember the many times he had explored his own body through that mirror. He worshiped his own curves and would always punctuate his day with a full-body analysis of his stout yet muscular figure. Austin stared deeper at his enormous reflection. He looked so hyper-masculine now and had so many muscular curves to analyze. He flexed and watched his bicep rise against his beautiful white shirt. There was even a plaque with his name on it now sitting on the desk, although he could only make out the word “Marshall.” Too preoccupied to think about that, Austin spun around and placed a hand on his meaty butt. His huge hand was only the size of one of his cheeks. That was so hot.

“Fuck…” he moaned as his larger cock tented against his silk, black underwear. Transfixed by the placid silence and isolation of his office, he couldn’t resist the urge to stroke his huge dick any longer. He was nothing like who he once was. He felt like a wealthy businessman, however he didn’t have the knowledge of one. But he wanted to learn. He couldn’t be a leader if he didn’t know what he was doing.

He got closer to the mirror and raised his hand to his cheek. That was weird, even his hand looked older. His nose looked larger than before and had to be twice its original size. Suddenly, a bushy mustache exploded above Austin’s upper lip. It looked so out of place and it was rather ticklish. With mounting confusion, he stared deeper at his own face, which was growing slightly larger. His mustache quickly darkened to match his snow white hair and was the same shade as his dress shirt. Austin expected to be afraid, but couldn’t. This was just too exciting. And with his white hair and larger nose, he looked so mature now. No one could ever boss him around again.

His neck started to widen and wrinkles embedded themselves on his youthful face. His jawline and chin became distinct, rigid lines that framed his face much differently than before, giving his broader face sharp edges. Wrinkles spread across his forehead, signified by faint horizontal lines that perfectly framed his eyes. Botox helped erase some of the unsightly wrinkles, but it never erased them entirely. The business executive didn’t mind though. His age was not only indicative of his acquired wisdom, but also his penetrating and commandeering presence, which never failed to turn heads.

“Fuck!” Austin groaned as he watched his bulge swell in his pants, becoming a lewd protrusion that was always present in every pair of pants he wore. He gazed back at his reflection and didn’t see a nervous seventeen year old anymore. He saw a wise businessman who had decades of experience. This man would never pass as a high school student now. He had children and grandchildren now. Austin could recall vision of their faces and names as they flashed through his mind. But if he wasn’t in high school anymore, then what was his name?

Austin…Ronstin? Ronson? None of those sounded right. His name became jumbled in his head in a matter of seconds.

Fuck, he was so hard now. He needed to cum. And what better place than the office, which had developed into his private sanctuary over the years. He loved looking at the place he had made his own over the years. This office wasn’t for any typical businessman. No, he had to be an executive of some sort. He had to have a certain level of knowledge and maturity to reside here. And he wanted that elucidating knowledge so badly. The urge to relinquish youth for maturity was so strong.

“UNNGHH” the nameless businessman bellowed as he shot a hot torrent of cum. Fuck, that felt so liberating. And it kept flowing too. A rapturous tingling started in the crown of his head and traveled down to his toes. He could feel his memories fading, but he wasn’t afraid, he was actually very excited. Memories of a sweaty seventeen year old who was bossed around by his snobby older brother and parents were replaced by memories of a confident and expertly suave yet swanky businessman who loved flaunting his enormous figure in his gorgeous formal attire. The man felt connected to every part of his body, his huge pecs, his thunderous thighs. At sixty years old, his broad back and shoulders eclipsed everyone else’s in the office, which was nothing short of impressive. He was no longer pretending to be a successful businessman, he really was one. He was the very best that Marshall Industries had to offer.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! The business executive spun around just in time to see a familiar man enter his office.

“Got your coffee, Ron.” Calvin Burke said as he handed him a disposable cup. The man promptly took the coffee, which looked so inconsequential in his enormous hand. He looked back at Calvin and realized that he was a little bit taller than his constituent.

“Oh, um…thank you,” the disoriented executive replied as his confusion intensified. As he glanced down, he was relieved to see no sexual aftermath, only his unruffled, pristine clothing. That name he’d been called bounced around in his head and it sounded more correct the longer he contemplated. Decade upon decade of knowledge was entering his head of working for Marshall Industries. He noticed a black suit jacket lying on the chair so he decided to pick it up. Momentarily, he gawked at how broad it was before he put his arm in one of the sleeves.

“Sales are up 20% this quarter. Can you believe that?” Calvin said as he took a sip of his coffee.

“I know, I just saw the monthly report. It’s the company’s best year ever,” Ronald James Marshall happily replied, the gravitas of his deep voice filled the room. He picked up a suit jacket resting on his chair that he hadn’t seen before and pulled it over his bulky torso. It was a tight fit but felt great. Suit jackets enhanced his already broad shoulders.

“You’ve been doing an excellent job as the head of sales,” Calvin commented.

“You know it,” Ronald said as he took another sip, careful not to get coffee in his white mustache. “It’s a fuckin’ cake-walk compared to being CEO.”

Now at the age of 60, he much preferred this less-strenuous position where he could oversee a fragment as many people that he had for most of his life. He could still recall the days in the 1980s when Marshall Industries was 1% of its current size. Back then, it was just him and a few other associates. One of them was Calvin Burke, a close friend of his since their undergrad years.

“Crazy to think this all started from a corner office downtown, huh?” Calvin said. “Don’t remind me,” Ronald chuckled as he tucked in his lapels. He was methodical about his appearance. The color of his suit jacket always had to match his pants, an intentional choice he always abided by. After all, their bisexual boss had to set a sartorial standard. He looked back up at Calvin. “Hard to believe we’ve been business partners for longer than three decades.”

Calvin took a sip of his coffee. “I know.”

The middle-aged bodybuilder recalled a multitude of memories spent exercising vehemently side by side for decades. They had watched each other transform from college kids into muscle-bound behemoths who never lost their lust for life. Now they were a pair of platonic muscle daddies who ruled the sales department.

“You ready for the meeting with accounting?”

“Of course,” Ronald replied nonchalantly. He had at least five a day.

As Ronald grabbed a set of papers on his desk, he noticed a set of pictures by his computer. Most were of his of his wife and kids, but there was another one of just him and Calvin, back when they looked much younger. The pictures depicted the two of them holding their much skinnier arms up high in a gym, both with gleeful expressions. That had been in the early 80s back when they had much more voluminous hair and back when they both started to take weightlifting seriously. Now they had each started their own families side by side, confiding in each other their trials of fatherhood and now grandfatherhood.

Ronald smiled. “It’s times like this when I remember it’s all been worth it.” Calvin patted his best friend on the shoulder. “I couldn’t imagine our lives any other way.”

[atelierforyou]

Babysitter

“Dude there’s no way anybody is gonna think this is legit,” 

Two boys walked down the hot sidewalk through an unfamiliar neighborhood. The summer heat was at an all time high, and they were stuck out in the open during their unfortunately timed outing; however, they were determined to not leave “empty handed”.

“Shut it, Salad. This is totally gonna work…easy peasy.”

“Come on, man, you only call me that when you’re completely dry of those ‘sick burns’ of yours. Besides, couldn’t we have waited until night? Or at least until it was cooler? I’m dying out here!”

Brandon and Cesar, you can guess which one was called salad, were trying their best to get employed. Now that both of them were at the age where they could get jobs, they were eager to start making money.

Cesar was much more organized with his approach. By the time his 16th birthday came around, he had already planned out where he was going to apply, and ended up landing the opportunity; though, he wasn’t starting for another week or so. 

Brandon, on the other hand, wasn’t so fast on the uptake. Despite his apparent excitement to make money, he slacked off and laid it off until now. Instead of a more formal job, he opted to go a little more casual. After asking around his own neighborhood, he nabbed a job babysitting.

Just as soon as he landed it, he lost it. Royally messing up with the tasks given to him, the parents decided to quickly get a new sitter. He didn’t want his reputation to follow him around, so he decided to scope out another nearby neighborhood for his next target.

Brandon swiped his hand at his forehead, arm swinging lazily as if it weighed one hundred pounds, whisking away the sweat that was beginning to drop into his eyes. The sunlight caught the screen of his small black digital watch on his wrist and shot his eyes for a split second. He brought his other hand up to rub his eyes with a groan. 

At an astounding 5’5, he was a pretty average looking guy. His daily outfits consisting mostly of shorts, graphic t-shirts that hung over his skinny body, and the same pair of shoes that he’s worn for over a year. His medium length chestnut hair swept to the side, occasionally having to be brushed or blown out of his face. Perfectly average with average hair, average clothing, average interests, and average voice too. Ok, he had to admit his height was…less than average.

“Trust me, Cesar. It’s going to work,” Brandon raised a clenched fist to the sky and stated in a blatantly dramatic tone as if he were a character from a movie, “it must work, lest thine work be for nothing!”

“Yeah, ok, man.” Cesar responded dryly, half listening to whatever his friend had just spouted. He stared at the houses alongside them. They were definitely upper middle class, bigger and nicer than the ones from where they lived, not that their neighborhood was all that bad.

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[aardvarkia]

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They were hard to miss as they made their way through the airport: a big group of excited young men, all dressed in loud Hawaiian shirts and neon shorts. Between the baseball caps, Oakley sunglasses, and din they made from one end of the terminal to the other, it was impossible to mistake them for anything other than the frat boys they were.

“Spring break is upon us,” sighed one airline employee to another, as one of the boys hooted “SPRING BREAK!” to raucous cheers. The group made its way to their gates like a school of piranha, gobbling up beers and candy in their wake, until they all crashed down into their seats to wait for their flights to take off. The group was on three separate flights - there were no direct ones to the Bahamas, so they were stuck connecting through various cities, with a reunion planned at Señor Frogs that night.

Among the group connecting through Charlotte, North Carolina was a young man named Griffin Poell. He was slight in build but as loud as the rest, a former high school pole vaulter who had replaced that hobby with drinking lots and lots of beer. He’d been into skateboarding in junior high, and never thought he’d be a frat boy, but his uncle encouraged him to get the full college experience and give it a try. Griffin wound up loving it. Student loans would have him in debt up to his eyeballs by the time he graduated, so it would be good to have the connections and rich friends that came with pledging. He’d even had his ticket for this trip paid for by his roommate’s dad - not that the man knew, because Griffin’s roommate just charged both tickets to his dad’s card. “He doesn’t check it.”

Griffin was tossing a foam football back and forth in the terminal with two of his buddies when he heard the page. “Passenger Griffin Poell please see the gate attendant, Griffin Poell…” They pronounced his last name like ‘Pole,’ which everyone always did - it was actually pronounced ‘Pale’ but Griffin knew it was him being paged. He batted the football down to the floor, narrowly missing a passenger walking by, and bounded over to the gate.

“Hey there, I’m Griffin Poell.” He hit the pronunciation extra hard.

The man behind the desk had a big build and the voice to match. It made Griffin feel like he was talking to his dad, even though the guy was probably only a decade older. “Ah! Yes - we wanted you to know you’ve been upgraded.”

“Upgraded to what?”

“Business class.”

“Really?” Griffin had never sat up there before. “What for?”

“The flight is overbooked,” the man rumbled. “You were actually randomly selected to get bumped to the next flight, but then we had this seat free up because a passenger changed their plans. So, you get the upgrade. Not a bad deal!”

Griffin thought this was great, until he noticed a note next to the man’s hand on the desk: “Break group up.” He almost said something, but then he realized he shouldn’t make a fuss over an upgrade, even if the intent was to separate the frat like they were overly chatty grade schoolers. They could’ve just plopped him in another coach seat, and instead they were putting him up with the bougie folks.

Then he remembered his roommate’s dad’s card. “Is there any extra charge with it?” Griffin asked.

“No, no. It’s a free upgrade.”

“Dang. Sweet! Thank you dude.”

The smile on the man’s face struck Griffin as odd, but all the guy said was “my pleasure.” Then he added, “And please, no more terminal football.”

“Oh! Sure thing, sorry.”

Griffin returned to the group and received fist bumps and back slaps once he revealed his news. He liked that he, one of the guys who didn’t come from money, was the one who’d gotten the upgrade. He wanted to get more booze before they took off but now that he knew he’d be getting it for free on the plane, he decided to hold off. Instead, as he hung at the gate surrounded by his buddies’ luggage, he checked his airline app and refreshed it.

When his ticket upgraded to reflect his new business class status, the QR code changed from being black and stationary to rotating and shimmering, like it had depth. Griffin stared at it sleepily, wondering why business class ones were like that. Maybe it was to prevent fraud. Or maybe it was just because it looked fancy, and business class was for fancy people, Griffin laughed to himself as he looked at his decidedly non-fancy Hawaiian shirt, zebra print shorts, and sandals.

Man, that code sure was mesmerizing, though…

“Poell!”

“Whuh!” Griffin’s head snapped up. “Was I asleep?”

“You were just staring at your phone like a zombie, weirdo. Here.” One of Griffin’s friends handed him a bottle of water, which he chugged. “Gotta be on your hydration game this week.”

“Yeeeeeaaaaah buddy,” Griffin smiled, though the thought of all the cheap beer he’d be chugging this week was less appetizing than this morning. If he didn’t know that he’d be ruthlessly mocked for it, he’d switch to something more…substantial, like good bourbon. But that was expensive and he wanted to be one of the guys, so cheap beer it was. Whatever. The alcohol wasn’t the point of the week anyway. Being with his friends was the fun part.

“Group 1, you are welcome to board at this time,” came the announcement from the gate. The entire group of boys went “oooOOOOooooooo” as Griffin stood up, laughing and fist bumping his way through once again.

“Look at Mr. Fancypants in biz class!” one frat brother said.

“More like Mr. Fancyshorts,” said another.

“You love ‘em!” Griffin hollered, wiggling his booty back and forth as he walked up to the gate and scanned his ticket. The agent who’d upgraded him smiled.

“Is this your first time in business class?”

“Sure is,” Griffin said, adjusting his backpack.

“Nice. It’s going to be a big adjustment for you. Just enjoy the change.”

“Cool, I will,” Griffin nodded, but as he walked down the jetway he wondered why the gate agent said that. Seemed kinda weird. Oh well.

Another strange incident happened once he got on board. He stashed his bag in the overhead and sat down in his seat, which was wide and plush, not at all like the stiff chairs in coach. The flight attendant came over and asked if he’d like a mimosa.

“What’s a mimosa?”

“Champagne and orange juice.”

“Oh, dope. Yeah.”

“Great! Oh, and you wanted a seatbelt extender - I’ll grab that,” the guy said as he walked around the corner.

Griffin thought the attendant was making some kind of weird joke until he came back with the mimosa in one hand and a strip of polyester in the other. He gave the mimosa to Griffin and then, without saying anything else, unbuckled Griffin’s seatbelt, added the extender onto it, and buckled the whole thing together over Griffin’s lap. The belt had been snug. Now it hung loosely across Griffin’s thighs. He was able to pull it all the way to his knees without unbuckling it.

“Uh, I don’t think I need-”

But the flight attendant was already pulled away by another business class flyer, so Griffin just sat back and drank his mimosa while his frat brothers filed onboard and razzed him, rubbing his hair and giving him high fives. “Look at this guy! Livin’ it up…”

“Hey Poell, they give you a foot massage too?”

Griffin erupted in loud, booming laughter that took even him by surprise. He covered his mouth and nearly knocked his mimosa over.

“Okay, it wasn’t that funny,” the jokester said, giving Griffin a pleasant smile as he walked past. Griffin coughed out the last of his laughter and wondered why it came out so thunderous. He did feel kind of giggly - the champagne bubbles were going straight to his head.

An embarrassing gurgle emanated from his stomach as another frat brother shuffled past toward coach. “Damn, Poell, craving some of that first class caviar and crab legs?” joked the guy. Griffin smiled and nodded this time to avoid laughing too loud. He was hungry, that was true - hopefully he’d get some free food.

He drained his mimosa, set the glass on his arm rest, and the attendant replaced it with a fresh one. They hadn’t even left the gate and Griffin was buzzed. The bubbles tickled his nose and lips and made him grin as he drank, filling his tummy with the same fizzy lightness as his head. The flight was boarded now, and Griffin turned to look back at the main cabin where all his buddies were razzing each other and finding their seats. He noticed a few irritated looks from the passengers around them and thought that was too bad - the guys were just having fun, they didn’t mean any trouble. They’d chill out once the flight was in the air anyway.

He tipped his head back and drained the rest of his mimosa, punctuating it with a loud hiccup. A few moments later, he was holding glass number three. Was he supposed to be drinking this much? If the flight attendant was letting him, it had to be allowed, he supposed. He raised the glass to his mouth, paused for another hiccup, then took a long, satisfying sip. The bubbly feeling was in his whole body now, from his tingling toes to his airy, unfocused thoughts. He enjoyed the sensation, and it made him forget how fast he was drinking. Having something to do with his hands was good, because he was a nervous flier. Griffin wasn’t sure why he was nervous, though...he’d flown thousands of times. Well, maybe not thousands. Hundreds. Dozens? He knew was an experienced flier, though he couldn’t think of when or how a college freshman could have accumulated all those miles.

He finished the third mimosa right as the plane pulled away from the gate to take its place on the runway. Griffin giggled when he heard his buddies in the main cabin hooting with excitement as the plane started to move. Spring Break was gonna be awesome.

“Hic!” Griffin held his breath as the plane taxied. He could feel the hiccups being restrained, and shut his eyes to count out twenty seconds.

The plane shot forward, accelerating as it prepared to take off. Griffin felt a great whoosh as the fizziness in his body all raced into his center, accumulating in his belly. The bubbles spun around and around like clothes in a dryer, the loud gurgles in his stomach hidden by the noise from the plane outside. With his breath held and his tummy tumbling, a tight pressure was building in his abdomen.

Right as the plane’s wheels pulled off the ground, the button of Griffin’s shorts blew off and smacked into the wall in front of him. Griffin didn’t see it happen since his eyes were still shut, but he felt the relief. He exhaled sharply, a dazed smile on his face, and out from his midsection swelled a small, round curvature pooching over the waist of his shorts. It was mostly hidden by his shirt, but the bubbles were still swirling around in there, and each gulp of air appeared to be making Griffin’s stomach slightly fuller.

The plane climbed higher, and so did Griffin’s abdomen. The little round ball protruding from his rib cage was noticeable now, and large enough to press against the buttons of his baggy Hawaiian shirt. There was a loud gurgle, once again hidden by the roar of the plane’s engines, and the round shape grew. Bigger, firmer. It stuck out like a dodgeball hidden under Griffin’s shirt, steadily swelling like a tin of Jiffy Pop. And each time it lurched larger, Griffin felt more relief. So he kept breathing, the bubbles kept churning, and his belly kept inflating.

POP went a button at the bottom of Griffin’s shirt, as a pale white sphere forced its way through the opening. Griffin gently rested his hands on the sides of it, not quite realizing that it was his stomach, and that he’d never had “sides” to his belly at all. He gently gripped it like a basketball, although it was bigger than one now, and steadily expanding as the plane continued to rise in altitude. His shirt was struggling to hold it in - the fabric was taut around his stomach’s new mass, and his seatbelt wasn’t nearly so loose anymore.

The plane soared higher. Griffin felt his bottom press harder into his seat from the speed of the climb, like it did when a roller coaster shot upward. Except he probably couldn’t ride roller coasters anymore. The sculpting of his new belly was picking up speed too, and it was becoming much grander in scale. Two more shirt buttons shot off at once, ricocheting off the wall and flying around the business class cabin as Griffin’s gut ballooned in prominence to fill his seat. It pushed out over his thighs and against his arm rests, shifting into quite a statement - the most noticeable part of his physique. As the plane rose again, Griffin’s new ball belly did too, pushing up under his chest at the same time it shoved his shorts lower.

No longer did the bubbles within feel like a gentle tingle - they were like waves crashing back and forth against Griffin’s insides, making his stomach ever rounder and larger. His Hawaiian shirt remained neatly buttoned over his chest, then cascaded open over his immense belly, framing it like a window treatment. But he did feel something against his skin: his seatbelt, now pretty tight even with the extender. It loosened all the way to make more room for the young man’s massive midsection.

Griffin’s belly had become spectacular. A beach ball forged from solid steel rested in his lap, pulsing with expansion as the plane reached close to its cruising altitude. With another surge of size, it grew to fill out his extended seatbelt, snapping it tight across him. Griffin scratched at it, his bare skin irritated by the friction. The prickling feeling spread out from his bellybutton, as Griffin’s pre-existing treasure trail fanned out wide from its previous confines, shooting up the center of his ball belly like a trail of gunpowder. As his new enormous belly solidified, it swathed itself in fluffy curls from top to bottom.

The plane ceased its climb and evened out just as Griffin’s stomach finished its transformation. On the body of a young, skinny frat boy was the biggest, hairiest belly this side of Santa. It was big enough to take up his seat on its own, like another person curled up on Griffin’s lap. He reclined his seat with a soft “Ahhhhh,” his muscle gut hoisting itself up toward the ceiling, close enough that the air blowers made his belly hair rustle.

He dozed off for a bit, globular midsection rising and falling, until the ding of the seatbelt sign being turned off awoke him. He needed to pee, come to think of it...the mimosas had run right through him. Griffin worked to find the buckle of his seatbelt, which was wedged up between his arm rest and the side of his belly. Once free, he stood up like he did when he had a flat stomach, sending him careening forward as the weight on his front pulled him down. He bumped into the wall in front of him with an irritated grunt, then stepped to the lavatory, which was two steps away from his seat. Another first class perk.

Griffin opened the door of the bathroom and stood in it, his belly filling the entire space before he even stepped inside. He backed up, turned around, then walked backwards into the lavatory instead, which allowed him to pull the door shut and sit on the toilet to piss. “Need to lose some weight,” he sighed to himself, resting his arms on top of his gut as he peed. Pulling his shorts back up was a hell of a battle, but he finally managed. He couldn’t turn around fully either, so he had to wash his hands standing to the side, his belly pressing into the door. That was when it finally dawned on him: his gut was projecting out from his shirt.

Mortified, Griffin went to work trying to button his shirt back up. It was hopeless. To say it was too small was an understatement. He said a silent prayer and wondered why no one mentioned his bare belly out there. “Come on,” he pleaded to his Hawaiian shirt. With another tug, he swore he felt the fabric stretch slightly, the two sides moving a bit closer together. Encouraged, Griffin tried again, and again. Maybe the fabric had some elastic in it? That would make sense - he tried to get all his shirts to have stretch in them. The new elastane in the fabric made it feel silkier and sturdier, and as Griffin pulled desperately on the two sides of his shirt, the garish floral pattern stretched too, thinning out into something more subtle and classy. The neon pink faded to lilac; chartreuse palm leaves warped into light green lines.

“Come...on...yes!” The chunky Hawaiian shirt button had diminished into a white mother-of-pearl one, and it finally met its hole on the opposite side, pulling tight as a drum over Griffin’s huge belly. His shirt was warping around him, but he was too focused on the struggle to worry about his collar stiffening and stretching up around his neck, or his sleeves beginning to grow down his arms.

The connection of another button proved to Griffin that he could make this shirt fit. He wasn’t processing that extra rolls of fabric were unspooling across his back so that his belly could be contained, or that his size small shirt was stretching into an extra-large, then XXXL, then off the charts into custom territory, the front shirt tails extending three feet longer so they could be tucked in. The clasped buttons of his shirt pressed firmly into the door of the lavatory as he went to work on another.

The obnoxious floral design of his former shirt was all but gone now; in its place was forming a light yellow-and-green plaid pattern laid over a serene lilac. The light purple was pleasing to Griffin’s eyes as he fought with his buttons, hoping they’d eventually connect well enough to hide all his belly fur from poking through. Around his neck, his starched collar was stretching bigger and wider, becoming an ultra-wide spread collar as stiff as cardboard. It rubbed against his jaw as he looked down at his buttons. His belly stuck out so far that the buttons on top of it pointed straight up at the ceiling.

He briefly had to stop when his sleeves reached down to his hands and began to uncoil like flowers in full bloom, but after a few irritated shakes, the new massive French cuffs around his wrists didn’t get in the way anymore, except for the sterling silver cufflinks shining in his eyes. Finally, he was buttoned up. “Much better,” Griffin sighed, fighting to tuck his shirt tails into the top of his shorts. His belly heaved and roiled inside his shirt, but the tailoring was precise and held firm. He looked at himself in the mirror, angling awkwardly to appraise his appearance. His hair was long and shaggy, but at least it was combed. His gawky young face looked odd on top of his exquisite custom dress shirt, but there was nothing he could do about that. He reached up to open his collar - no sense in leaving it closed since he’d foregone a tie - and smiled as the huge collar points sprang apart. The meaty French cuffs he sported looked good too, especially with the family heirloom cufflinks he’d gotten from his grandfather.

Griffin emerged from the bathroom feeling confident and classy, even as he fought to navigate his belly to make the turn back to his seat. He made a noise of satisfaction as he fell back into his chair, running his hand up over the front of his belly, just close enough to rub his fingers over his buttons and feel how they were fighting to hold. He liked the feel of that struggle, and how they slightly dug into his flesh.

“Cookie?” the flight attendant offered, smiling down at Griffin and offering him a tray.

Griffin took one. “Yes, please, thank you,” he said politely.

He was only a few nibbles in when he felt something snap against the side of his thigh. Griffin extended his leg out to the side and looked curiously at what he saw: what appeared to be a very long suspender clipped to the top of his socks and running along the side of his leg up inside his shorts. He pulled one side of his shorts slightly up and looked at the “suspender” wrapping around his thigh. Then he remembered it was connected to the bottom of his shirt to keep it tucked in at all times. Griffin was never without shirt stays, the long garter style. They kept his dress socks high and his shirt tightly tucked. What he didn’t understand was why he’d worn them with shorts. Or why he was wearing shorts at all, since he hated wearing shorts. Or why he’d decided to pair his sheer dress socks with sandals. Had he gotten dressed in his sleep?

The bottom of his gaudy shorts were rolled up, so Griffin sheepishly started to undo the rolls just to cover that extra bit of his shirt stays. More and more fabric unspooled out from the shorts - far more than Griffin expected, much to his relief - until the hems of long zebra-print pants plopped onto his sandals, fully covering his legs. Griffin felt embarrassed at the design, but at least his garters were covered now, he thought as he leaned back and returned to his cookie.

Hidden beneath his mighty belly, the jagged zebra stripes on his pants straightened out from top to bottom, then started swirling together to make a handsome gray color that went far better with Griffin’s dress shirt. The waist expanded to double its original measurement, hugging the bottom quarter of Griffin’s belly and pushing it out as an extra long belt wrapped around his mass and buckled itself tightly. The cheap cotton of his former pants shifted into expensive, soft wool, sharp creases appearing down the legs to complete the change into elegant dress trousers. The transformation dripped onto Griffin’s feet, which pushed through the front of his sandals, growing thick and wide as hair burst out of the tops. Then, in a flash, they were covered, laces forming out of the ruined sandals and heels pushing out of the bottom, as a pair of beautiful, polished brogues formed on Griffin’s larger feet. Griffin plopped them onto the ground, tapping his foot happily as he ate his cookie, not realizing his calves were swelling inside his pants, growing big and strong to cart his new belly around. Brawny muscle pushed out in solid mounds against the backs of his pants. But all he was worried about was dusting the crumbs off the top of his belly. Damn thing was like a table, always catching the scraps.

God, he loved this shirt. The cuffs, the collar, the fabric. It was beautiful, and he felt beautiful in it. He didn’t know why he’d worn it today - all the other guys were dressed for the beach, and here he was in full businesswear. But that was just Griffin’s thing. His friends knew it. He always wore custom dress shirts, fitted slacks, and polished shoes. He’d be wearing cufflinks every day during Spring Break. All he’d packed were business clothes. That was all he wanted to wear.

The plane shuddered, and Griffin gripped his armrests. Turbulence was normal, he knew. Didn’t make it less freaky though. His hands squeezed tighter as the plane bobbed up and down. The flight attendants were unconcerned, so Griffin knew he was probably fine. But his grip remained tense, and was getting stronger, even. His hands were growing. Not in length, but in size. His knuckles bulged and his fingers thickened, as patches of hair bristled out of the backs of his hands. Veins stood out from his skin, pumping size up into his sleeves, the fabric starting to tighten as his arms gained definition and mass. A lot of mass. Not all of it muscle, but all of it big. Hulking biceps pressed into Griffin’s torso, the elastane in his shirt starting to put in work. The sleeve plackets above his French cuffs struggled to hold from all the girth piling onto his forearms.

And then the hair grew. It fluffed out of Griffin’s armpits and swirled down his biceps, around his elbows, across his lower arms, filling in the last millimeters of space inside his shirt sleeves, which were now straining to hold his overgrown gorilla arms. Griffin’s meaty hands released the armrests as the plane settled, and he breathed a sigh of relief, then cracked his knuckles. Damn, it was hot. Long sleeves and long pants had their downsides. He opened the two buttons over his chest to let some air in, his collar spilling further open. Then he leaned back and shut his eyes, arms folded over the top of his barrel belly.

“Anything I can get you?” the flight attendant asked as he came down the aisle.

Griffin shook his head. “Man, you all take good care of us up here - I’m not used to all this attention! It’s a big change from coach to business class.”

“You seem to be navigating the big change quite well,” the flight attendant said with a smile. The remark was punctuated by an abrupt shout from the main cabin, turning the flight attendant’s head. He sighed.

“What’s going on back there?” Griffin asked.

“It’s a group of frat boys playing a game or something. They keep hitting each other. I’m not sure. My colleague keeps asking them to quiet down.”

“Oh, those are my frat brothers,” Griffin admitted with embarrassment. “I never realized they were so immature. I’ll go talk to them.”

“It’s fine, sir, don’t worry-”

“No no, I insist,” Griffin said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He got to his feet more deftly than his first attempt, better navigating his newfound girth. But he still wasn’t used to all the extra weight, and his steps were graceless. Each heavy stomp made his belly quiver and buttons groan, aftershocks reverberating through his torso. The vibrations centered around his chest, his nipples fattening up like receptors. They became sensitive and tender as they rubbed against the inside of Griffin’s dress shirt, and the stimulation made his pecs begin to grow.

As Griffin advanced forward down the aisle, his chest pushed out at the same rate. It got rounder - fuller - the front of his shirt filling up with new size and mass. Griffin’s new pecs were coming in wide and solid, growing not just out in front of him, but to the side as well, testing his shirt’s side seams. Fabric folded up between his pecs and belly until the shirt got too tight and flattened out, pushing Griffin’s brand new muscle tits up to his chin and allowing them to expand faster and more dramatically. A dazed smile crept over his face as his open buttons were pushed further apart by his cleavage, which erupted out of the front of his shirt and undulated in rhythm with his big muscle gut.

Beneath his shirt’s struggling buttons, a new line of hair crept out from his navel and traveled upward in a straight line, perfectly centered over his belly. By now, some of Griffin’s frat brothers had noticed him approaching, laughing as they watched him squeeze himself down the smaller aisle in coach. Griffin smiled back at them, absently itching at the new trail of hair that now was visible between the open buttons of his shirt, making its way through the valley of his mountainous pecs like a lit fuse. His rock-hard nipples, now tripled in size, protruded through his shirt fabric and earned some judgmental looks, but they were the perfect capper for what was now an astonishingly huge chest. Griffin’s pecs resembled two gallon jugs balanced on top of his belly, barely contained by his shirt. All eyes were on them.

“Didn’t know airplanes had airbags!” a frat brother hooted too loudly.

It took Griffin a moment to understand what that meant as he finished his approach to the group, but he chuckled when he realized, and the vibrations of his laughter made his monster tits grow even more. Then, he arrived in between the seats of the group, just as the fuse of hair reached the center of his pecs. He planted his feet with a stomp, and the fuse erupted. Hair shot out from the middle of his chest, climbing over the mountains and down the other side, as hundreds of glossy curls proudly emerged from his smooth skin. In a moment, his massive rack was covered with beautiful, glossy chest hair.

“Heard you boys are causing a ruckus!” Griffin said, plucking at the button at the base of his chest, which was buckling under the weight of his hairy pecs.

“Bet,” said a frat bro, raising his arm for a fist bump. Expecting a high five, Griffin slapped his palm into it. The group laughed. He frowned.

“I just hope you all aren’t being rude to the crew,” Griffin continued, resting his big hands on the backs of the seats on either side of him. His cufflinks sparkled hypnotically.

“Big guy gets one first class upgrade and thinks he can lecture us,” shouted another frat bro, and before Griffin could tell him to lower his voice, the boy was up and giving Griffin a noogie. It only lasted a moment, but a lasting effect was revealed as Griffin shoved the guy back into his seat with a forced laugh: he was now missing a large patch of hair from his head, as if an out-of-control lawnmower had torn across it.

“We’re being fine, Poell, chill,” another boy said defensively.

“I am chill!” Griffin insisted. “I just want you fellas to be nice to the hard working people, that’s all.”

“We are, DAD.”

Griffin rolled his eyes. “Now none of that. I know none of us are from Shahw-leht-” The word emerged sounding bizarre. Griffin coughed and tried again. “SHAHW-leht…Ah know none uh us is frum Shahw-leht-”

“Picked up a Southern accent from just flying over the South, Poell?”

“Ah don’t know whah Ah sound lahk this…” Griffin drawled, his words coming out at half speed. “I was just trying to say, even though none of us is from Shaaahw-leht, we can still act like good Southern gentlemen.” The accent was not going away. If anything, it was getting thicker, weighing down Griffin’s words like it was drenched in molasses.

The noogie guy leapt up and went at Griffin’s head again. “Homie puts on a nice shirt and thinks he’s god!” he laughed, and the other boys hooted too. The guy got in more rubs this time, each one erasing hair from Griffin’s head like an invisible razor. But it wasn’t just a free haircut; Griffin’s follicles were shrinking, closing, and leaving in their place a telltale smoothness that said the hair was never going to grow back.

“Get OFFA me, boy!” Griffin rumbled furiously, placing his frat brother back in his seat with more force this time. He smoothed down his hair to fix the style - he hated looking messy - not realizing he was wiping the rest of his youthful locks away and leaving nothing but a thin, brittle laurel wreath of hair encircling his scalp. The top of his head was as smooth as a still lake. In a matter of moments, Griffin had been afflicted with every man’s fear: he’d gone very, very bald.

Despite the brief tussle, Griffin’s shirt remained immaculately tucked thanks to his garters, so his attempt at smoothing out any wrinkles was just an excuse to rub his big belly. “Ah’ve said my piece, so I better not hear any more hollerin’ back here. Behave!” The group responded with a low murmur of mocking fear.

Griffin turned around, knocking his noogie assailant smack in the face with his belly, but before he could take a single step, his bottom suddenly inflated. The sound of stretching fabric filled the air as his dress trousers strained.

“Badonkadonk,” whispered one of the boys, to titters from his friends.

Griffin moved cautiously forward, each step widening his hips and bulking his butt. The round, fat cheeks developed an eye-catching bounce as they swelled, bounding up and down as they started to brush against the seats. His waistline was expanding too, giving his belly needed support and forcing his thighs to grow in strength and size. He didn’t understand what was happening or why he felt so good, but the sensation of his clothes struggling to hold his mass was intoxicating.

The big man caught himself against the backs of two seats, shuddering with pleasure as his ass ballooned to fill the whole aisle. His trousers rode up between his massive glutes, pulling tight over his crotch and enhancing his bulge. Beefy lifters thighs created friction with each step, wearing down the insides of his pants.

Just when he was getting too wide for the main cabin aisle, Griffin arrived back in business class, allowing his hips and ass to widen further and fill the extra space. His enormous butt heaved in tandem with his belly as he walked back to his seat and squeezed his new bulk down between the armrests, barely fitting.

“It’s nicer up here, huh?” The flight attendant joked as he refilled a pot of coffee.

“Y’ain’t got no idea,” Griffin chuckled ruefully.

“Still enjoying the big change?”

“Yes,” Griffin nodded. “It’s a necessary change.” Two big traps pushed up through his open collar, turning his neck into a boulder of muscled mass.

“I agree. Thanks for trying to talk to those boys back there.”

“They’re an embarrassment,” Griffin drawled in his deep accent, extra syllables making their way into almost every word. “They need to grow up.” He scowled with disapproval at his frat brothers, and his mouth drooped...then drooped further...and suddenly, Griffin had a handsome pair of jowls. An odd look on someone so young, though it fit his shiny bald head well. “I ain’t against kids havin’ fun, but you gotta be respectful about it,” he continued, and his jaw widened into a broad, powerful square, then shifted forward into a masculine jut with a strong chin to match.

“You flying home?”

“No,” Griffin said. “I’m going on Spring Break with my friends.”

“Oh, I assumed Charlotte was home, because of your accent.”

“It’s not, but it could be, couldn’t it?” Griffin had never considered that his thick accent made him sound like a North Carolina native. “I’d fit right in. Maybe I’ll move there someday. Become a businessman.”

“You’ve certainly got the look for it.”

Griffin smiled, new crinkles forming around his eyes. He knew he looked like a businessman. That was his goal. He was starting to feel like one, too. Probably why the idea of Spring Break wasn’t appealing to him at all anymore. He hated the beach. He always got a sunburn on his bald head. And then he’d return to work, itchy and exhausted and having to play catch up. The effects of late nights spent working were having their way with him: his eyes were becoming baggy, and flesh was building out around his face, rounding his cheeks and broadening his forehead. His head was as brawny and square as the rest of him, and it made him look older. He didn’t resemble a collegiate frat boy at all anymore - anyone looking at Griffin would see a middle-aged man.

Charlotte...the more Griffin thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. He didn’t like the beach, and he didn’t much care for his immature friends. Were they even friends? He couldn’t remember any of their names. They couldn’t be that close. And where were they heading, even? Was it...Bermuda? Or Bora Bora...something with a B. He reached for his phone in his front pocket, but his girth pressed too closely into his seat, so had to stand up to slide his phone out. He looked down at the screen as he crammed himself back into his seat, and in his peripheral vision, his nose grew and thickened to the perfect size for the rectangular reading glasses that plopped onto it out of nowhere. Griffin adjusted them so he could view the screen properly, flicking through apps until he landed on the airline one so he could find his spring break ticket.

But it wasn’t there. The only ticket he had was to Charlotte. So, he’d be getting off there for the time being. That didn’t particularly bother him, though - it would be nice to spend some time with his friends there. He’d order his favorite steak dinner, play some golf, and enjoy a good cigar. And he didn’t even have to get a hotel, because he had a house there. It surprised Griffin to remember he owned a house, but of course he did, where else would he live? He couldn’t be shacked up with his parents forever, especially at his age. Plus, a house in the Myers Park neighborhood was a good investment...

God, he was so confused. He needed a fuckin’ drink. He’d been thinking he was a little tipsy, but that was ridiculous - at his size, three mimosas had the same effect as three glasses of water. He reached up and pressed the call button, enjoying the view of his big French cuff, and the strain of his shirt across his massive back.

The flight attendant popped up next to him nearly instantly. “Yes, sir?”

“May I have a Scotch, please?” Maey Ahv uh Scotch, playze.

“Absolutely. I should’ve brought you one earlier, I know it’s your favorite!”

“Y’all always take such good care o’ me.” Griffin was always impressed when the flight attendants remembered him, but he supposed there weren’t too many customers with his physique, he thought with pride and a fondle of his belly. As he waited for his drink, he played with his cufflink and felt his cock chub up. That was a fun perk of being as big as he was: with his belly and thighs, he could pop a full-on boner and no one could see it. As long as he stayed sitting down. It was the reason for his shit-eating grin when the attendant brought his drink back. Just having an erection in public made it get even harder, tenting his slacks and running along the curve of his belly. “Thank you.”

Griffin sat up straight and tipped his Scotch back to drink it, and the arch of his back burst open a third button on his dress shirt, sending more chest hair and pec meat spilling out into view. He nearly creamed his pants when he felt it. He felt so different in business class...almost like a different person entirely. His thoughts, loosened by the burn of the Scotch, began constructing a whole identity around this alternate fantasy Griffin. This man was a native of Charlotte, North Carolina, with the tranquil drawl to match. He was a successful businessman: a financial executive, which was how he could own a nice home in a ritzy neighborhood. He enjoyed his status and filled his big body with the best food his hometown had to offer. He was older than Griffin. A lot older. 50. Not 18. Griffin didn’t like being 18. He had no money of his own and couldn’t do anything. 50-year-old executives could do whatever they wanted.

50-year-old Southern executive Griffin only wore dress shirts and custom trousers. If he had to dress down, he wore a polo shirt. His shirts were never, ever untucked. He was fastidious about his appearance. He always had a clean, close shave and kept his remaining hair tidy. Not like the younger Griffin, who was scruffy and wore beer boxes on his head at parties. Executive Griffin would never do that. He wasn’t against having fun, but he was more serious than his younger counterpart. Growing up did that to you. And Griffin felt grown up now. He didn’t know how, but he did. He really felt like a middle-aged executive.

He took another drink and savored the burn. What would he call this new man? Come to think of it, what was his name? The big businessman couldn’t remember. Stupid fizzy feeling in his brain. The name would come back to him, he knew, but he could choose a different one for the time being. His first thought was one that would emphasize his accent. Marvin. Maahw-vin. Marvin Yates, that was his name. Marvin Charles Yates in full, he recalled looking at the MCY monogram on his French cuff. That was a good name. That was a 50-year-old executive name. And who wouldn’t want to be Marvin Yates? Marvin was successful and dominant and attractive. It felt so amazing to be him. The young man inside the big body could feel himself evolving...maturing...it was wonderful. He knew he had a different name and that he wasn’t born in the South, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be Marvin. The illusion wouldn’t work if he was being confused by all the old stuff. He needed to become Marvin in every way.

The confidence filling him was addictive - he could feel Marvin’s ego expanding, and he loved it. His cock stretched longer and firmer inside his pants, and he loved that too. He loved having a long, girthy cock. And big fat balls. They were smooth for just a moment longer, and then he felt the hair burst out like a powder puff. It made him moan under his breath as he fondled his pecs and stimulated his nipples. Marvin was such a huge, powerful man - he was everything a man should be - the formerly young man had completely lost any attachment to his youth, and was now abandoning it entirely, letting himself become smarter and more serious, a cavalcade of new likes, dislikes, and skills conquering his brain. Some of the old, unnecessary knowledge was already leaking out of him for all to see: there was a small wet spot on the front of his trousers, his heavy pre-cum having soaked through his underwear.

The wet spot was expanding as the big man embraced his transformation. His giant cock forced his legs wider. He could barely breathe, he was so excited. He was changing - becoming Marvin - he could feel Marvin seeping into every part of him. That was all he wanted in the world, to be Marvin in mind, body, and soul. And he could feel it happening. Reality was bending around him, and he was conscious of it, but it didn’t frighten him - it was a necessary occurrence so the universe could welcome Marvin Yates to its ranks.

“Mmm…” It dawned on the burly businessman that he couldn’t just cum in his pants in public, no matter how much magic - or whatever it was - was pumping into him and changing him. He needed to get to the lavatory...and he needed to start that journey now, short as it was, because he didn’t move fast anymore. He pushed himself out of his seat and onto his feet, clomping down the aisle as he felt himself becoming more and more Marvin by the moment. He remembered he shot big loads. And he was about to blow his biggest one yet.

He lurched into the bathroom and shut the door, moaning louder now. His belly blocked his view of the toilet, so he hoped to god the seat was already up. It was happening - fuck, it felt so good - his shirt began unbuttoning itself, revealing more of his titanic physique, and his pants and briefs unzipped and shimmied downward. He loved everything about himself. His handsome, weathered face; his body hair; his baldness; his style; his ego. And most of all, his giant, bulky body, with that beautiful belly. “It’s time...it’s time...it’s...TIME…”

His first load as Marvin was one for the record books. Cum erupted out of his giant cock like a geyser, splattering into the toilet bowl, over the seat, and all over the underside of his hairy belly. “Yeeeeeeeeeeessss…” he groaned, as Marvin fully took hold and the world adjusted to his existence. He lay against the door, groaning and panting, the afterglow of his orgasm letting the rest of his new life settle into place. His briefs pulled themselves back up, and his pants did too, tucking his tired cock away. His shirt buttoned back up to the base of his chest, the shirttails reclipping to his garters and pulling tight for their precise tuck. His belt encircled him and hoisted his trousers up. The cum he’d doused the bathroom in evaporated on its own. Marvin Yates left the bathroom looking immaculate and feeling untouchable.

Marvin moved with grace, well accustomed to navigating his huge frame through spaces and angles. His buttons brushed the corner leading to the aisle, but he cleared it, and as he turned he locked eyes with one of those frat boys in coach. He raised his index finger and pointed at the kid, like a dad warning his son, and the frat boy nodded with a gulp. Marvin smirked and sat down in his seat, adjusted his reading glasses, and went to work answering emails for the rest of the flight.

When the flight landed, Marvin was the second off - he grabbed his leather carry-on out of the overhead, from the same place where Griffin’s backpack had once been. He always smiled when he got off the plane and the Charlotte air hit his face and chest. It smelled like home.

The flight landed early, so Marvin’s car home had yet to arrive. He took the opportunity to sit down in one of the airport rocking chairs and finish up a couple more emails. It was a couple minutes later that the group of young men made their way past him, their loud voices carrying through the food court. Marvin chuckled. He remembered his fraternity days. So long ago now. They’d been fun, but he didn’t miss them. Adulthood was better. He’d matured. And he hoped, one day, that those boys would too.

[brutebysimon]

Machos

Celebrating the promotion…

[visceral-stories]

Family Breakfast

Logan jolted upright in his bed as a thunderous commotion downstairs caught his attention that sounded like furniture hitting the ground. He hissed and glanced at his bedside clock that read 7:00 AM. “Mom!” he called out but got no answer. Leveraging himself upright, he called again but was only met by the faint low pitch of mens’ voices reverberating through the walls downstairs. The occasional loud thumps paired with heavy footsteps left no doubt that the furniture his mother had ordered a month prior had finally arrived. “Woulda been nice to know that was happening this morning,” Logan grumbled to himself as he headed downstairs. Paired with his messy bedhead, his dingy yellow t-shirt from summer camp and light blue worn-out shorts were not the most socially inviting get-up.

Heading downstairs into the living room, he could see his mother dressed like she was about to go to work talking with one mover while two men were moving a black leather couch. The shorter and skinnier seventeen year-old felt a brief wave of intimidation flush over him. The head mover was larger than anyone he had ever seen. His back was like a turtleshell and he looked to be two times as wide as Logan.

“The place looks so different from when I was a kid,” Logan heard the mover say as he reached the foot of the steps and made eye contact with his mother.

“Hey Logan,” his mother said, shifting her attention from the mover to her son. She gestured to the mover. “This is Steven, he works for AmCo and actually used to live in this house.”

Steven spun around to see Logan. His first two buttons were down and his black chest hair poked out from beneath his shirt. He was as broad as a barrel and looked to be in his sixties. “Is that little Logan Ricker I see? I haven’t seen you since you were in grade school, kid. How old is he now?”

“Seventeen,” Logan’s mother answered for him. As an operations manager of AmCo, a locally owned construction company, she had a tendency to speak for Logan, which always wared on his patience.

Steven continued to ruminate. “Man, you’ve really kept good care of this place. I remember when there used to be a record player over there and a tiny, tiny television and my dad would always read the paper in a huge chair over there.”

“You didn’t tell me the movers were coming today,” Logan said with a hint of irritation.

His mother’s expression changed. “Yes I did, honey. I told you last night before I went to bed. You were probably too invested in your videogame to hear me.” She glanced at Steven and jokingly waved her hand. “Kids and their games. I swear he’s playing it twenty-four-seven.”

“Oh, I know,” Steven agreed. “My three grandkids always fight over their games when they’re over.”

“So...when will this all be done?” Logan asked, oblivious to his blatant pushiness. He froze up when he noticed his mother’s placid expression switch into one of unspoken anger at his question.

Steven turned around before his mother could answer. “We actually are almost finished here, kid. The men and I have just gotta move in a clock.” He patted Logan on the shoulder and then turned back around to face his mother. Logan winced at the subtle smell of cigar smoke that entered his nostrils, it was probably coming from Steven’s bushy, grey beard. “Sarah, here is your copy of the paperwork,” he said, handing Logan’s mom a stack of paper. “We won’t keep you and Logan waiting much longer.”

“Oh please,” Logan’s mother replied with a smile. “Take all the time you need. We don’t mind at all, do we Logan?” She glared directly at him, sending a shiver through his spine.

“Um...no we don’t,” Logan said, but it wasn’t even like Steven heard him though. He was already following his empty-handed coworkers out the front door to retrieve the final piece of furniture.

“Can’t you just be civil for one moment Logan?” she asked as she placed the paper down on a table. “Honestly, I think you’re spending too much time playing those videogames with your friends.” Logan grimaced. She always brought up the videogames. “It’s just..what we like to do,” he said. Judging from the look in her eyes, he knew he shouldn’t try to defend it any further because he would never win the argument.

Luckily, her expression lightened a bit. “I get that, honey, but I think it can be too much. It’s important to establish order in your life. Your senior year of high school is coming up and then you’ve got to focus on the rest of your life.” She could see the tiredness in his eyes. “How many hours did you sleep last night?”

“Um...eight,” Logan replied. He had actually gone to bed around three o’clock. His mother narrowed her eyebrows and Logan realized he was a good liar. “But it is Saturday.”

“I don’t care. You need to be getting enough rest.”

“Coming through!” called one of the movers before Logan could respond. Walking through the front door, Steven and another mover cautiously held a long rectangular-shaped object on both ends. As they reached the living room, they placed it in the corner of the room. The object was so heavy it shook the whole floor upon being gently placed down. “One grandfather clock,” Steven said after exhaling noisily. Logan could see droplets of sweat in his black chest hair which poked through the man’s open shirt collar. “You know, this looks exactly like the one we had when I was a kid.”

“Wow,” Logan’s mother said happily, pressing her palms against each other. “Doesn’t this look great?” she asked Logan who was still groggy and apathetic.

Steven hobbled over to the front of the door. “As much as I’d love to stick around, we have many other people who need their furniture. Is there anything else we can do for you folks?” he inquired.

“No, this all looks wonderful,” Logan’s mother replied. “Thank you so much! We really appreciate it, don’t we Logan?” Logan mustered a silent yes.

“Hey, it’s no trouble at all ma’am. All part of the job,” Steven replied, lifting his cap to reveal his bald scalp. He made eye contact with Logan before leaving. “Don’t be afraid to take time to live in the present, Logan.”

Logan winced at the directness of the comment.

The small entourage of movers exited the house, shutting the front door behind them, leaving Logan and his mother to absorb the ambiance of the newly-furnished room. It was only for a moment until the sound of a cell phone broke the silence. Logan’s mother sighed. “Logan, I’ve gotta take this call. They need me in the office for an hour or so, so I’ll see you later today.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked towards the kitchen to the garage.

“Alright,” Logan drowsily responded. This was strangely typical. His mother was a chaotic and extremely fast-paced individual.

She was already heading out the door to the garage with the phone still ringing in her hand. “If you want a snack, there are Pop-Tarts in the cupboard. I’ll try and be back in two hours and we can have a nice family breakfast.”

And just like that, she headed out the door to the garage, leaving Logan alone in silence. “Finally,” he mused as he admired the new items which now resided in the previously incomplete living room. A brown-colored coffee table, two white armchairs, and a black leather sofa all within the white-walled living room conveyed both a modern style and a soothing pallet of simplistic colors. Deciding to sit down in one of the side chairs Logan had to admit that the room looked so much better than it used to. The only thing that seemed out of place was that huge grandfather clock in the corner. The longer he stared at the dark brown appliance, the more he became transfixed by its strangeness. He couldn’t understand why his family chose this ominous-looking clock to complement their modern furniture. It must’ve been seven feet tall and it started to creep him out the more he looked at it.

Often unable to fall back asleep after waking up, Logan decided the best thing to do was to watch some tv until he got tired again. The white chair sure looked comfy with its untouched cushions looked like the comfiest spot in the whole room. Upon sitting down, a vibration from Logan’s hip indicated that he’d gotten a text message. Pulling his phone up to respond quickly dissolved into another episode of mindlessly scrolling through social media. Suddenly, a thunderous boom exploded across the living room, snapping Logan out of his digital hypnosis. The chime’s blasting cacophony scared the hell out of the young man, causing him to drop his phone in his lap. Instinctively, he brought his hands to his ears to mute the horrendous rumble ravaging his eardrums. “Unghhh,” he groaned in discomfort. “What the hell?” he screamed, his voice hardly audible beneath the prolonged and deafening roar of the clock. However, as instantaneously as the sound had started, it stopped completely, leaving behind a pristine and portentous silence. Logan glanced around the room, the only sound was his ears ringing. He glanced over his shoulder to see the pendulum still swinging inside the grandfather clock. “What the hell?” he said again, this time much quieter. Looking around, he noticed that everything seemed a bit hazier and all of the living room objects had fuzzy outlines. Logan rubbed his eyes and reopened them to see the dusty haze dissipate. “Huh, that’s...weird,” he muttered as he itched the side of his face.

Reflexively clicking the power button on his phone, Logan noticed that the device wouldn’t respond. He tried again only to warrant the same result: a blank screen. “Dumbass phone,” he huffed angrily. As if in response to his complaint, the phone began vibrating like crazy in his hand, so much so that Logan swore he could feel it in his blood vessels. Before he could cuss, a second low-pitched chime emanated from the adjacent grandfather clock, causing Logan to accidentally fling the phone from his hand. “Ow!” he yelped in anguish again. However, this chime seceded even quicker than the time prior, causing the ringing to resonate even louder in Logan’s ears.

“Motherfucker!” he screamed, now looking at the clock. “Why the hell did she even get that stupid-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Logan gasped as he felt an immense warm feeling come from the chair he was sitting on. He tried to speak, but he immediately became overtaken by a powerful pleasure radiating from the chair he was sitting on. Even though the chair was brand new, it felt so familiar, like Logan had sat on it thousands of times. And with that, he closed his eyes in ecstasy. Whatever cushion they put in the chair was driving Logan’s brain wild as it caused him to moan uncontrollably for a moment. He hadn’t meant to, but it almost felt like the chair was hugging him in such a sensuous way. It felt like a massage chair, just without the shakiness.

The clock dinged again, although not nearly as loud this time, much to Logan’s relief. As he opened his eyes, he noticed that the room looked a little hazy again, almost like the furniture had lost a touch of color. Even his phone, which had landed on the table, looked a little less defined, and a little grey-looking even. Blinking did nothing to revert the furniture back to normal like it had before. Logan started to breathe heavier, realizing something was wrong. His mother was going to kill him if she saw that her living room was even slightly askew.

Logan was about to get up from the chair when he felt his stomach jiggle. “Weird,” he muttered. Looking down, he was horrified to see his belly button poking from his yellow t-shirt. “What the...” It wasn’t like he had the most healthy diet, but his belly certainly didn’t poke out from his shirt like it was now. He placed a hand on his stomach only to watch it expand even more. “Shit! Stop!” he yelled to no one, but his stomach didn’t listen. All Logan could do was helplessly watch his gut plumpen to the size of a soccer ball with impressive speed. Jerking his body forward to stand up, he found that escape was impossible. The chair felt like a vacuum against his back and the weight of his growing stomach thwarted any possibility he had of standing up. No matter how hard Logan tried, he would not budge. Defeated, he could only watch and hyperventilate as the changes rose up to his gut. His breathing became less belabored as his lungs gradually enlarged to take in more air. The rise and fall of his chest became much more pronounced as he watched his pectoral muscles press against his old ratty t-shirt. The logo of a sailboat from summer camp threatened to rip due to Logan’s increasing girth. Choosing to look at his belly again, Logan gasped in horror, only to see that it was nothing short of gigantic. In fact, his belly was so large that it had begun to distend over his crotch. In one swift motion, Logan’s pectorals inflated with fat and had now started to droop. Sweat droplets appeared on his forehead as he realized what an inexplicable predicament he was embroiled within. Now panicked, he realized he had to call someone and get help, to get him out of this room that was clearly making him hallucinate for some reason. With all his strength, he pulled himself forward on the cushiony chair for a moment only to promptly smack back against the chair, almost like it possessed its own magnetism. The young man’s stomach shook like jello when his broad back and shoulders crashed against the chair with tremendous force. He was grateful nobody else was around to see whatever was happening to him.

The grandfather clock dinged again. It still withheld its tremendous-sounding tone, but it was not nearly as close to deafening Logan as it had been prior. At least there was one thing to be thankful for. With fright, Logan watched the room shift in synchronicity with its tone. Not only did the furniture lose more color, it also looked older and more retro. The discolored objects reminded Logan of the furniture he would see in an antique shop. The adjacent sofa now looked less black and leathery, instead it was chartreuse and appeared much softer.

“Why...can’t I get...up?” Logan wheezed. He didn’t ask for a gut that now rivaled the size of a yoga ball. Placing his fingers on bare skin, he hissed in anguish. By now, the sailboat on his shirt was completely eradicated by the small shirt stretched tightly around his towering gut. The saffron hue of the fabric paled to a much lighter yellow than before. Logan’s eyes goggled in horror as he watched a forest of black hair explode from his juvenile happy trail, spread up to his pecs, and down to his loins and legs until his entire body was coated with them. The hair follicles caused thousands of tingles to pulsate through his nerves. Logan giggled unintentionally, although his youthful laugh came out at a much lower pitch than he expected. That was odd, but he couldn’t be bothered to think about it. Feeling a thin layer of hair form on his crotch and butt, He laughed again. This time left no discretion that his voice was altered completely as the hardy and boisterous chuckle that left his body was befitting of a man with a much lower register. The faint ding of the clock solidified Logan’s gut to a massive proportion, his hairy stomach on display for anyone who happened to venture into this changing living room. In the midst of his confusion, Logan realized his hairy and bulbous gut reminded him of one person: Steven. To Logan’s horror, he realized it was even larger than Steven’s.

The young man paid no mind to his surroundings, instead his attention was drawn to his exposed and protuberant stomach. He may be huge but he certainly wasn’t a slovenly oaf. “That looks foolish,” he said aloud to himself, a new sense of dignity being instilled in his thoughts. Tugging on his shirt, he desperately tried to hide his hairy belly. At first, it seemed as if nothing was changing, but the more Logan pulled on the shirt, the more fabric began to unravel from the shirt. It covered the underside of his pecs, then his upper stomach, then his abdomen, until after a minute of profuse tugging, the shirt covered every inch of the young man’s enormous stomach. Logan furrowed his brow. Somehow during the ordeal, the yellow of the shirt had completely dissipated into a pure white color while the fabric became a blend of Dacron polyester and cotton. Logan brought his fingers to the untouched fabric. The more he ran it against his fingers, the more enraptured he became by it. He was so preoccupied with how soft his new shirt felt that he didn’t even notice the sleeves extending to his wrists nor the garters that had materialized around his thighs to hold the new shirt down. It felt amazing though. He closed his eyes briefly to savor the feeling of a freshly-pressed dress shirt over his broad back and immense stomach clothed in a dress shirt. When Logan opened his eyes, he was pleasantly surprised to find cufflinks at the ends of his sleeves. No formal shirt ever felt complete without cufflinks. And as the growing man ruminated, he realized he always wore something formal whenever he left the house. After all, he always sought to represent masculine fashion, even on a man as large and imposing as he. To reflect that thought, his body quickly stretched from 5’9 to 6’0 tall.

A tearing sound around Logan’s waist broke the silence of the room. He strained his neck to catch a glimpse, but was having trouble seeing the culprit, which was the hem of his gym shorts hidden behind his yoga ball-sized stomach. Damn thing felt like it was crushing his lower body, further restricting his already lowered mobility. Unseen to Logan, his pelvic area was slowly widening and stretching the seam of his gym shorts, repairing the torn fabric in the process. The elastic promptly stretched itself to match the man’s gigantic waistline. A man his size ought to have a strong lower body to hold up such meaty pecs and a stout gut.

The feeling of fabric touching Logan’s kneecaps caught his attention. His light blue gym shorts looked closer to basketball shorts judging from where they sat on his knee. They also were starting to look a little darker even. It could be a trick of the light, but he knew that wasn’t true. Fidgeting in the seat caused more fabric to unspool and spill down the length of his legs until they reached his ankles. What once were shorts now took on the appearance of sweatpants. The tenacity of the waistband proved to be extraordinary as it held both the weight of the boy’s one-hundred pound gut and maintained its composure as his waistline tripled in size. Placing both hands on his gut gave Logan an incredible sensation of maturity. Letting his mind drift, Logan thought about the people in his life that he must’ve been larger than. His classmates, his teachers; his gut was definitely larger than his own father’s, as well as Steven’s. That realization sent a shockwave down Logan’s spine and it felt inspiring in a strange sort of way. However when he pictured Steven, he had trouble remembering if he was really a behemoth of a man. No, that’s what he was. He was larger than any other man he could think of.

In response to the authoritarian feeling, Logan’s legs began to expand until they were pressed taut against his pants, which had the appearance of dress trousers but the feel of sweatpants. Shaking his leg caused the cheap ratty cotton of his pants to lighten their color and shift their complexion completely. What greeted Logan’s eyes was a pair of light grey wool trousers, completely devoid of the baby blue pigment they once had. They looked like the same type of pants his father wore to work everyday, only the fabric less refined. Logan tensed up as his lower body swelled beneath the pants a little more. Eventually, the pants had no choice but to follow the boy’s bodily expanse. At such an imposing size, Logan remembered that he needed clothes larger than the average man. A perplexed expression crossed his face as he realized that would cost a lot of money. He would need to get a well-paying job. The longer he lingered on the idea of a job, the more it stuck to his brain. He knew he was employed, he just couldn’t recall where. He was a grown adult after all, he just...lived with his parents for some reason. The idea seemed wrong but Logan couldn’t remember any other way it could be.

A collar blossomed around the boy’s neck and a striped tie promptly unraveled across his chest. However, Logan’s attention shifted from appreciating his shirt to the silence of the room which he was finally able to take in again. Only, it seemed too quiet. He could hear no birds chirping outside, no lawnmowers buzzing, just ominous silence. The only rhythm of the room was his own breathing which now required a much larger quantity of breath than before. It felt separate from time. Logan could remember days and nights spent with his family, eating meals together, watching the television, and listening to the radio. He could also remember how he always got comments about his tremendously loud laugh and how it echoed through every room of the house, often when he was with his family.

That didn’t seem right. Logan was always playing videogames in his room and talking to his friends on Skype deep into the night. But how could he if he had to wake up for work every morning at seven AM? Breaking free from his daze, Logan’s eyes darted around the room frantically. “Where...is...my phone?” he slurred in a frustrated and almost-drunken state. Reflexively pulling himself from his chair, he could see it on the table, however it looked less like an iphone and more like an ipad, only with an extremely faded screen. Somehow, the device had stretched itself out and was coated in the same layer of fuzzy static texture that coated the living room. God, this day could not get any stranger. All Logan wanted to do was go play videogames with his online friends in his bedroom. The thoughts became jumbled in his brain upon further contemplation. Video…games? What on earth was a video…game? When he thought of games, he could only think of board games or card games. Logan heaved in disdain. His brain felt like it was twisting in on itself trying to understand such an idea. Additionally, his heartbeat quickened at the thought and sweat began to condensate in his armpits and his hands became clammy. “What..the hell...is happening to me?” he panted as he white-knuckle gripped the sides of the chair.

“Hnguh!” Logan grunted as he felt the chair yank him back. Again, a wave of fat rippled from his massive stomach as he smacked against the chair.. Simultaneously, the clock dinged again, causing the room to contort. This time Logan saw the changes. The 50 inch television contorted in on itself, shrinking down into a version akin to the TVs of a few decades ago and half the size. Logan’s eyes widened as he fully realized that technology was regressing. There was an invention called a computer that disappeared from his memory as soon as he thought of the word. Even the idea of a smartphone seemed unprecedented. The subtle ding of a landline materializing on the wall in the kitchen reverberated into the living room.

Logan felt like his head was going to explode. The harder he concentrated, the more details he saw changing. The white walls darkened to a light brown. The curtains split in two and moved to opposite ends of the window. Horizontal lines burst from them and promptly covered the open window with a seat of blinds. In unison, the cushions on the sofa flattened, eliminating the leathery texture they once had. All Logan could do was watch helplessly as his family’s brand new living room became tarnished in a matter of seconds. The interior looked so strange and so old that it caused Logan to panic again. “I...don’t...belong..here,” Logan breathed, bringing his hand up to his left pec. His heartbeat felt like a timpani booming inside his barrel of a chest. “Ack!” Logan cried, pulling his hand off his chest, as he felt something move beneath his dress shirt. Much to his disgust, two cone-shaped mounds began to rise up beneath his scrunched t-shirt. Cautiously probing them with his finger, he quickly gasped and recoiled. They were attached to him. Those mounds really were his nipples. But that couldn’t be, they looked so swollen. Bringing his fingers back, he began to gingerly rub them. As much as he wanted to yank his arms away, he found that he didn’t want to. He started to savor the sensation. His nipples were just so tender. For some reason, he could recall someone touching them, but he couldn’t recall the face. It wasn’t like Logan had a girlfriend or anything so the idea of someone pleasuring him seemed so foreign. Yet the longer he thought about it, the more details he could remember. First, it started with the caressing of his belly, then it progressed to oral sex. Logan shook his head in a futile attempt to clear these thoughts. He had never had sex yet he could remember being deep in coitus. He’d been told he was good at it too. There was no way on earth that could be true, could it?

“OH!” Logan exclaimed. There was an intense warm feeling concentrated around his crotch. Unseen to him, a lump was clearly visible in his pressed wool pants. Logan chuckled as he could feel his cock expanding. And then, the strangest thing happened. The lump in his pants swayed with his quiet laughter. It started to expand more too until it pressed firmly against his pants, revealing a hefty bulge. “Ughhh,” Logan hissed in discomfort, feeling his cock press tightly against the trousers, revealing an egregious display. “Yes..yes..” Logan moaned. He liked having a new large dick, but he couldn’t be seen walking around with a flagrant bulge in his pants all the time. In direct contrast however, he could remember the many times that his friends poked fun at his moose-knuckle. But it wasn’t his fault he had always been well-endowed. Logan felt a strange bit of masculine pride when he remembered that his custom-tailored suit pants always displayed it well. He could picture him and his friends golfing and them making snide comments on occasion. It was all in good fun though. The group of men loved to golf and went every Saturday morning. It was always kind of nice, the four men loved the chance to reconnect and be away from their wives and children.

“Golf?!” Logan asked aloud. He hated golf. More importantly, why would he hang around a group of dads?

No longer feeling the intense invisible restraint of the armchair, Logan found it much easier to move his body. Looking at the chair, he was shocked to see that it now sported a marvelous tangerine hue. Hadn’t it been white before? The chair had not only changed color, it had also become melded to the shape of his ass, becoming a few inches wider and more cushiony. To fill the space, his butt began to inflate as it widened to cover more area of the cushion. Feeling himself raise up in his seat, Logan crinkled his eyebrows at the sensation of his buttcheeks further widening the hem of his grey pants. His meaty ass was extremely prominent, jutting out from every pair of dress pants he owned. In a manner of mere seconds, his buttcheeks solidified into the formidable undercarriage necessary to elevate his husky figure. Logan subconsciously brought his hand to his moose-knuckle and caressed it remembering what it felt like to be the largest man wherever he went. He couldn't help but give a hardy laugh, akin to the chuckle of Cary Grant, when he thought about how some of his wife’s friends had once joked that his butt was bigger than any they’d ever seen. Adjusting in his seat, Logan smiled as he remembered how humorous that night had been that Mrs. Olson next door had said that at their dinner table which erupted with laughter. It had become quite the joke around the neighborhood. His wife would even playfully tease him about it occasionally. Logan jolted his neck forward and froze. He wasn’t married. He was just a kid and he was still in high school. Yeah, that sounded right. But as he slowly continued rubbing his cock, a wedding band appeared around his ring finger that said otherwise.

Fidgeting in the cushy armchair, Logan plunged deeper into nostalgia. He remembered picking out that chair himself at the store. That was the day he had taken his family out to ice cream by the beach. He even drove his brand new red Ford Skyliner. Of course, he was dressed formally alongside his loving family, a woman and two children who were pretty young. For some reason, the car was in his name, even though he couldn’t remember owning a car. But he must’ve. He worked in an office downtown and would drive that sexy ride there five days a week. He always dressed sublimely in pleated slacks and suave sportcoats. Logan grinned at that thought. Maybe he was ready to be an adult. He’d be able to do so many fun things now. Plus, he was much larger than his own father now. In fact, he was larger than the majority of other men his age. Whenever he was out in public, he always drew stares. Logan didn’t care though; he was rather used to it. He adored being the largest man in the neighborhood. The parents of his childrens’ friends always knew him as did many other people around town. Logan ran a hand across one of his huge thighs; he wanted to be worshipped. Whenever he entered a room, it was extremely rare anyone was larger than him. That feeling was enough to cause the bulge in the boy’s pants to stir.

The room shifted again. The television retracted in on itself even further until it had a screen about a fourth of the size it once was. The table it was on disappeared as four wooden slabs burst from beneath it, each equipped with a metal piece at the end to keep it on the floor. Two dials poked out from below the screen. Additionally, paintings of flowers and pastoral landscapes appeared on the walls. Logan continued to smirk jovially as he took in the details of the living room. His wife really was such a talented painter. An explosive boom from beside him caused Logan to jump and his fat jiggled again, but he thought nothing of it. In a matter of seconds, a fully-stocked and four-shelved bookshelf stood next to him, filled to the brim with books, a hobby which he always encouraged the kids to read. As one final touch, a radio burst into fruition on the top shelf. Logan smiled, feeling a strange sense of nostalgia by looking at how the room was coming together. He felt powerful, content, and satisfied and he felt like such a lucky man.

Logan squirmed lethargically as a record player exploded into fruition beside him. Unfamiliar with the technology, he watched as the needle form from thin air and begin to move until it touched the spinning record and instantly, a calming doo-wop song filled the air. Alongside its soothing sound, Logan could hear background noise, it was faint at first but gradually filled his ears. Light footsteps upstairs and a woman’s voice talking on the landline in the kitchen caught his attention, further imbuing him with a sense of pride. He was a white-collar dad and he always had been. After fighting in the war, he had settled down, landed a great corporate office job, and started a family of his own. Logan could hazily recall being married and having two children Steven and Kathleen, who were eight and ten respectively. For some inexplicable reason, when Logan pictured Steven, he pictured a huge, hulking bear of a man with a long grey beard, but that couldn’t be right. Steven was just a little boy. Logan shook his head at what a foolish thought that was. Maybe someday his son would be as large as him, but for now, he was the only large man in the house.

Moving at the speed of a turtle, Logan pulled himself from his chair and snatched the newspaper that had been sitting on the coffee table, unaware that it was had once been his cell phone. He leaned his broad back slowly against his comfy chair with the newspaper in hand as he noticed the date in the corner: August 20th, 1960. For some reason, that felt peculiar. Looking to his right, he saw an emerald couch next to another tangerine-colored armchair with an ottoman of the same hue in front of a cinnamon-colored wall. Logan was used to this view since he always chose to read the morning paper in the living room.

“1960...” Logan whispered to himself, still doubtful. As if the universe had heard his inquiry, a dramatic force pressed against Logan’s face, instantly broadening his cheekbones, forever giving him a more jolly appearance to match his body. His blonde hair quickly dyed itself black and pulled itself upward, both revealing more of the man’s forehead and fixing his bedhead. “I..don’t...want…” Slight wrinkles appeared on Logan’s face as he entered his early forties. His teeth whitened and the few facial hairs he had disintegrated. The older man could remember always being clean-shaven. A pair of glasses slipped on above his nose, giving the man a penetrating and sagacious visage. “Don’t...want...this…I’m…just-” His hairline solidified into a widow’s peak. “I’m..just..” The faint outline of crow’s feet appeared on the sides of his eyes. As a final touch, grey hair blossomed around his temples, leaving no discretion about his age. “I’m..just..a...kid,” Logan heard himself say before snapping out of his surreal facial massage. But he couldn’t be a kid, he must be an adult. Peering down at his dapper dress shirt, trousers, and long grey socks, he realized they were only things an adult would wear. He moved his body in the chair and watched his stomach jiggle hypnotically. The immense salt-and-pepper-haired man wedged his colossal butt further into his favorite orange chair and flipped open the morning paper. As one final touch to the house, Logan’s signature pork pie hat materialized on one of the hooks by the front door next to his family’s collection of jackets. Comfy in his chair, he began sipping on a cup of warm coffee while he read the news.

“Milton!” a woman’s voice called from the kitchen after a few minutes. “Breakfast is ready!”

Logan instinctively stood up, which took a lot of effort at his burly size. Wait, had she said Milton?

A woman walked out from the kitchen in a bow plaid blouse and skirt and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Kids,” she called sweetly. “Come get your breakfast.”

Logan’s felt like time froze when he saw the woman turn to face him. The sweatiness returned to his extremities. She was beautiful. Her name was Dorothy and she was the most beautiful and loving woman he had ever known. She was tall as a weed, svelte, and well-endowed with cleavage and an ass that Logan found himself obsessing over. They were quite the bodily opposites yet that was the reason they were attracted to each other so strongly. People often joked and called them Ralph and Alice from The Honeymooners. Logan noticed a wedding ring on her finger that matched the one on his. For some reason, he thought that was odd, but why would it be? The couple had been married for years now and their happy family was the proof. A worried expression came over Dorothy’s face. “Milton, are you feeling okay?” This time, Logan fully took in the word. “Milton? Who’s that?” he asked earnestly, his look of concern now matched hers.

To his surprise, Dorothy laughed sardonically. “That joke gets funnier every time.”

Milton was about to interject, yet he could remember his affinity for playful banter. When the kids were young, he would always pretend like he didn’t know his own name and he loved to play the same joke on his family from time to time. The colossal man’s frightened expression lightened as a deluge of memories inundated his consciousness. “Oh Dorothy,” his voice filled the room as he hoisted his massive frame upward. He touched the small of her back with one of his meaty hands and pulled her in closer, her slender figure in direct contrast to his round one. A permanent confidence embedded itself within his psyche. “I am the luckiest man in the world to have you.”

She smiled and lightly pushed him away. “I know sweetie. It’s only 7:20.” She looked behind her and turned back around. “Do you want to go get the kids for me, Milton?”

“Of course,” Milton replied. Trudging to the bottom of the stairs, he called out. “Breakfast, kids!” His baritone voice nearly shook the walls it was so loud. Looking at the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, a reflection of a tall man in formalwear caught Milton’s attention. He felt like something was off as he looked at his enormous body, but he couldn’t place what. Turning profile, he could see his stomach and back stretching out in opposite directions. Undoubtedly, his stupendous stomach and wide butt were his most prominent assets, each protruding out very far and each tightly pressed against their sartorial confines. Turning to face the mirror, Milton saw his husky bulge and swanky belly shake in unison. He grinned in satisfaction, then he furrowed his brow and brought his hands to his tie to straighten it. “Much better,” he said. The sound of footsteps from above caught Milton’s attention.

A few seconds later, his children Steven and Kathleen came trudging down the stairs, both saying “Hi, dad” as they made their way to the kitchen. Milton said hello in return as he watched them walk past him. His children were growing up and soon they would enter the age of puberty which he knew would generate a plethora of unique conversations. Still, Milton could envision his lovely children growing up into such promising and proper young adults, it made him so proud. The smell of bacon and scrambled eggs entered the father’s nostrils. He straightened out a crease on his dress shirt and grinned broadly before lumbering into the kitchen to join his family for their routine family breakfast.

[visceral-stories]

The Town of Atwater

Visiting the town of Atwater was never an enjoyable experience for Noah Rogers. Nestled within a seemingly endless abyss of cornfields, the town possessed one gas station, one hardware store, one liquor store, and one tavern, with the nearest grocery store being twenty miles away. The rest of it was delegated to the fifty-six homes which housed the town’s eighty-nine occupants, each with a view of the nebulous cornfields. Noah hated it here. His parents always made him and his little brother Tyler come to see his grandparents for a few days a year. Atwater was quite the antithesis of the suburban sprawl that Noah was accustomed to. However, it was nice to see his grandparents; he just wished there wasn’t a four-hour-long car ride separating them. Now Noah was lying on the couch, scrolling through social media on his phone, daydreaming about how much he’d rather be at home.

“Noah!” came the shrill voice of his ex-drill sergeant father opening the screen door from the patio followed by his grandpa. His voice always chopped through the air like a knife, often startling Tyler who was only five years old and still getting used to his father’s macho mannerisms. Noah was twenty years old and knew his father’s domineering personality far too well.

Noah broke eye contact from his phone. “What?” he asked while hiding his irritation.

“Me and your grandpa are about to go to the store. I think you should come with us.”

“Nah,” Noah replied, shifting his gaze back to his phone, “Is it cool if I just stay here with Mom and Grandma?”

“Oh now, Honey,” his grandma kindly interjected, “You should go with the boys and bring Tyler along with. Your mother and I can stay here and make breakfast for you all.”

This was typical. Noah knew his mom always loved to gossip with her mother-in-law when the men weren’t around and Grandpa always loved to show the family around the town. If he tried to oppose, he would never win. “Fine,” he said, defeated.

“Well, come along now gents, we’re burnin’ daylight,” his grandpa beckoned. “We’re burnin’ daylight” was a constant catchphrase he used. Noah shoved his phone in his pocket and begrudgingly led Tyler out the door.

Stepping outside, Noah followed his grandpa and his father who were already talking about something he didn’t care about. God, he hated this place. It always felt like his brother and him were the only person here who were younger than the age of forty. He had never felt more out of place. Noah averted his gaze to his little brother who was busy playing with the stuffed animal sheep he brought everywhere. At least someone was having fun.

Then, he saw it. On the edge of someone’s lawn, partially submerged in the grass, next to an impressive array of cream-colored roses, was a brown, leather wallet. Noah looked straight ahead to see his grandpa and father still immersed in conversation. Glancing to his right, he saw a large, red barn next to a quaint two-level farm. He had a brief moment questioning whether he should take it or not. However, he promptly decided to. It wasn’t his choice to spend four days here every summer, especially after finishing his first year of college and constantly wishing he was there instead. With no one in sight, Noah snatched the wallet. Much to his excitement, the wallet was loaded with a fat wad of bills nestled inside. Eagerly opening it up, he estimated there must’ve been about fifteen twenties and he could even make out a few fifty dollar bills. “Holy crap,” he whispered to himself.

“Noah, what is that?” Tyler asked, with an obnoxious juvenile nosiness that caught the attention of their dad and grandpa.

Noah panicked and quickly stuffed the wallet in his sweatpants pocket. Unexpectedly, he felt a rush of warmth enter his body as he did. That was weird, but he couldn’t focus on that. He had to think fast, otherwise, his snitch brother would expose him as the wallet-stealer he was. His eyes darted around, searching for a diversion. “Why, these are roses, Tyler.” He bent over and plucked one out of the ground. “You should give this to Grandma when we come back. She would love it.”

“Oh yes,” their grandpa chimed in, “She loves her roses, that woman.”

“Didn’t she used to have a garden full of them?” Noah’s dad chipped in.

There was a brief pause where Noah held his breath.

"I wish there were orange roses or yellow roses or blue roses or even a whole rainbow of roses!” Tyler said with youthful imagination.

“Yes,” Noah replied, handing Tyler the flower, “You can draw Grandma and Mom pictures of them when we get back.” That answer seemed to be enough for Tyler who simply smiled and went back to playing with his stuffed animal. Noah released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His dad and grandpa went back to talking. He still felt funny, however, almost like some kind of unknown vibration had entered his body.

In the distance, Noah could see all three blocks of downtown Atwater. He could make out the cube that was their city hall, the four pumps that were their gas station, and the lone sheriff’s car that sat outside the tavern. It was all so mind-numbingly consistent. It was a town where nothing ever changed and where everyone knew everybody. Even the sheriff and his grandpa were good friends.

Noah glanced over his shoulder to see Tyler back to playing with his stuffed animal. Fishing the wallet out of his pocket, he sneakily decided to look for the driver’s license in it. He found it soon enough, but what he saw freaked him out. The picture was of him, with the same dopey smile he had on his regular license. Shifting his eyes to the right of the picture, he gasped as he could see his name written in all caps. However, the license displayed the last name “Randolph.” That was weird. Noah’s last name was Roberts, but that picture was undoubtedly him. A dizzying mess of fear and confusion began emanating through his core. Some stranger was posing as him, or at least somehow made a fake license with his name. Looking closer, Noah was even more perplexed to find that the D.O.B stated “06/02/1959.” That was his birthday, at least, except for the year. He certainly wasn’t born in the 50s. Whoever was the owner of this wallet must’ve known his birthday, full name, and a profile of him. What were the odds of this happening?

“How has school been treatin’ ya, Noah?” his grandpa called out, his baritone voice ripping through Noah’s racing brain, pulling him back to reality.

“School’s been fine,” Noah replied, trying his best to sound like he wasn’t internally panicking. “Just uh… working on that business degree, you know.”

“You’ve been seein’ any girls, Noah?”

Noah rolled his eyes. He had never really had much luck with girls yet. His grandpa always asked every time he was in Atwater. “No, not at the moment, Grandpa,” Noah replied as he had for years prior.

Something was bothering Noah. He had a faint itchy feeling in his feet as he walked. At first, he thought it was just a piece of pesky debris that had lodged its way into his shoe, but the feeling soon became impossible to ignore. Peering down, he stopped in his tracks as instead of his red tennis shoes was a pair of brown leather boots, like the kind that cowboys wore. They were still growing too and Noah watched in awe as his feet widened to a new size thirteen. The boots then migrated up his skinny legs, rising past his ankles until stopping above five inches above them. “What the hell?” Noah whispered to himself, looking at this new pair of western boots. What were they doing on him?

“Come on Noah, quit dawdling!” his father barked from up the street. As Noah looked up, he grimaced. He could see the rest of his family members outside the Atwater Hardware Store. He hated that place. His grandpa would spend hours in there, having in-depth conversations with the owner of the place rambling on about Lord knows what.

Head still ablaze from the strange shenanigans that were taking place, Noah walked up to the store, trying to zone out the distinct clip-clop sound his boots made against the tarmac. His family had already gone inside, so Noah took his time. Lifting his foot, he analyzed the side of his boot. It depicted an abstract pattern of twisting lines and jagged waves. They certainly looked like something his grandpa would wear. He tried to take them off, but they were tightly fitted and although he didn’t want to admit it, they did look rather stylish. Defeated, he finally entered the store, feeling self-aware since the boots clashed with his white t-shirt and black sweatpants combo.

At this point, Noah was lost in his own mind. There were so many weird things that had happened in the last few minutes that not only defied logic, but made him uncomfortable. Ducking into an aisle, he decided to try and collect his thoughts. For some reason, his breathing was starting to sound heavier.

His temporary reprieve was interrupted almost instantly. “Is that Noah Rogers?” came a voice Noah recognized. It was the owner of the hardware store. Eugene Powell was his name. He had the body of an ex-wrestler, but the heart of a schoolteacher. Just like his grandpa, he too was obsessed with power tools and yard supplies and would grill him on the importance of a man’s duty to maintain his property. His uniform was just a white t-shirt that showed off his impressive pecs and some khaki pants that left little room for the imagination. Although he was cordial, Noah always dreaded coming to the store and having to talk to him when he was in town. “Noah! I haven’t seen you in quite a while. How are you likin’ Atwater?”

Noah sighed. Even though he was embroiled with his befuddlement, the desire to be polite overpowered his desire to dissociate. He turned to face Mr. Powell. “Yeah, it’s the same old town it was when I saw it last year.”

“Those boots are lookin' mighty sharp, kid,” Mr. Powell said, playfully raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you around these parts in about a week or so. The farm’s been doin’ fine?”

“My grandparents’ farm?” Noah asked.

“No, yours, you knucklehead,” he replied, patting Noah on the shoulder, the man’s force nearly knocking him off balance.

“Um.. I don’t own a farm. I think you have me confused with someone else.” Noah swore he could feel his body stretch a bit taller as he spoke. He could feel his body pulsating with his heartbeat.

“You’re Noah Randolph, right?” Mr. Powell said, this time with a stern tone that intimidated Noah. Was this a strange joke or something?

“Eugene!” Came Noah’s grandfather’s voice from across the aisle.

Thank God, Noah thought. For once, he was saved by his grandpa’s booming voice.

Mr. Powell’s face lightened when he heard Todd Rogers’ voice. The two had gone to High School together and had both lived in Atwater for the majority of their lives. They were about as close as friends could be, and they certainly had longevity. Then came another pair of footsteps. Noah’s father rounded the corner with Tyler. “There’s the man of the hour!” Mr. Powell exclaimed.

“Hey, Eugene,” Noah’s father replied, his monotone voice reverberating against Noah’s eardrums. He glided right past Noah to rigorously shake Mr. Powell’s hand. “Good to see ya again. How have you and Mary Anne been?”

As the other men began chatting, Noah realized something was different. His father usually had an inch on him, but now he was looking down at the top of his head. That was crazy. Noah remembered his dad was 5’10, but judging from their height difference, he must’ve been about 6’4 and the thought of that was equally terrifying yet gratifying. He could feel the breeze against the bottom half of his legs and looking down, he noticed that his pants sat mid-length on his leg and his shirt exposed his bellybutton. He looked ridiculous. As soon as he glanced down, he noticed the black of his sweatpants lightening. First, they shifted to an indigo color, then to a navy blue. The fabric also began tightening, almost suffocating his genitals. “Ooh!” he exclaimed, causing the men to turn their heads at him. “Sorry,” he hastily apologized. Noah’s face turned beet red and he decided to turn around and leave the aisle. Luckily, the next one over was vacant.

As Noah walked, his lower body felt like it was on fire. With each step, he could feel his body enlarging. It began in his calves as they burst from skinny to noticeable to undoubtedly muscular. He felt a new strength with these new, robust legs he had never felt before. Unseen to Noah, they even sprouted tiny white hairs, and that was not akin to the blonde atop his head. His thighs followed suit and quickly stretched the confines of his already restrictive pants. Now hyperventilating, Noah tried to suppress his moaning, but it was so hard to. He knew he was making a scene, but it was impossible for him to not let the energy out. As if it couldn’t get more embarrassing, the changes reached his genitals. Noah’s cock promptly lengthened, doubling his four-inch member to eight inches. Trying to free it proved difficult as it was rather compressed in his already tight pants. Finally, Noah found some relief as the pants finally expanded to perfectly house his larger member. Instead of soft polyester, Noah now sported a pair of Wrangler jeans. His heavy breathing subsided as he rubbed his hands against the fabric. Something about it turned him on. They left very little room for the imagination. His larger and girthier cock rose in the denim as he reveled in his clothing.

Trying to collect himself, Noah scanned his surroundings. Luckily, no one had chosen to go down this aisle, and hopefully, nobody had heard his moaning. Then a confident thought crossed his mind. Even if someone heard him, what would they do? He was a growing stud with an ego the size of a cornfield. Who would even pose a threat? After all, his tenting cock left no room for discretion about his virility. Even though his cock was nice and impressive, Noah wanted more. He wanted a nice, juicy ass as well and he wanted everyone to know it. Sweat droplets formed all across his body as he absorbed the concept. Subconsciously, he rubbed his hand against his small ass until he could feel it grow beneath his fingers. The longer he massaged, the faster his butt went from small to substantial to large to massive. If his jeans hadn’t expanded in unison with his enlarged hindquarters, they surely would’ve exploded under the pressure. “Holy crap,” Noah said under his breath as he realized just how imposing a man he was becoming.

“Noace!” a low voice bellowed. As Noace turned around, his waistline expanded exponentially. Unbeknownst to him, the hems had even tucked themselves into his brown boots. A ripple of growth spread across his whole body and his chest and stomach bulked out ever so slightly. When he faced the man, he was taken aback by the immensity of him. Although he was shorter than Noace, his stoutness certainly made up for it. Adorned in a black Stetson, a jean jacket, a shiny plated belt, a pair of black Wranglers, and a pair of the man continued, “You got any Cubans for me? I’m cravin’ one right now.”

“Excuse me?” Noace mustered as he fixated on the guy’s grey beard. God, he really was in the sticks. In the sticks surrounded by hicks, he thought to himself and chuckled vacuously.

“May I smoke a cigar, your majesty?” the man reasserted, this time jokingly taking off his hat and bowing, revealing his bald head.

“Oh no, I don’t smoke,” Noace apprehensively stated. As he did, his voice dropped down a few notes, giving him a tenor register. He immediately clamped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment.

“Then, what the hell are these?” the man asked before reaching into Noace’s shirt pocket and pulling out a fat cigar. Sure enough, Noace’s white t-shirt now possessed a front pocket, and right on display for everyone to see were two cigars.

“How did that get there?” Noace uttered in disbelief.

The man laughed and his belly bounced, “You crack me up.” He tugged on Noace’s arm, almost like a kid trying to get a friend to follow him. “Come on, I know you’re dyin’ to smoke the other.” Without waiting for his response, the man hobbled towards the store entrance. All Noace could do was remain motionless, as he watched this strange, muscular cowboy-type walk out the front door. He tried to process what on earth was happening to him. Maybe he should back to his family members and explain this peculiar situation. Maybe he should just go home and hope that this day will be over. Or maybe he should ask this new stranger who seems to know him. He had an aura of joviality and familiarity that was driving itself into Noace’s subconsciousness.

This man gave off a vague sense of familiarity and whimsical amiability that Noace found himself comforted by. So, he decided to follow him out of the store. As he did, he could feel his nature posture shifting. “Ah!,” he exclaimed as a set of cracks emanated from his back. The shape of his spine was reshaping into a straighter, more poised column of bone. Any natural slouching he did was eradicated in an instant as Noace instinctively began to lead with his chest out. An odd feeling of sexiness washed over him as he realized he was taller than most men. With that, his casual bouncy walk melded into a masculine swagger where his footsteps exuded much more force than they had before. Noace could even feel his ass gyrating in his jeans and the feeling was enough to give him a hard-on. He knew there was probably a visible bulge in his pants, but he didn’t care. He was a man who was drunk on his ego.

Opening the front door of the store, he could see the other man had already begun smoking the cigar in the puny three-car parking lot. Wordlessly, he held out a lighter to Noace. Feeling the pressure to smoke, Noace decided to go for it. Although these changes were frighteningly strange, they were equally arousing and Noace didn’t want them to stop. He plucked the lone cigar from his shirt pocket. He leaned in and let the flame ignite the tobacco. Immediately, he coughed out a cloud of smoke upon inhaling. “Oh shit,” he spluttered while feeling the smoke permeate his throat. His voice sounded so much lower now like it had dropped two octaves.

The other man just laughed. “Little excited today aren’t we Boace?” he said jovially, slapping Boace on the back.

“Damn thing nearly blew up in my face,” Boace heaved. His voice was unmistakably lower and it was not what one would expect to come out of a twenty-year-old.

“I haven’t seen you choke like that since the first time you had one of these,” the man said. His eyes were cinnamon brown and he was rather broad-shouldered. The few vestiges of his grey hair softly blew with the breeze. For some reason, Boace couldn’t place his name. It was on the tip of his tongue. This man resembled a renegade cowboy from the wild west who could not appear more opposite from Boace, yet maybe that’s the reason he was compelling.

Boace subconsciously took another drag, this time with a smooth breath. He promptly exhaled to be rewarded with an immediate headrush. The cigar tasted like independence and he truly felt like an adult. “Whoa,” he said, his eyes quickly becoming glazed as he looked up at the sky. He hated how much he enjoyed it. He decided to take another drag just to enhance the feeling. “Holy shit!” he said, this time with much more power in his voice. His voice, now at a baritone frequency, was not only macho, it was suave and had a sex-induced flare to it. Even his balls sunk a bit lower as channels of testosterone poured through his body.

The other man decided to speak again. “Boace, you’ve had that shirt forever, huh? Prolly since the day I first met you.”

Boace looked down at his shirt. For some reason, he expected to see a plain white t-shirt, but instead, he could see a vertical and horizontal stripe pattern beginning to form. The pattern was almost hypnotizing to watch. Blue, orange, and white lines appeared next to each other while the shirt’s background shifted from white to a darkened red color. It was evident that the shirt was acquiring a plaid design. Boace could feel himself getting distracted from the animation, so he shot his head back up in a dramatic fashion and improvised an answer to try to not panic. “Yeah, my dad got me this shirt a while ago.”

“Well, you sure fill it out like a brickhouse.”

Boace raised his eyebrows. This man was clearly hitting on him. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the compliment. After all, what twenty-year-old was built like this? He was twenty right? But he wasn’t interested. He was in college and this man was definitely his grandpa’s age. In that moment, another hazy shockwave of delirium shot through Boace’s brain. He was picturing him and this strange man together like they had known each other for almost their whole lives. Almost like the decades-long relationship his grandpa and Mr. Powell had. Didn’t they all go to school together? No, that couldn’t be right. Boace was twenty years old, not some old geezer. He was a young man in his prime and his body reflected that.

“Thanks,” Boace heard himself say. There was an awkward silence.

“I’ll see ya back at the house, Boace,” the man said. He came up close to Boace and pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks for the stogie, honey. Love ya.” He turned around and hobbled away with a little bounce in his step. Boace brought his hand to his cheek and blushed. He hadn’t expected a kiss from this old farmer guy to feel this rewarding. But it wasn’t like he was some old, rude oaf. He was sweet with a heart of gold deep within that massive chest. He was just a sight to behold. It’s not like it was attractive or anything, Boace thought, trying to rationalize with himself.

Standing still, Boace raised the cigar to his lips and took another drag, this one longer than all the others before it, as he watched this strange man disappear into one of Atwood’s few backstreets. Then, the name came to him. Duncan Randolph. He couldn’t recall how they met or how they knew each other, but they had some sort of deep connection. A connection so deep that it ravaged the remnants of Boace heterosexuality, driving him to want to step forward and follow Duncan. He was about to do so when he heard the store door open behind him. Turning around, Boace’s eyes came in contact with his grandpa holding a plastic bag with an item in it. His grandpa lit up with a cordial smile when his eyes rose to meet his. “Hey Boace, you gonna be at Morden’s tonight?” his grandpa said. Boace could picture the place; it was Atwood’s one and only bar.

A brief silence hung in the air as Boace could feel his world spinning again. Seeing his family brought the changing man back to reality. This was the group of people he belonged with, not some dude he just met at a hardware store of all places. At this point, his grandpa raised his eyebrows, as if he was expecting Boace to say something. Feeling the pressure to speak, he quickly did. “If the cows don’t gimme any trouble, I should be there by 8, Todd.” Todd? Why had he called his grandpa by his first name? And why was he pretending like he had cows? Boace tried to backpedal but to no avail. “Wait, uh… that’s not what I meant-.”

“Is that old man Boace?” his father’s voice almost shouted with excitement as he opened the store’s front door. He was followed out the door by little Tyler timidly trudging behind him.“I haven’t seen you since, well, last year.” He extended his large arm for Boace to shake. Deciding it would be impolite not to, Boace held out his hand and his father shook it rather rigorously. That old man comment seemed so out of place.

“Josh, it’s me, your son Boace.” Boace’s eyes widened in shock. Not only had he just called his father by his first name, but he couldn’t even say his own name right. “Boace,” he tried again, but to no avail.

Josh crossed his arms and calmly laughed. “Son? That’s a good one. You’re older than my old man here, buster.” Boace growled and itched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to comprehend his confusion. His own mouth was betraying him and these comments were getting too peculiar for him.

“Wow! You look just like a cowboy!” Tyler blurted out, in the spontaneous way that five-year-olds do.

Upon hearing the word “cowboy,” Boace’s arms began swelling up, stretching the striped design of his new shirt even more. Even hearing the term gave Boace an odd and new sense of pride. It made him feel so dangerous and unorthodox, like he belonged in a Clint Eastwood film. He flexed his arms and looked down. For some reason, he expected to see a white t-shirt, but instead, he was met with a broad and ornately designed plaid shirt with vibrant colors. It was like nothing he would ever wear back home, but that’s why it felt so revolutionary and exhilarating to him. It did look rather baggy on his currently slender torso. His arms, however, were a different story. Boace reveled in the feeling of his biceps and triceps expanding in unison, as the fabric became rather taut around him. His arms were bigger than anyone else’s he’d ever seen. They had to be three times the size they used to be.

The changes quickly spread to his pecs and he could see them starting to form mounds beneath his shirt. They grew as large as his head and the sight of them instantly sent a rush of arousal to Boace’s head. To top it off, a bushy and white mustache poofed into fruition as a permanent fixture above his upper lip. Luckily, he hadn’t seen the color of it, otherwise he would’ve panicked. “Unh,” he grumbled to himself, trying to suppress his pleasure. “That’s cause… I am one,” he responded while unintentionally flexing his arms at his chest. His baritone voice had transitioned from stressed to calm and now possessed a southern drawl.

“Wow,” Tyler said as he looked up in awe. “How do you and grandpa know each other?”

“We, uhh…” Boace’s mind began to drift. He had just accepted the fact that he could be a cowboy, but he couldn’t be as old as his grandpa. However, unseen forces were altering that. An intense burst of heat rushed inside of Boace’s stomach and it quickly began swelling. Within seconds, Boace had a belly larger than his grandpa’s. It was huge and hung slightly over his belt. It was a muscle gut that was equally a sign of a proclivity towards eating, as well as a proclivity towards exercise. After all, Boace was known as the strongest man in Atwood. He had been a powerlifter since the 70s. Wait, wasn’t he born in the late 90s? No, that couldn’t be right. But then, how could he have met one of his long-time friends Todd Roberts?

Boace finally answered, “Me and your old man went to school together since we were about your age. From grade school to high school, we became very good friends and we’ve always been there for each other.” Boace raised his hand to scratch his bristly mustache, savoring the sensation. The action sent another shock through his body. He jolted in surprise, causing his belly to ripple. Boace’s head of brown, wavy hair retreated into his scalp, giving him a receding hairline. His forehead was much more prominent now. Then, the thin layer of remaining brown hair he had quickly bleached itself to a shade of white. The white spread to every follicle on his body, from his mustache to his sparse chest hairs. His youthful face now possessed a sternness indicated by an array of wrinkles slowly forming. Boace was enraptured with himself. His neck was craned down as he absorbed the sight of his gruff and intimidating body. The idea of being an outlaw cowboy seemed more endearing now. Yes, he may find himself in the hick town of Atwater, but the feeling of having a life full of wild adventures eclipsed that. Being a man from a rural environment demanded much self-introspection as one has to deal with some of the planet’s loneliest terrains. Boace wanted to be that man. He wanted to be somebody completely different than others his age. “Being a strong man is the most important thing,” he continued, his smile widening as he placed his hands on his hips while gazing at Josh and Todd Rogers. Then, he looked at Tyler. “You’ve gotta be prepared for anything, but most importantly, just be confident and brave.” Yeah, that was a good line.

“Broace is a dairy farmer and that means he has a bunch of cows,” Josh said in a soft voice to Tyler.

Tyler beamed. “Can I meet the cows? Can I please?”

“Not today Tyler,” Broace replied, “In fact, I’ve gotta head home and help my partner Duncan with them. I’ll see you gents later.”

The men smiled and said goodbye to Boace as he turned and left. A part of him was telling him that he should stay with those people, but Boace couldn’t understand why. Todd was his neighbor, Josh was the man’s son, and Tyler was his grandson. With each step, Boace could feel testosterone surging within him. His chest soon became even larger than before and certainly larger than any man’s he’d ever seen before. Broace’s swagger increased tenfold as he felt his muscular pecs and imposing gut swaying slightly as he slowly walked down the street. Now, he felt so strong and so free of everyone else and their judgment. The word bear came to his mind and it kind of stuck. For some reason, he knew that terminology and now started to identify with it. He patted his front pocket for a cigar. Drat, he was fresh out, but he had more at home. Although Broace wasn’t quite sure where his home was, this route felt like routine to him, so it must be right. It’s not like there were many streets in this town. Maybe it would lead him to Duncan. His cock throbbed slightly at the thought of seeing that burly, macho bear again.

The wind was strong in Atwater since there were no hills around for miles and miles and Broace could feel it surge against him while he waddled. The wind teased and pressed up against his body, entering every fold and enhancing it. In a few moments, Broace’s youthful face became covered in lines and wrinkles. His lips thinned a bit beneath his mustache and his teeth became slightly curved. A layer of fat manifested beneath his chin and above his neck. The wind billowed through his clothes and giving his body one final boost of size, making every curve defined and unignorably visible. With a firm body built from a life of manual labor, he was the image of a blue-collar man. Broace could feel a foreign object on his head. Raising his hands to touch it, he realized it was a white cowboy hat, the final step in making him the antithesis of the urban kid he once was. Then, he saw it: the red barn and the two-level farmhouse where he had found the wallet. His eyes widened when he remembered the wallet. That damn wallet had started all this. It had made him into this old, suave cowboy. Pulling the wallet out of his pocket, he opened it and plucked his driver’s license out of it. The picture depicted was a man he did not recognize. “Is that… me?” he asked with a mixture of disgust and arousal.

“Bruce Reginald Randolph,” he read aloud, his old voice fully capturing the longevity of this identity. “That’s not… That’s my name.” The man in the picture looked everything like how he felt this whole day. He started analyzing the whole license. “I’m… 61?” he asked, fully grasping the reality he was in. His nickname was “the bulldozer” because of his size. He was a corn and dairy farmer who had owned the property since his twenties. A loud noise then caused him to drop his wallet on the ground.

“Bruce!” came a familiar, boisterous voice from inside the house. Sure enough, Duncan was walking from the front porch to greet him. Bruce could hear the name reverberate a million times in his head. It sounded so wrong yet so rectifying. Memories came pouring in of a blue-collar man who worked in small towns his whole life. He was a simple man whose day was best spent relaxing at the bar after a long day of tough labor on the farm. Manual labor had shaped him yet it also had strengthened him as he was, without a doubt, an absolute behemoth and bear of a man. That’s the only way of life Duncan and he knew best. They had known each other since childhood and had been romantically involved since their late twenties. Duncan was the first and only man he had ever loved and they were easily the only gay couple for tens of square miles. A twinge of trepidation permeated Bruce’s psyche. Being visibly gay in a rural area like this made you a target and Bruce could remember many moments of hatred all at once. But as he breathed, he could feel their grip on him weakening, as he cared less and less. All he could focus on was the sight of his majestic and strapping husband walking towards him, cigar in hand.

“Oh finally,” Bruce said, snatching the cigar from Duncan’s hand.

The sensation of Duncan’s lips against his caught Bruce off guard, but he immediately reciprocated. Each man could feel the immense heat of each other’s warm body. Duncan’s grey beard felt so nice and familiar against his chin like it had happened a million times before. He always got butterflies in his stomach whenever he saw his husband. Husband? Yeah, the two were inseparable. Bruce felt a final twinge of the changes as he let out a vacant chuckle mid-kiss, his intellect draining. Although Bruce was a gentle giant, he had his moments of vanity and spaciness. Duncan pulled away with a smirk on his face. “What are you laughing about hotshot?”

“I’m in love with you,” Bruce replied, the combination of his booming voice and southern accent slicing through the air around him.

Duncan ran his hands up and down Bruce’s plaid shirt, “I know babe, I love you so much too. Now, let’s have a smoke and get back to work. We’ve gotta get this crop shipped off by sundown.”

Bruce let out another laugh, “I just.. love you,” he repeated.

“I love you too,” Duncan said as he ran his hands across Bruce’s massive belly. “Now let’s smoke already, you’re makin’ me horny and we can’t get sidetracked today.” He looked at the ground. “Is that your wallet on the ground there, Bruce?”

“Ohh, yes it is!” Bruce said excitedly, “I thought I’d lost it.” He bent over to grab it, his massive ass faced Duncan while his belly hung against his upper thighs for a brief moment. Upon grabbing it, he slowly gravitated his massive body back upright, a laborious process to any other man.

“I swear Bruce, you never fail to make me smile,” Duncan said.

“I love you too, honey,” Bruce said for the third time with a dopey smile on his face. “Now come on, let’s smoke already.” With that, Atwater’s finest farmers lit up and stared out into the fields, ready to continue another day of work.

[aardvarkia]

My Patreon!

Hello friends!

In a continued effort to fund my bodybuilding (which is costing hundreds of dollars a month), I'm excited to share that I've started:

A Patreon!

Please head over, check it out, and pledge. Tell your friends. Spread the word.

Things to know:

The charge is by story, not monthly, since I tend to post somewhat irregularly.

Exclusives will be in the form of polls, previews, drafts, physique updates, and more.

Stories will always be posted on Patreon first and will have a window of exclusivity there, then will eventually be shared here as well. As I said on Twitter, I was once the kid with no disposable income in a boring town, and muscle fiction was such a lifeline to me. I have no interest in taking that away from people, but I do need to make more money to fund my dreams.

I'm leaving my Ko-fi up, but if you are a monthly supporter there, I'd urge you to consider shifting over to Patreon. (And thank you so much, it means the world.)

There will be new stories going up there very shortly! Maybe even this week, oooh...

[amysticbearperson]

Having been on Aard's early reads for a while now I can *definitely* say you want in on his story previews btw

[aardvarkia]

Building Security

Words by Aardvark and Mad Dog Illustrations by BigBerserk

Twitter | Transform Me Into My Characters

“Uh, it’s under Lucas. Braden Lucas.”

The security guard behind the desk looked at Braden, then back to his computer. “Don’t see you here. No one under Braden.”

“No, no, my first name is Braden. Last name Lucas.”

The guard seemed befuddled by this. He typed something, furrowed his brow, then walked over to another guard a few feet away. They walked back together and both began pointing at the screen.

“I’m here every week, my dad works upstairs,” Braden explained. “A lot of the guards know me but I guess you’re new.”

“We can’t let anyone go upstairs without ID,” the other guard explained.

“I don’t have a driver’s license. That’s why I come here on Fridays, so that my dad can drive me back to his place for the weekend.” Braden huffed a long sigh and dropped his school backpack onto the floor. “Can you call him? This happens a lot.”

“He needs to register you in the system before we can let you up.”

“I know, I know all the rules. He always forgets.”

The guards kept whispering behind the desk, then finally one turned and said, “Do you want to come to the security office until we get this sorted?”

“Why would I do that?” Braden chortled. “Just let me upstairs. You can search my backpack if you want.”

The security guards loomed over Braden, casting shadows over him as they both scowled over the shelves of their pecs at him. One of them was bald with a thick red beard and looked as wide as three Bradens stacked side by side, while the other was a Latin-looking guy with an olive complexion and a dark goatee, with biceps that were straining the short sleeves of his dark button-up uniform shirt.

"No one goes to the upper floors without proper clearance," grunted the bearded former redhead. "You can either sit tight in the office while we get this sorted out or walk back out the way you came."

Braden rolled his eyes. Why did muscleheads have to act like they got to boss everyone else around? He was a teenage boy and this was your average office building, not the Pentagon or whatever. He was used to the security at the building being a bit disorganized, but this was the first time he'd been flat-out refused to go up to see his dad. These guards were new. He was used to the doughy, over-the-hill guys that liked to sit around, eat doughnuts and pretend like they weren't watching sports on their smartphones while they waved people in. These guys had some kind of unfamiliar logo on the breast of their shirts, which were taut against pecs that were bigger than Braden's head.

"Fine, fine, but you guys are overreacting. My dad's gonna hear all about this," Braden pouted, surprised as the olive-skinned hulk grabbed him by his shoulder and escorted him away from the elevators, around the side to a nondescript door he'd never noticed before. “So...you a bodybuilder or whatever?”

The guy nodded as he scanned his keycard against a black panel by the door.

“Isn’t that really expensive? All that food and…” Braden caught himself before he said ‘steroids’. “...other stuff.”

The guard shrugged, and the button over his chest undid itself. “Nothing I’d rather spend my money on. You can sit down there.” He pointed to a plastic chair in the corner. The security office was what Braden expected: laminated floor, white walls with nothing on them, a desk, a computer, and a bunch of TVs showing security footage from around the building.

“You guys only have eight cameras in the whole building?” Braden asked, counting the television monitors.

“That’s just one part of the lobby. Rest of ‘em are in a different room. This is mostly so we can see what’s happening at the desk in case we’re needed while on break.” The guard bent over and typed something into the computer, his ID badge dangling off his pec close enough for Braden to see the name ‘Luis.’

“So even while you guys are on break, you’re not really on break.”

“If we’re needed we’re needed. Bad guys don’t give a shit if you’re on break or not.”

Braden almost laughed but didn’t. ‘Bad guys,’ like it was the wild west. The worst thing these guys had to deal with was lost visitors like him, or a wayward delivery boy.

"You, uh, get many bad guys around here?" he asked, trying to keep himself from cracking up at the self-seriousness these musclebound brutes seemed to have.

"Every now and then. Got some people who walk in from the street trying to cause a fuss that we make sure take a hike," Luis explained, his glutes pressing up against the dark slacks of his uniforms pants, the seat looking like it might split at any moment due to the mass of his glutes, before he straightened back up and pointed at the folding chair in the corner. "Sit there while we call up and straighten this out, kid," he rumbled.

"Okayyyyy..." Braden said, arching an eyebrow as he walked over to the chair and sat down. They were just going to leave him in here? He could just leave after they left and sneak over to the stairwell or something and take the elevators from the second floor.

Luis shot Braden a disapproving frown as he closed the door behind him, leaving Braden alone in the room. It was then that Braden heard a clicking sound that made his stomach drop. Did they just lock the door? They were going to lock him in here?! He bolted out of his seat and ran up to the door, attempting to turn the knob, only to feel it unable to budge.

"HEY! Hey, let me out! You can't just lock me up, I didn't do anything wrong!" he shouted, banging his small fists on the door to no avail. “This is so STUPID.” He grabbed his phone from his bag to text his dad, but the blue loading bar wouldn’t complete. No service. An attempt at calling met the same fate, so he walked over to the phone on the desk and grabbed it.

“Please dial your party’s extension,” said an automated voice, and Braden groaned. The phone was internal only and he didn’t know his dad’s office number, just his cell phone. He hung the phone back up and sat in the desk chair, spinning around out of boredom, until he got the idea to log into the security computer. If they were gonna lock him in here - which he was pretty sure was illegal - he wasn’t going to feel bad about messing with their shit.

There was a piece of paper poking out from below the keyboard. Lifting up the keys, he found a post-it on which was handwritten:

whaynes cash&liam

“Super secure,” Braden chortled, logging right into the system with the username and password. A ton of windows auto opened, but one caught Braden’s attention: “NEW BADGE ACTIVATION.” He navigated to it and saw what appeared to be the option to print an access badge, so he typed in his name - Braden Lucas - and date of birth, and a number was randomly generated.

‘Upload picture’ was the next instruction, so Braden used the computer’s camera to take a selfie of himself, cropping it to show only his cherubic young face with an impish grin spread across it.

“Supervisor approval required.” Braden tried the whaynes log-in again...and couldn’t believe it worked. “Aaand, print.” Braden hit the button and waited. He expected a computer printer to spit out some paper, but instead an apparatus next to the computer came to life. As it whirred, Braden noticed the words START DATE below his picture, which were auto populated with the day’s date.

“Oh shit.” This wasn’t to print a guest pass, he realized as the whirring machine slowly produced a small plastic card. This was to make a staff badge.

Braden took it, the badge still warm from the printer. It still might be useful to take it. He took one of the clips from a nearby holder and attached it to a hole in the new badge and clipped it onto the neck of his t-shirt and giggled. He looked over at the security camera and saw Luis waddling back to the bald mustachioed security guard and told him something that made the other guy's serious visage break into a smile as he started laughing. Apparently he'd said something funny, which Braden thought was unlikely. Both men had seemed pretty humorless. Maybe Luis had told him he'd locked Braden up in the office and that's what the brute thought was so funny? Braden grunted in annoyance at that, his hands resting on the keyboard starting to spread out as they took up more space.

As his knuckles crackled, Braden combed through the security programs and found another that interested him: “Visitor Registration List.” Luis hadn’t been able to find his name, so Braden searched for himself in the day’s log. No results, so Dad really had forgotten to register him. “Stupid,” Braden mumbled. He right clicked his name to search for it through the months of logs, so he could prove to Luis and the bald guy - what was his name...Keith, that was it - that he visited all the time. But there were no results. Braden double-checked the spelling to make sure he hadn’t made a typo, but nope, zero hits for Brade Lucnas. He couldn’t believe it. This entire time they were just letting him up without his dad ever registering him. Not only was it upsetting to him that Dad hadn’t bothered ONCE, but he was surprised at the lax attitude of the guards, letting him in week after week. It was amazing it had taken until today to catch the error. Brade had thought Luis was doing his job incorrectly, but instead he was the only one doing it right. “I owe him an apology,” Brade muttered.

Brade decided if he was going to sit around while this whole security thing was solved, he could at least entertain himself by looking at the security cameras. There was the one he'd already seen with Luis and Keith stationed by the front doors, screening people coming into the building, and he looked at that for a few minutes. The two seemed to really take their post seriously, stopping everyone one by one on their way into the building, making them scan their badges or looking them up in the visitor list. That made Brade smirk in satisfaction for reasons he couldn't articulate.

He moved on to other cameras, his fingers nimbly moving around the keyboard despite their growing thickness and length, his palms growing meatier, his wrists getting thicker and his forearms starting to swell. His hands seemed to know their way around this computer system as his eyes scanned over each camera feed, looking for anything interesting... or unusual. It would be bad if something slipped by the two officers.

And then he saw it. There was a lady stuck behind two of the stiles, scanning her card over and over. While Luis was helping her and Keith was checking someone in, another stile was stuck open - the one that the lady was accidentally scanning her card in without realizing it. A guy with a handcart walked through it without checking in or scanning.

Brade hopped up, proud of himself for spotting it. He walked over to the door and pulled on it, remembered he was locked in, and grabbed a keyring hanging from his belt. Though something in his head told him it was odd that he had a key to this door, he’d worry about that in a second, once he got the delivery guy to check in. He unlocked himself and walked through the elevator bank, toward the guy with the cart who was waiting on an elevator. “Hey there,” he said casually to the man, who looked at him.

“Hey,” the guy said, looking down.

“You uh...you didn’t check in. You’re s’posed to do that up front.” Brade stuck his beefy hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet.

“Oh, yeah, one of the gates was stuck open. No big deal. I’m here all the time, just dropping off some late mail for Klein & Grant upstairs. They know me.”

“Yeah, well,” Brade said, gulping, “I’m security and I don’t know you.”

“You’re security?” the guy laughed. “Then please don’t tell on me, okay little buddy?”

Brade's brow furrowed and he felt his temperature rising. "I'm not your 'little buddy,'" he growled, not noticing how his upper arms were starting to swell now, drawing the sleeves of his t-shirt taut as they filled with brawn. "You're gonna turn around and check in like you're supposed to," he said in a calm but serious voice, his blood boiling in his veins despite the calm demeanor he tried to project.

The guy looked down at Brade and snorted. "Kid, chill out, okay? Earn a merit badge some other time," he told him dismissively, turning away and continuing to wait for an elevator.

A vein started throbbing on his forehead. This guy wasn't gonna act like this. Not in his building. He felt his sleeves ride up over his swelling deltoids, his shirt felt inadequate over his arms that looked ridiculously oversized for his small frame, hands that looked like they could palm his entire face. He used one of those hands to grab another key from his ring, which he stuck into the elevator panel to reset the button. “You’re not going without checking in, BUDDY,” he said.

“Are you seri-- come ON, kid.” The guy sighed. “Can I at least leave my shit here?”

“No! You crazy? That’s gotta be scanned. If you’re really here so much you know the ru-OOU-les.” Bralde’s voice cracked just like it did while he was in chorus at school, pitching up an octave, down two, then back to normal.

“Gettin’ bossed around by a pubescent kid, Jesus,” the guy muttered, wheeling his cart away.

Bralde felt triumphant. He tailed a few yards behind the guy to make sure he was going where he was supposed to go, then he sidled up next to Keith. “Caught that guy trying to sneak past,” he said proudly.

“Good work man,” Keith muttered, then he looked over at Bralde. “You...hey, aren’t you supposed to be in the office while we call your dad?”

It hadn’t even dawned on Bralde. He felt like he’d been slapped out of a trance. “Oh, I...oh right…”

Keith's mustache twitched into an annoyed angle just before he grunted, "Let's get you back to the office. Can't leave you alone for five minutes..." He put his big paw of a hand on Bralde's shoulder and started walking him back to the security office as fast as his overblown thighs could carry him.

During the brief walk, Bralde looked over and up at the herculean security officer, easily a match for Luis' mass. "So both you guys are bodybuilders, huh?" he asked, not sure why. He just figured talking to them about their interests might keep them from getting pissed at him and completely throwing him out of the building.

"Yeah when we're not babysittin' at this gig," Keith's terse reply came.

"I could tell. Your, um, legs look really big. What do you do to get them so big?" Bralde asked, still trying to engage this brute next to him.

Keith's waddle slowed a bit as he looked down at Bralde with an arched eyebrow. "You do squats with heavy weights, kid. You look like you could use a few, you’re all arms," he grunted with a chuckle, giving the side of one of Bralde's gorilla arms a thwack with the back of his hand. It was solid.

Bralde instinctively wrenched his arm away, like he did when the bigger guys at school picked on him. But this time, the pre-existing strain on his t-shirt - thanks to his bicep - was enough to rip his sleeve, allowing his bicep and deltoid to pump a bit bigger into the air around them. Bralde stopped cold, causing Keith to bump into him as he inspected his torn sleeve and the oversized muscles in his arm. He gripped his bicep with his hand, and that was when he noticed his sausage-sized fingers and the broad, thick palms they were attached to. “Th-that’s not righ-”

“Move it along, bud,” Keith said, goosing Bralde forward as the boy continued to run his fingers over his thick arms. “Nice watch though.”

Bralde looked at the gleaming timepiece on his wrist. It had a two-toned band made of real gold and silver, with a shiny blue face. Aside from the time itself, he had no idea what any of the other little dials meant, but they sure were pretty. All that gold and blue. The watch was heavy too, which meant it was probably expensive right? “Thanks, it was a gift.”

“Someone must like you a lot.”

“SomeoneS,” Bralde smiled, lowering his arm and not noticing the pelt of hair swirling out from the watch, bristly up his smooth forearm and down over the back of his hand. He even scratched at his upper arm as it sprouted a light covering, leading like a fuse to his underarm, which sprouted a dense puff of hair that erupted out from his ruined sleeve. As Keith opened the door to the office, Bralde turned to him, smiling. “What are we here for again?”

“This is where you belong while you wait for your dad, kiddo. We’ve called him three times.”

“Oh right. I keep forgetting.” Bralde snorted. “Mind’s all funny today, I guess.”

"Don't let me catch you outta here again before yer dad comes," Keith warned him, wagging an index finger in his direction before closing and locking the door behind Bralde again.

Bralde was too busy marveling at his arms to notice, however. His jaw was slack as he examined the hairs swirling over his incredible arms. His arms felt like they were someone else's, except they moved whenever he gave the command. It reminded him of those old Hulk hand toys. He tentatively cracked his knuckles and he swore it actually sounded like cracking nuts thanks to his big fingers and meaty hands.

He went back to what Keith had said, about his body being unbalanced. It did look pretty ridiculous, walking around with arms that belonged on someone way bigger and older than him. Maybe it wouldn't look so ludicrous if his legs matched? he pondered, forgetting his predicament and stroking his chin with his big paw. His hand could nearly swallow up half his face!

He wasn't sure about all this muscle stuff, but it couldn't hurt to look a little bit more, what was the word, proportional? He remembered the comment about squatting so he went over to a wall he could lean against in case he lost his balance and tried squatting down. Instantly, his jeans became like sausage casings as his thighs ballooned. That wasn't normal, he thought, panic starting to mount. But his legs didn't look as ridiculous now, at least. His butt felt all swollen, too.

Suddenly, he had a flash of a memory, walking down the hall to his dad's office and seeing the office numbers pass by. He wasn't sure, but he had a guess as to what his dad's office number was. Keith said they'd tried calling his dad, but maybe they weren't trying that hard. He went over to the desk, his pants protesting against thighs that were much larger than they had been when he'd slipped them on that morning, and picked up the phone, dialing what he thought could be the correct office number. "Hi, dad? It's Brallde," he croaked, his voice having settled a bit lower than before. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and tried again. "I... I mean, it's Brallade," he said again, in a voice deeper still.

As Brallade rubbed his burning throat, he heard a female voice on the other end of the line. “I don’t think I’m your dad, sir,” she laughed.

“Oh! I’m sorry…” Embarrassed, Brallade leaned forward to hang up the phone, and the motion was too much for his pants. They split right down the middle, baring Adventure Time boxer shorts that were also having trouble to hold in the boy’s growing butt. The twin spheres swelled underneath Brallade, pushing him higher on the seat like a cushion as they expanded in all directions, shoving into the chair’s armrests. Brallade shifted as he tried to get comfortable, and a simple flex of his feet pushed his heels out of the backs of the sneakers his mom had just bought him the week prior. His socks burst into ribbons as enormous calves flexed into existence on the backs of his legs, pushing so hard against his jeans that the blood flow was restricted. They engorged themselves with size as Brallade changed one digit on his dial and tried again. He was pretty sure this was right this time.

He cleared his throat. “Hi, dad?” A rich baritone rolled through the office. “Your son’s in...I mean I’m in the security office downstairs.” Brallade shut his eyes as his feet pushed hard into the ground, where moments before they’d hovered above it. He coughed, and suddenly his voice transformed into a man’s bass, deepening well below Keith and Luis’. “Can you come down and get me?”

"Sorry, you must be mistaken, I don't have a son," came the man's voice on the other end, quickly before the disconnection tone.

Brallade growled in frustration and slammed the phone back down on its receiver. Any more force behind his action would've surely destroyed the phone, given the power behind his hands. He snorted and took in deep breaths as he fumed, a weakening voice in his head trying to calm down the tempest of emotions that were brewing inside of him now. Why hadn't his father followed protocol and put his name on the visitors' list?! If he'd just followed it, he wouldn't be in this goddamn room, growing goddamn hair on his motherfucking enormous arms and his butt wouldn't be so big that he swore if he tried to stand up the chair would move with him!

With each breath, his chest puffed out behind his t-shirt, at first just pressing lightly against the cotton-blend, but then with more and more force, his pectorals swelling with his mounting frustrations, the plates of muscle becoming thick and swollen, a separation forming between them and the bottoms becoming a bit rounded, his nipples starting to point down as mass increased on his upper body, drawing his collar taut before splitting it down the center to make room for the growing mounds of muscle.

Air activated their growth. As soon as the center of Brallade’s chest was bared, his pecs exploded in size with such power that it whipped his head backward and nearly knocked his chair over. The boy gripped the armrests and straightened his back with a loud, scared groan, and out beneath his chin swelled a pair of huge, fat pecs that were growing larger with each short breath. Muscle pumped into every possible centimeter to give him a full-on shelf, the top of the pecs as prominent and thick as the bottom. His t-shirt tore further and further downward, until the sheer weight of his chest pulled him forward, slamming into the desk like a pair of sandbags. Brallade struggled and forced himself back upright, furiously groping one of the sacks of muscle, unaware that each touch of his fingers conjured a dozen new bristles to his smooth skin.

It got harder for him to fondle the pecs when his t-shirt snagged together beneath his nipples and manifested a single button to hold some of the tear together, hoisting Brallade’s enormous muscle tits upward like a Wonderbra. He pulled his hand loose and moaned, standing up, legs nearly buckling from worry. He held himself up with the desk as he made his way to his school backpack, hoping he could find something inside of it that would spur an idea. He really wanted to let himself out of the room again, but Keith told him not to leave…

Brallade easily lifted up his backpack with one of his huge hands and opened it up, finding it filled with a tupperware container he had never seen before. He didn't pack food with him like this, he just used the cafeteria at school. It looked pretty plain, too: chicken breast, rice, and some veggies. Still, his stomach grumbled when he took a look at it and, finding a set of utensils in the backpack as well, decided to start chowing down. After all, if it was in his backpack, it must be his, right?

He grunted as he shoveled each forkful into his mouth, giving it a few chews before swallowing it down, practically inhaling all of the food inside. What it lacked in very much taste, it made up for in vitamins, minerals, and, above all else, protein. His body seemed to soak it in like a parched desert. Each bite made his stomach bulge out a bit more, firm and solid, blocks of abdominals etching slightly into it as the bulk piled on, spilling over his belt behind his shirt as he gobbled his food, until a stomach as large and firm as his pecs pushed out in front of him, creating a worthy resting place for his bloated chest muscles.

"Oof..." he finally moaned after a loud belch, reaching up to wipe his thick forearm over his mouth, the curls of the hair on his forearm catching against something new on his upper lip. He reached up with alarm and felt his upper lip becoming fuzzy, the follicles growing out thicker and longer, five o'clock shadow becoming a modest mustache... and then a much prouder mustache than that!

“Mmguh?!” Brallade kept patting his mustache as it flourished beneath his twitching nose, spreading past the corners of his mouth and bristling down over his upper lip as it grew into a truly spectacular pushbroom. His fingers wandered to his cheeks and chin - there was no hair, but they were no longer smooth either; the skin was gritty and sounded like sandpaper under Brallade’s fingers. That did it...he had to get out of here, had to find his dad and explain what was going on. As he reached down to put his bag back on the ground, gravity pulled his muscle gut out further, rounding it into a firm ball that shoved out into the open air. Brallade’s pecs lurched forward another inch to compensate, resting comfortably on the belly as the boy found a post-it note and grabbed a pen.

“Keith-” Brallade wrote, and he blinked in surprise as he realized his handwriting had changed - what was once illegible chicken scratch that his teachers gave him grief for, was now tidy block letters. “Emergency. Had to go upstairs to find Mr. Lucas. Sorry.” He initialed it ‘B.L.,’ Brallace Lacnes.

Brallace locked the office behind him, keeping one hand over his face to cover his huge mustache. He skulked over to the elevator lobby, avoiding detection, and hit the button. Dad would be able to figure this out, he knew as he got on and hit the button for the 51st floor.

The metal doors shut and confronted Brallace with his blurry, misshapen silhouette. His burgeoning muscles rendered the reflection unrecognizable to him, so he turned and faced the back of the elevator, which was made of white plastic and not reflective at all. Then he remembered something - he took the key on his belt and activated the security feature on the inside panel of the elevator as it began to move, ensuring that it wouldn’t stop for anyone else on the way up.

The boy breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator climbed upward. But as the floors ticked by, he was looking much less like a boy. In fact, with each floor passed, another year was adding itself to Brallace. His face began weathering at an astonishing pace, as his skin notched years of wear in seconds, gifting him with deep crows feet and jagged, deep folds on his forehead and around his mouth. He sprouted upward, from 5’4 to 5’9, stopping at a height he still would’ve found disappointing had he realized, but that allowed his huge muscles to remain dense and thick, as if stacked atop each other. The white paneling of the elevator didn’t allow Brallace to see his thick hair lighten to pure, vibrant white, nor his mustache shift to salt-and-pepper, heavy on the salt.

When he hit the floors in the thirties, his jaw cracked and expanded, hardening with manhood as it widened into a jutting square and capped itself with a boxy chin that stuck out further than his mustache. The floors ticked by as Brallace’s original face took on more new DNA, shifting from an older version of himself to an older version of a new man, handsome and rugged. His browbone shifted down over his eyes as his nose turned square and strong, lips thinning to hide further under his mustache.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Brallace turned around, relieved to have made it without getting caught. A 67-year-old man stepped off the elevator, his white hair shaggy and long in a style unbecoming for his age. His boyish clothes were shredding to pieces over his massive bulk, which was still growing and changing along with him. And the boy within had no idea, though he did idly notice how much weight his steps carried.

Brallace remembered once on vacation his family had gone to one of those places where you could put on those big fake sumo suits and bump around in them. That's almost what it felt like to move now. When he walked, he could feel his thighs rubbing against each other, and his hamstrings almost touching against his glutes. His arms were splayed out a bit by his lats. If he took a deep breath, his pecs shoved up against his stubbled jaw, making it shut. He could practically feel the world around him trembling a bit each time he took a step, his bulk so big that he instinctively felt that he'd be frightened of himself if he wasn't him.

As he made his way instinctually to his father's office on the far side of the floor from the elevators, he began to feel an urge. "Aw, fuck," he growled, his voice sounding like two boulders grinding together. He had to go to the bathroom. He turned his massive body in the direction of the bathrooms on the floor and felt how difficult it was to change direction of this huge physique once it was in motion. He nearly toppled onto the floor, but managed to keep upright.

He squeezed into the doorway of the men's room and went over to a urinal and reached down to take himself out. When he did so, his jaw hit the top of his pecs. He couldn't exactly look down and see it, thanks to the bulk of his upper body, but what he felt overfilled the massive grip of his hands. He felt HUNG. He was almost worried he'd dip into the water in the urinal due to how big he was hanging, and with enormous balls, too! After a second of shock, he relaxed enough to relieve his bladder and his stream was so strong the term "piss like a horse" came across Brallace’s mind. Even his cock and balls seemed strong.

What time was it anyway? He checked his gold watch, which was nestled in the mat of black and white hair covering his forearm. A little after 4pm...oh, right, ‘cause he’d just gotten done with school. And every day after school, he’d take a little break to...take the edge off. Helped clear his mind and maintain focus for the rest of the day instead of getting distracted whenever a hot piece of ass walked by. Didn’t matter how old he was, he always had the libido of a young man. Which made sense since he was a young man, Brallace reminded himself with a chuckle. What an odd thing to think…

His stream finished, but he kept his beer-bottle cock hanging over the urinal, wrapping his right hand around it and allowing his left to drift to his nipple. His nipple felt curiously huge too, and he didn’t know why it was pointing straight to the ground, but he rubbed it all the same, exhaling through his nose and blowing hot air down over his thick ‘stache. He stroked up and down, up and down, a smile spreading over his face at the same rate that black color was spreading across the tops of his sneakers. The mesh body of the shoe hardened into shiny leather, polished so painstakingly that the toes reflected the underside of Brallace’s cock and belly. The hi-gloss dress shoes grew thick soles that boosted Brallace’s height another inch, and his feet sank into comfortable gel inserts that instantly made him feel better, since he spent so much time on his feet. He was too caught up in his own pleasure to feel new black athletic socks stretch up to the top of his calves, far taller than he liked to wear them.

He wore out plenty of socks thanks to his huge calves, but it was the price you paid when you were built like Brallace. Clothes just didn't last as long when they were strung tightly over bloated bulges of muscle that surrounded his body. He thought of the other week and how he'd had to toss a pair of his slacks because they'd worn down on the inner thighs from rubbing up against each other so much. As he remembered that, the change spread over his legs, the torn strips of fabric billowing back out, coalescing into dark fabric that clung to his quads and hamstrings, that had to work overtime to wrap around his boulderous glutes.

He kept holding his huge cock, stroking it. Yeah, he needed this. It was like clockwork. He'd see a young thing walking down the street, maybe showing a hint of cleavage or wearing a skirt that was a little shorter than normal and that's all it took. He filed the memory away for moments like now, when he'd call them back up for service. Fuck, his libido had been more trouble than it'd been worth over the years. He always was down to fuck, to blow a load. He couldn't turn down an opportunity when it presented itself, and when you looked like Brallace did, the opportunities were plentiful. He’d fucked up so many times that when he needed some extra spending money, he’d taken an after-hours job as a doorman at a gay club, figuring that would get rid of the temptation. But that meant every night, he was seeing big bodybuilders - big bodybuilders who loved to flirt with him while he checked their IDs, no matter how tough he acted. They’d unbutton his shirt, tell him he was handsome, call him ‘Daddy’ and ‘sir,’ and they were so fucking hot and so horny for him that it was only a matter of time before he started taking home a hot muscle slut each night.

Why the heck were they calling him Daddy, anyway...he was still in high school, after all. His OWN dad was only in his forties. Shit, Dad...he really needed to finish up here and go talk to his old man, remind him that it was important to register visitors and answer your phone when security was calling. So Brallace spread his strokes, his moans drowning out the jangle his keyring made when a new black leather belt snaked through them, hoisting his pants up higher, though the buckle remained undone since his fly was still open. A walkie-talkie materialized on his left hip, its static crackle echoing through the bathroom. Brallace’s upper body was bent forward and tensed, allowing his muscles to grow further through his torn t-shirt. Beads of sweat popped out across his wrinkled brow.

Something... something was preventing him from climaxing. His brow furrowed and he grunted, trying to push through it. His thoughts wandered to memories of marrying his high school sweetheart, of fucking her like the powerful bull he was, making several strong boys as he worked for the police, collaring criminals, cleaning the streets, roughing up dirtbags before blowing off steam after his shifts fucking around with some of the cute wives in their suburban neighborhood, seeing one or two boys that seemed to have his eyes, catching the eye of a cute young thing at the gym and getting head from her in the parking lot after, his boys' teachers playing footsie with him during parent-teacher conferences leading to trysts in the janitor's closet. He felt a little guilty about them, and didn't blame his wife for eventually divorcing him after the kids were grown. He'd always been too much man for one woman... or just for women, as he'd realized after taking up that bouncing job.

Yeah, different partners gave him different pleasures, he philosophized as he continued stroking his prodigious meat at the urinal. Precum dripping down his fingers and onto the tiled floor. Women were small and soft and it was good to be gentle with them and dote on them. Men were big and hard and gruff and he didn't have to worry about bruising a furry powerlifter as he gripped the back of his head and used his throat like a cock sleeve in the alley behind the gay bar.

He didn’t mean to flirt, really. He had an easy smile, and that combined with his sheer physical size got him a lot of attention. His clothes were tight because he was so big, showing off his big package, his huge chest. He remembered his ex-wife’s annoyed sigh when his shirt’s top buttons snapped off in the car on the way to a parent-teacher conference, and his son’s teacher spent the whole time ogling the gigantic muscle jugs bursting out of Brallace’s half-open shirt. His son’s MALE teacher.

Come to think of it, his shirt was like that today, too. More open than regulation allowed, but the top brass always looked the other way. Brallace liked the three-open look so that he could breathe more freely. His shirt was still completing its transformation into a dark blue short-sleeved button down as he looked down at it, but by then the changes had gone to his back where he couldn’t see them, as the fabric thickened into bulky polyester that could resist tearing. The buttons were large and taut, digging into his belly, the one at the base of his pecs visibly buckling from their weight. The points of his brand new shirt collar erupted up around his neck, and since he didn’t have much of one to speak of, the top of the collar fold almost brushed his earlobes. Even if he wanted to close the top of this shirt, he couldn’t. But he didn’t want to, Brallace thought, fondling his nipples. He loved showing off.

He heard footsteps drawing near to the bathroom door, so with a disappointed grunt, he hefted his massive cock into his briefs and tucked his shirt in, buckling his belt and zipping his fly just as a janitor walked in with his cart behind.

“Hey, Brallace,” the janitor said.

“Afternoon, Larry,” Brallace smiled, getting some hand sanitizer from a dispenser as he headed for the door.

“Growing your hair out?” the janitor asked.

“Hm?”

“Your hair. It’s real long.”

Brallace’s long white hair hung around his face, but since none of it was in his eyes, he didn’t see it. “Nah. Always like to keep it short,” he said as he adjusted himself through his pants, his mustache twitching upward in a smile as he walked out the door and left the confused janitor behind him.

“Now where’s Dad’s office,” he mumbled, trying to remember which floor he was on. They all looked the same but had slightly different layouts. It had been real confusing when he’d first started, but he’d gotten the hang of it pretty quick.

It sucked that he hadn't gotten a chance to tug one off back there, but he knew he could always finish himself off after the task at hand, so to speak. Plus, it was kinda hot to feel his big prick, almost too big to contain, shoved into his slacks and feeling it squeezed between his two thunder thighs, he thought to himself, a satisfied smirk under his mustache.

He decided to follow the room numbers to keep from getting lost, as there was a system to that. He liked systems, relied on them. It's why he joined the police after graduating high school. He liked order and wanted to enforce it. After serving over 40 years on the force, he'd finally had to retire - they gave him a real nice watch, which he wore every day - and he’d decided to go into private security. He was prevented from finishing that train of thought when he came across the familiar office number, with his father's name on front. He knocked on the door with his big ham of a fist. "You in there, Lucas?" he boomed in his powerful voice before opening the door anyways. He had authority. He didn't need permission to enter an office.

He’d opened this door a lot, and it was almost always the same scene it was today: his dad in his office chair, back to the door, legs up on a small table by the wall while he talked on the phone. The only thing that felt different today was that the room felt smaller, which struck Brallace as odd. But he didn’t think much of it as he eased down in his usual chair, spreading his legs wide so his muscle gut didn’t rest on top of them. The chair’s legs visibly bowed as he maneuvered his bulk into it, but it held.

The office’s TV was turned to some boring news show with the volume down. A counterterrorism expert was being interviewed, and though Brallace couldn’t hear what was being said, he watched anyway, reading the closed captioning. The man onscreen had short, thick hair brushed upward like the bristles of a toothbrush, and as Brallace looked at it, his own hair replicated the style, shortening and thinning into a tidy, regimented style perfect for a man who lived by the book. With the white strands out of his face, the strength of his bone structure stood out: deep-set eyes, rocky cheekbones, and a wide, straight nose.

His father didn't seem quite as an authoritative figure as usual as he sat there, hastily attempting to cut the call he was on short. He wasn't very in shape, with a small belly that hung over his belt and a suit that wasn't very well-tailored for him. "No, I'll call you back, I have to deal with this," he told the unknown person on the other end of the call, finally clicking the end button. He set the phone down, took a deep breath and looked up into Brallace's eyes. "Any reason I’m getting a visit from downstairs?" he asked, his eyebrow arched curiously.

Brallace stood up and walked to the desk, his belly and pecs arriving there before he did. “Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, and his voice’s reverberation in the room reminded him of how deep it was. His dad shrugged, so Brallace continued, “We’ve been - I mean, security’s been - trying to call you. No answer, so I just came up.”

Misidentifying himself as security attracted a shiny gold shield to the front of his shirt. The pin materialized over his left pec, pushed slightly to the side by the mass of the muscle under it.

“Sorry about that, I’ve been on the phone.”

Brallace nodded. “Wish my men - I mean, THE men - downstairs had told me it was a busy signal.”

Another misstatement, another patch: this time an American flag on his left sleeve.

His dad shrugged again at that. "So you were trying to get a hold of me?" he asked, still wondering what the reason for this interruption was.

"Yeah!" Brallace barked out, before realizing how strange it seemed to be so informal. "Er, yes," he said in a more sedate tone. "You... you had... a visitor..." he stammered, trailing off, a look of confusion on his face. He'd tried to tell his dad that he was the visitor, but the words had died on his lips. He couldn't make them form the words, couldn't speak them. This was silly. He needed to just force it out. "Y-Y-Your son!" he finally said after a pregnant pause.

His father looked confused, too, but apparently for other reasons. "Well, where is he now? You didn't leave him downstairs, did you?"

"I'm right here!" Brallace barked out again, sweating a bit. He tended to get overheated in so much clothing, especially when he got worked up.

His father's eyes narrowed. "I know you are, Wallace. I'm asking where my son is."

Wallace nervously straightened the name badge that had appeared moments prior on his right pec. “Well, I...my guys had him downstairs, and he was a real pill,” Wallace said, using a phrase he’d never heard himself use before. “He -- I -- got onto the elevator without being seen, I guess.”

“Really tight ship you’re running here, Haynes,” his dad snarked.

Wallace’s face darkened. “We work very hard downstairs, sir,” he said quickly, right sleeve now proudly displaying the building security patch that completed his uniform.

“I know, I apologize, I’m just...aggravated, is all.”

“Well, he can’t have gotten far, he must be right under your nose,” Wallace said, attempting to tap into his police experience as a means of conveying who he was since his mouth wouldn’t let him say it. “Could you, could you uh...describe him?”

“Describe him? The kid you just saw?” Mr. Lucas said, but when he saw Wallace’s focused expression, he knew he wasn’t joking. “Uhm, fine, he’s white, obviously. 16 years old, about 5’4.”

“Small fry, got it,” Wallace nodded, putting his hands on his hips and tilting them forward to push his belly further out.

His dad was snapping his fingers as he spat out characteristics. “Blue eyes. Uh, big mustache.”

“White mustache, right?”

“Not quite. Used to be dark but it’s turned mostly white by now.”

Wallace stroked that same mustache as he always did when he was deep in thought. "What about the kid's hair? How's he style it?"

"Oh, he keeps it real short, he's a neat freak like that. Never lets it get more than like half an inch long up top," his dad said, describing hair like what was on top of Wallace's head now.

"Hm, yeah, I know the style," Wallace replied, running a big gorilla hand over his own head, the stiff bristles meeting his calloused palm. He was lucky he hadn't gone bald like so many of his friends on the force. "What's he wearing?"

"His uniform. Dark shirt and pants... the shirt has pleated pockets... uh, black dress shoes," his dad replied.

Wallace chuckled. "Snappy dresser. Awright, I think I got enough to go off of, Mr. Lucas. The boys'll let you know if we find your son." He headed for the door and stopped, then turned around. “One more thing...he’s got grandkids, right?”

“Yeah, two boys. Cash and Liam. Talks about ‘em nonstop. I’m sure there’s a lot more in his future, he’s got several sons.”

“So that would make you a great-grandpa?”

Mr. Lucas laughed. “Me? Nah, I’m too young.”

Wallace smiled. “Right, yes, of course sir. And what’s his name?”

“Wallace Haynes.”

“Good solid name. Thanks, sir.” Wallace tapped his hand against the doorframe and walked out, his belly barely clearing the side. He lumbered to the elevator, nodding at each employee as he walked past, who all recognized him as a regular presence in the building.

He’d have to tell Cash and Liam when he FaceTimed with them tonight that another guy had grandsons with those names too. He was sure Mr. Lucas’ son was a terrific grandpa, but there was no way that guy loved his grandsons more than Wallace loved his. As the elevator doors closed, Wallace once more expected to see a small, thin teenager looking back at him from the metallic reflection. Seeing himself as he was - a grizzled, huge man - stunned him. And the shock was enough to set the final changes into motion as the elevator descended back to the ground level, each floor that ticked by further drawing the former Braden Lucas into his new life as Wallace Haynes.

Wallace's vision blurred for a moment, making him wince as he reached instinctively for the pair of bifocals hanging off of his front chest pocket and put them on, his vision clearing up immediately. He could see his belly and pecs gaining some finishing touches, rounding out, becoming titanic testaments to his dedication in the gym. Even though he was too old for abs anymore, he still wanted to show the boys downstairs that he could whip them if he needed to, even if both Luis and Keith were taller than he was. They were young enough to be his kids, so he treated him like his boys, using a firm guiding hand and stern discipline to keep them in line and doing their job. Well, there were a few things he did with them that he didn't do with his real boys, he reminded himself with a chuckle, reaching down to adjust himself below the belt again and feeling his nuts swell out again. Fuck, he felt ready to burst.

He'd been running this security outfit for the past five years and he did a damn good job. He got good money in his retirement and that helped him live in a pretty nice house in the suburbs, where his sons and grandsons could visit him. Invariably, things led to roughhousing and so his decorating was spare, lest a vase get smashed from him wrestling with one of his grandsons.

His habits as a bit of a heartbreaker and homewrecker continued, as the bored housewives in his cul-de-sac couldn't keep away from the big, strong silver daddy that had moved in and was more than happy to give them what they wanted. Honestly, Wallace felt he was living a great life. He had the family he'd always wanted and the freedom he'd always needed. He was too much man to be pinned down, after all.

Wallace scanned his card and walked into his office, then stopped. “What the fuck?” Someone had been in there. There was a backpack on the floor, and dirty tupperware someone had eaten out of, which he quickly realized was supposed to be his lunch. “Goldilocks been in here,” Wallace muttered to himself. “So which bear do I punish…” He thought to the security desk...who was working today...oh right, Luis and Keith. Both fucking studs. Wallace sprang a boner as he thought about fucking one of ‘em.

He was glad he’d been given an excuse.

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[aardvarkia]

The Master of Magic

Words by Aardvark Illustrations by Theobromic

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“They didn’t have a ticket for him,” Jeremy heard the girl on the couches whispering. He kept his head down, eyes locked on his phone, but felt the heads turning to look at him. Jeremy knew it wasn’t a personal slight. He was the last student on the alphabetical list. At some point between sending the roster to the theater box office and the tickets being confirmed, “Jeremy Williams” got chopped off. It was an innocent mistake. His chaperone felt horrible. And none of that made Jeremy feel less shitty about it.

Jeremy was fine with his social status. He was introverted and fine with a small, tight circle of friends instead of everyone knowing his name. Everyone thought of him as the quiet kid, which was true. He was more of a listener. He didn’t like attention. But that didn’t mean he liked being the odd man out, either, and this class trip kept making him feel like one. He’d gotten roomed with guys he didn’t know instead of the friends he’d requested. He’d gotten to breakfast late and once again had to sit at a table where he knew no one. And now, he was going to a magic show alone.

That was the apologetic box office attendant’s solution: the magic show. The theater offered a complimentary ticket to the opening night of Magic & Might. They had one seat available, while the rest of Jeremy’s group - parents, chaperones, students - had tickets to Cirque du Soleil. There was a scramble when they realized they were a ticket short and it was Jeremy who didn’t have one. Two adults both volunteered to give Jeremy theirs, but he didn’t want to make it a big deal. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of being on his own for a couple hours, without having to be “on” socially. Since the theaters were in the same building, the adults okayed it as long as Jeremy agreed to watch his phone and meet the group at Guest Services immediately after.

That was the end of the kerfuffle, but for the next hour the rumors spread throughout the group: that the quiet kid was skipping the show, or that he’d lost his ticket, or that he’d purposely been left off the list. Jeremy tuned it out as best he could, chatting with his friends during the group dinner and insisting he was fine with the solution. But he felt so self-conscious knowing people were talking about him. He wanted to flip up the hood of his sweatshirt, pull his baseball cap over his eyes, and cinch the hoodie strings so tight they covered his face.

Finally, it was time to go to the show. Jeremy knew everyone would still be talking about him, but at least he wouldn’t have to listen to it. He promised his chaperones he’d turn his phone back on as soon as the show was out, and wouldn’t go outside until he met up with the group.

Since it was opening night of Magic & Might, Jeremy felt honored to be in the audience. He noticed that the people filing in were dressed nicer than the crowd for Cirque du Soleil - there were even some men in tuxes. There was a photo op where people could have their pictures taken by the poster, but Jeremy skipped it because he didn’t want to ask a stranger to take one of him. The poster was a black background with the words “MAGIC & MIGHT” made out of smoke and mystical blue sparks, and beneath the logo was a big gold banner that read “Opening Night!” It didn’t say anything about the show, and Jeremy hoped it wasn’t cheesy.

“Hi there,” said an usher as Jeremy walked in. “With anyone?”

“No, just me.”

The woman looked surprised but smiled as she took his ticket. Her eyebrows raised. “Quite a seat! Fourth row on the aisle! You must have friends in high places,” she said, leading Jeremy down to the front of the stage. She handed him a program, which Jeremy barely noticed because he was craning his neck to take in his surroundings. The theater was bigger than the ones back home, with three levels. “How many seats are in here?” he asked.

“About twelve-hundred,” she said. “Enjoy the show!”

Jeremy set his program on the ground and got on his phone. He tried googling things - “Magic & Might,” “Magic Might Vegas,” “What does magic might mean” - but could find nothing about the show he was about to see aside from press announcements and ticket links. Then he went to his photo reel to find pictures from the day that were suitable for posting. There weren’t many. Not that one…he didn’t like how skinny he looked, and his smile was weird…delete…next one, eyes closed, delete…next, pimple front and center, definitely delete. He didn’t care about social media as much as his peers but this trip felt like something worth commemorating. He finally landed on a good picture of him; it was a group shot, him and two of his friends and three girls from their class, all standing in front of the fountains. He wasn’t the shortest since he was next to girls, and his long bangs covered the breakout on his forehead. Perfect. That was the post.

“Remember, no phones during the show,” the same usher reminded him as she returned to seat another group. Jeremy just nodded. The service was so patchy in the theater that it wouldn’t matter much anyway. His texts weren’t going through, so he put his phone on airplane mode and played games to pass the time. He tuned in and out of the conversations around him - “is this going to be corny?”; “oooh, it says there will be strobe lights”; “Diane said he’s extremely handsome” - but noticed the theater was getting quite full. The buzz was palpable and helped Jeremy forget the circumstances that led him there. He just hoped for cool magic, nothing too kiddie.

A deep voice announced over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and turn off all cellular devices. The show is about to begin.” Jeremy put his phone away and sat back in his seat, watching the last stragglers hurry to their seats. He felt lucky to be near the action, especially since the show looked to be sold out. Maybe he was close enough to see how the tricks actually worked.

The lights went out with a loud crack of synthesized sound, making Jeremy jump in his seat. Audience members gave nervous titters around him. For several moments the theater was pitch black, with electronic underscoring ringing through the speakers. Then, the music sped up and became more epic - it reminded Jeremy of a war movie. Lasers and lights swirled around the proscenium, and then on the right of the stage was a blast of fire that revealed the silhouette of a man in front of it.

The audience cheered. The man could only be glimpsed before the flame died out, but a moment later, the same effect happened on the left of the stage, too much of a distance for the man to have covered in a few seconds. More cheering, and then the whole back of the stage erupted with flame - Jeremy felt the heat - and this time, the large black outline of the man didn’t go away, but walked dramatically toward the front of the stage as the lights and lasers swirled around him. When he got under the stage lights and could be fully seen, the women around Jeremy gasped. The man was shirtless and jacked to kingdom come. His shoulders rippled visibly as he swaggered to the front of the stage, biceps undulating under the skin as he flexed them. His legs were clad in a pair of leather pants tight enough to show the cuts of muscle through the material. He was fair with Nordic features, a swoop of gelled blond hair, and blue eyes that looked like they could shoot ice out over the audience.

The burly blond bodybuilder raised his hands in triumph, and the audience clapped. Jeremy had never seen a man so muscular in person, only on magazine covers. He was glad he wasn’t with his classmates, because he could just imagine them giggling and making rude comments about the guy.

“Good evening!” the man bellowed to more applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are in for the experience of a lifetime tonight, courtesy of the Master of Magic. You will not believe your eyes. Your belief in the very fabric of reality will be put to the test. There are no wires. There are no mirrors. There are no tricks up my sleeves,” he smirked, flexing his naked arms to feminine shrieks of joy from the audience. “TONIGHT! The Master of Magic invites you, his audience, into his world. All you have to do is…believe. Do you believe, Las Vegas?!”

The crowd, including Jeremy, responded yes.

“I am not the Master of Magic you all are here to see tonight. I am his humble assistant, Oliver.” Oliver had a posh British accent that made everything he said sound a tad snide. “And before the Master arrives himself, he has asked me to perform something of my own to set the mood. Will you indulge me, my friends?” Oliver thumped his beefy chest to roars from the crowd. “Thank you. For our first display of magic, I will require a participant from the audience.”

Hands shot up all around Jeremy, but he sat on his own and shrank down in his seat. The last thing he wanted was to go up on stage in front of over a thousand people. Thankfully, there were plenty of people volunteering all around him. A drumroll joined into the electronic underscoring as two spotlights searched the crowd, and then with a loud sting, they both locked on the same seat. Jeremy’s.

Jeremy went pale under the glare of the spotlights. He looked to his left, hoping that it was his neighbor who’d been selected. “Young man, come join me on stage, please,” Oliver boomed.

Jeremy shook his head. He hadn’t volunteered, he didn’t want to! He realized he’d been chosen because he was close to the stage and on the aisle - quick and accessible - and it annoyed him that he hadn’t noticed the risk of audience participation when he’d sat down. Oliver was still motioning for him, so Jeremy slowly stood up, the color draining out of him as he eased onto his feet. The crowd was cheering, but it just made him feel like throwing up.

Oliver extended a veiny hand that Jeremy shook limply. “Pleasure to meet you,” the buff Brit said. “Please inform the crowd of your name.”

“J-Jeremy.” Jeremy had never felt smaller inside the cavernous theater next to the most muscular man he’d ever seen.

“A bit louder?” Oliver leaned in, holding a handheld microphone closer.

“Jeremy. Jeremy Williams.”

“Applause for Mr. Jeremy Williams, everyone!”

More cheering. Jeremy forced a smile but felt bile rise in his throat when he looked out into the dark theater and saw how far away the back of it was.

“How old are you, Jeremy?”

“17,” Jeremy said, rounding up.

“Got a girlfriend?”

Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Uhm, no, I-”

“First time in Vegas?” Oliver interrupted. Jeremy only nodded, so Oliver asked another question: “First time at a magic show?”

“Yeah.”

“And to confirm, you and I have never met before?”

“No, never.” Jeremy realized the synth underscoring was holding one long, steady chord as he and Oliver spoke.

“And you are not a hired actor, correct?”

“Uhm, yes, correct,” Jeremy nodded, having trouble focusing on what Oliver was saying since he was so nervous. There was something familiar about Oliver’s voice - maybe he’d heard it on a commercial? He couldn’t place it, but he recognized it.

Oliver rested his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I think he’s a little nervous, everyone. Can we get a cheer going for Jeremy? JER-E-MY, JER-E-MY!” The audience took the prompt and kept going as Oliver bellowed over them. “Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to see is not a nightly occurrence! This is not a standard Vegas trick! This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment - real magic, right before your eyes! Jeremy Williams! Are you ready?!”

“I, uh…” Jeremy looked over at Oliver, who was backing away, arms outstretched and palms facing forward. Jeremy wondered if he was supposed to walk with the assistant, but his nerves kept him rooted to his spot, knees knocking together. Finally, he nodded. Oliver rotated his hands palms up and tensed his fingers, then threw a wink Jeremy’s way.

When Jeremy saw the wink, he felt better. His legs stopped shaking and he smiled at Oliver, who smiled back. But Oliver’s smile seemed to be getting further away, somehow… Jeremy’s stomach dropped like it did before going over a rollercoaster, and then he heard murmurs and gasps from the crowd, along with claps scattered throughout the theater. Had the trick even started yet?

Jeremy suddenly jolted when he realized his feet weren’t touching anything. He looked down and gasped in shock. He was floating several feet above the stage, and still rising. “Hey! Hey!” he yelped, shaking his limbs wildly. There was nothing to grab onto, and nowhere safe to land if he fell.

“Not real…” Jeremy whispered under his breath, his voice squeaky and airless. “This isn’t real–” He shot forward ten feet, suddenly no longer hovering over the stage, but the audience themselves. People in the front two rows turned around to look up at him. Jeremy hoped he was floating back down to his seat - that would be quite an effective trick, and he had no idea how this was being done - but instead, he rose even higher, reaching twenty feet in the air. He could see the eyes of the people in the first balcony.

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