A Collection of Stories Where Men of All Shapes and Sizes Become the Super Nerds We WIsh We Were. Some Original Content, Some Reblogs. Please feel free to submit!
The Vinyls assembled as they did every Saturday at Dax’s loft on the southside. With a huge beard, big plugs, and beautiful tattoos. Dax was one of the most charismatic and handsome frontmen in the local music scene and the epitome of hipster style. His bassist, Vince, had mastered heroin chic, his tank top drooping off his tiny frame, his super skinny jeans hugging his legs. On drums was Julian, tan, muscular, classically handsome but with an edge. Their combination of raw talent and good looks had them playing bigger and bigger shows every week. Infamy was just around the corner.
Incredible art by the extremely talented @buzztoons. Follow him, give him some love, and commission something you nerds!
For those of you who know me, you know over the past few months I’ve gone from WANTING to live like a nerd to ACTUALLY doing it. I wanted to talk about that here.
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a nerd. Maybe it was being raised during Urkelmania, or watching Saved by the Bell, or catching Revenge of the Nerds one too many times. But the one constant in my life is that I’ve always wanted to be a complete nerd stereotype.
As a kid, I would dress up as a nerd, make my own suspenders, even steal my dad’s glasses to dress up and pretend like that’s who I was. But I could never make it happen. I could never get the balls up to actually leave the house dressed like a geek.
Chet hadn’t wanted to rent the room but he didn’t really have much of a choice. His lease at his old place was up and his coffeeshop was closed due to the quarantine. If he didn’t find a place soon, he would be out on the street just as everything went into long term shut down. So when he saw the ad for the single bedroom with food included, he jumped at the chance.
Of course, this was not an ideal situation for him. Mr. Gunderson, the man renting the room, was definitely kind of a fuddy duddy. He wore a tie every day and kept his hair in a rigid flat top haircut, the kind of haircut worn by NASA engineers in the 1950s. Dotted around the house were pictures of Mr. Gunderson’s son Gilbert who looked like a miniature version of Mr. Gunderson. Mr. Gunderson, a barber whose shop was now closed due to the quarantine, seemed to keep his son’s hair to the same precise specs as his own and the two had flat tops precise enough to set their watches too.
Gilbert was now away at MIT studying engineering, stranded in Massachusetts as the state had shut down, so Mr. Gunderson had cleared the remainder of his stuff out of his old bedroom and rented it out. Now it was Chet’s. There was always a look of chagrin on Mr. Gunderson’s face when he caught Chet’s decor through the cracked door. Album covers on the wall, some weird creepy art, the perpetually unmade bed. But the thing that bugged Mr. Gunderson the most was Chet’s grooming.
His hair fell in long cascading curves of a super hip undercut. It had been dyed slime green though now the roots were well grown out. Chet kept a scraggly beard and wore ripped jeans and band t-shirts. Mr. Gunderson shuddered whenever he heard him practicing his guitar through the door, imagining him bopping along and tossing those green curls around casually.
Frank never thought he’d be the kind of guy who would look forward to his high school reunion, but the past decade had been great to Frank. He had become the kind of successful, fit, and stylish man that anyone would be thrilled to be, a far cry from his days at Albany High School. As his rideshare coasted along from the hotel, he winced as he remembered what his life had been like back then.
A scrawny and gangly teen, Frank had never had many friends. Virtually devoid of style, Frank had gone to school every day in a tie and pocket protector. He didn’t really know any better and since he was raised by his grandfather, an old school engineer, it just seemed like the normal way for men to dress. His classmates didn’t agree, and would rag on his style daily. Since leaving high school however, Frank had been hitting the gym hard to gain a physique that all the men down at the local gay bar drooled over. And he had studied up on fashion and style, curating a wardrobe that regularly got him compliments on the street.
His dweeby style and scrawny figure were just the tip of the iceberg for Frank’s time at Albany High. Frank suffered the double whammy of extremely bad vision and crooked teeth. Every yearbook photo was worse than the last as the glasses got thicker and his braces stayed clunky. By senior year, his orthodontist had recommended headgear for the final year of treatment and Frank’s final yearbook photo was a true horror: a tangle of metal and straps with his pleading eyes behind two fishbowl lenses that made him look pathetic. Of course now, Frank had a perfect smile and after lasik, deep beautiful green eyes that you just wanted to fall into.
The worst of it had been his nickname in high school: Farting Francis. Frank now knew all about celiac disease, lactose intolerance and irritable bowel syndrome, but back in high school, he was plagued with flatulence so severe, it ruined what little chance of a social life he had. He couldn’t make it through a single class without ripping a fart so loud that the entire class would burst into laughter. Of course now he knew about his conditions and how to eat right (an added bonus of his newfound emphasis on healthy living) but the memories of four long years of being called Farting Francis stayed with him.
Frank gazed at his reflection in the car window as the rideshare coasted along the road. He really had come so far in so many ways. He knew his old classmates would hardly recognize him and would be shocked to see how much of a man he had become. The week before the reunion, Frank had looked up Blake Denvers, his old high school bully. Blake had made his life hell, coining the term “Farting Francis” and ensuring that Frank spent most afternoons dangling by his undies on the fence outside the school for everyone to laugh at on their way home. After some cybersleuthing, it seemed like Blake had mellowed way out. He was married now, with kids, and had a modest job at an insurance company. Still, Frank was excited to show Blake how much he had changed. Hell, Frank was sure he was way cooler than Blake now, a fact that brought him no small satisfaction.
“Heading to the high school reunion?” the driver piped up, scaring Frank.
“I am,” Frank said, trying to not appear too interested in conversation. He hated it when these rideshare drivers tried to make small talk.
“Lots of folks headed that way tonight,” the driver said. “I’ve already taken a few.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a long night ahead of you,” Frank said.
“Oh not really,” said the driver. “You’re my last ride of the night actually. I’ll be attending the reunion as well.”
“But why would you…” Frank began before trailing off.
“It’s ok, nobody else remembered me either,” said the driver. “But I’m surprised you didn’t, Francis.”
“Hey buddy, it’s Frank”
“Well it wasn’t when we were in school together.” The driver looked back at the rear view mirror, catching Frank’s gaze. There was something familiar about the driver, his voice, and the thick glasses peering back at Frank.
“Albert?” Frank asked.
“Oh so now you remember me, Francis,” he said. As he uttered the word “Francis,” Frank felt a sharp pain in between his eyes, as if the memory of being called that was too much to bear.
Albert had been Frank’s only friend in high school, the only person who could tolerate the social pariah that Frank was, if only because he was equally pathetic by the school’s standards. Albert was a true four-eyed dweeb: obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons and truly devoid of any fashion sense. Frank and Albert would eat lunch together every day as they endured the mocking stares of the other students. It didn’t bother Albert as much; he said life was better as a nerd anyways. But now Frank was cool and hot and Albert was a four-eyed dweeb driving people around for a living so Frank wasn’t so sure that nerd life was really that much better.
The two of them had drifted apart after graduation. Frank embarked on his quest for self improvement while Albert just stayed mired in his extreme nerdiness, going beyond his love of D&D into larping and engrossing himself in a more intense world of fantasy and magic. As Frank got cooler, Albert just served as a reminder of the nerd he used to be… the kind of man who repulsed him now. Within a year, the two had fallen out of contact.
“I’m not surprised,” Albert said as he took a right turn. “I mean you haven’t contacted me in years, even though I was your only friend in high school.”
“Albert I’m really sorry,” Frank said. “I just… you know, people drift apart.”
“Yeah especially when one of them decides he needs to change to be happy,” Albert snorted. “I get it. You’re cool now. Hot. One of the in crowd. And I’m just a reminder of your dorky past. Well, you know, it wasn’t easy being your friend, Francis.” The splitting pain hit Frank right between the eyes again. “You think it was fun hanging out with the guy known for farting all the time? I put up with a lot!”
“I know you did, Albert,” Frank started. “I mean it, I’m really sorry.”
“Sure you are. You know, while you were off changing yourself to be cool, I stayed here. I got into larping and magic and the occult, and I changed, too. I learned some things. Including something I’ve been eager to show you. High school reunions are so good for reconnecting, and I’m so excited to reconnect with my old friend Francis.”
The pain shot through Frank’s head once again, more severe than before.
“You know there’s a lot of power in a name, old friend. Mystical power. And I know how to channel it now. So it’s time for me to use that power to bring back the guy we all knew from high school, Francis.”
The pain in Frank’s head shifted downward into his guts. They churned and roiled with agony. Oh god, this can’t be happening, Frank thought. But suddenly and without any control, he ripped a loud fart in the back of the car.
“I’m so sorry,” Frank said, blushing.
“Oh it’s too late to be sorry,” said Albert. “Though I’m sure you will feel that way regardless, Francis.”
Frank hunched in pain and let out another loud fart. This wasn’t right. He had been so strict and careful with his diet. But as he ripped the fart, his memories seemed to divide. On the one hand there was the Frank who had learned to manage his conditions and limit his flatulence. But another memory appeared of Francis, the farting dweeb who never figured it out. And that memory was becoming stronger.
“There he is,” smirked Albert, “My old friend Farting Francis.”
Frank let loose a giant PHBBBBBBBT! as the stench of his gas filled the car. As he did, he felt his body begin to shift. Were his clothes hanging looser? He glanced down in horror as he watched his meaty pecs deflate and shrink into his chest. The biceps he had worked so hard for were suddenly the thin twigs he had had a decade before. Frank farted again and his powerful thighs shriveled as well. Frank couldn’t believe it. All that hard work… gone! He was just as scrawny has he had been when he graduated.
“Albert please,” Frank pleaded. “You have to stop this.”
“That’s not possible,” Albert laughed. “After all, I have to ensure you’re dressed properly for the reunion, Francis.”
Frank couldn’t hold it in any more and another huge fart ripped forth. As it did, he noticed his now-loose jeans start to tighten. The fabric changed from denim to a polyester yellow plaid as the waist of the pants rose up his body and stopped at his ribs. But Frank knew he was going to fart again.
PHBBBBBBBT!
His cashmere sweater turned pale blue as the soft fabric turned into extremely stiff, starched broadcloth. Buttons and a collar appeared. Soon the entire sweater had turned into a short sleeve button down shirt, just like he used to wear in high school.
“You’re starting to look like yourself, pal. And I promise with each fart, it will become even more familiar, Francis.”
PHBBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and a geeky yellow bow tie appeared around his neck.
PHBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and a bulging overloaded white vinyl pocket protector appeared in his shirt pocket.
PHBBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and bright red suspenders hooked onto the pants and pulled them up even higher on his now scrawny frame.
PHBBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and shiny black orthopedic shoes appeared on his feet with thick white socks.
He couldn’t believe it. He was dressed just like the loser he used to be in high school. Mostly, at least.
“Wow buddy, you’re looking like your old self,” said Albert. “Well… almost, Francis.”
Frank’s guts churned as he ripped truly one of the worst farts he could remember. The smell was thick and horrible but the worst part was what changed about him afterwards. He felt a tightness on his teeth as the familiar sensation of metal wove itself throughout his mouth. It spread outward as headgear appeared on his now extremely greasy hair and attached to the braces. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, he was stuck in braces again. He glanced at his reflection, remembering the smile he had charmed all those boys with at the gay bar. Now, he just saw orthodontic metal attached to crooked teeth smiling back.
“You’re almost there, pal. I promise we’re getting close to the school and your triumphant return, Francis.”
Frank knew what to expect at this point but it didn’t make it easier. As he ripped a gigantic fart, he felt a heavy pressure on his ears and nose. He knew what it was but he didn’t want to look. Regardless, he glanced at his reflection and saw his old clunky black glasses with the giant fishbowl lenses. Except these were worse, they were thicker. After all, this Frank had never had lasik. Ten extra years of extreme farsightedness made the lenses huger than Frank had thought possible. It was clear these glasses were tough to replace, too, as they were held together in a few places with white masking tape. The prescription made his eyes even bigger than they’d ever looked, which magnified the tears he was fighting back.
“Pleashe,” he begged, nasally lisping through his headgear. “Pleashe Albert, I’m not shupposhed to be like thish anymore. I have a new life now!”
“I know you think you do,” Albert said with a grin. “So let me really drive things home for you, Francis Francis FRANCIS!!!!”
The pressure inside Frank’s guts increased and he begin farting nonstop. He farted, and his memories of working out in college evaporated, replaced with playing D&D with the other nerds. He farted, and the faces of all the men he had bedded became hazy. That’s right, he still hadn’t lost his virginity. Frank knew this wasn’t right. He still had the memories of his real life in the back of his mind. He knew if he could just make it back to his designer loft in the city, he could rebuild and get his life back on track.
PHBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBT!
He farted, and his memories of his cool loft in the city disappeared. He had never lived in the city now. He remembered graduating college but instead of getting a good job and moving to New York, he had ended up renting a room in the basement of Albert’s parents’ house. He had been so thrilled to get to spend so much time with his best friend, playing Dungeons and Dragons, watching Star Trek, and getting to be with the only person who could tolerate his appearance and flatulence. He saw them eating Doritos and pizza as they painted miniatures, unaware that that diet was the cause of his severe flatulence. Frank KNEW he had spent the past ten years living a different life, but now these memories became more present. He could remember his life as a cool, successful stud, but he knew that this second set of memories were now the real ones.
Albert shifted the car into park and Frank panicked.
“Here we are, pal. Our ten year high school reunion. Ready to see all our old classmates?”
“Albert pleashe, jusht turn the car around and let’sh go home!”
“We can do that later buddy,” Albert said as he walked over to open Frank’s door. “I really think people need to see the man you are today.” Frank meekly exited the car, with a loud fart. This was really who he was now. It was who had been the whole time.
He fidgeted nervously with his suspenders as Albert led him to the school gymnasium. He shuffled meekly in his clunky shoes, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. All the effort he had put into changing himself for the better–gone.
“Here we go,” Albert said as he pushed the double doors to the gym open and shoved Frank through. He stumbled over his own feet and entered the gym with a trumpeting fart so loud and long that the DJ stopped playing music as everyone turned their attention to Frank. He blushed, and farted again. Everyone stared in silence for a moment until a voice rang out.
“Holy shit, Farting Francis is here!?”
Frank scanned the room as he squinted through his massive glasses and found the source: his old bully, Blake Denvers. Just a few hours ago, Frank had been, well, superior to Blake. Hotter, fitter, cooler, and richer. But now, he was just Farting Francis again.
“Hey everyone!” Blake called out. “It’s Farting Francis!” The entire gymnasium burst into laughter as Frank cast his gaze downward and started farting again. Blake walked over to him.
“P.U. Francis! I see your farts have gotten much worse. I thought I had seen on Instagram that you had toned up and learned how to dress but I guess I was mistaken. You’re still the same dork you always were.”
Frank wanted to fight back. That wasn’t true. He had been cool, hot, sexy even! But who would believe him now? He just had to accept his fate.
“It’sh good to shee you too, Blake,” Frank said in a nasal tone, as he clumsily pushed his taped up glasses up his nose.
“You know, I’ve really mellowed out over the past few years but what say we do this one more time, you know, for old time’s sake!” Blake spun Frank around and reached his hands down Frank’s highwaisted plaid slacks. Frank felt Blake’s hairy mitts grab the waistband of his tighty whiteys and pull them up in a painful wedgie. Frank yelped in agony but everyone laughed. Everyone except Albert who just watched, smirked, and shook his head. This is who you’ve always been, Frank could imagine him saying to him. And at this point, it was true.
Blake scanned the room as he easily carried the now scrawny Frank by his waistband. As Frank squinted through his glasses and took the gymnasium in, he realized what Blake was looking for. All throughout the reunion hung enlarged prints of everyone’s senior photos. He could see other classmates taking pictures to next to theirs, to show off how much they’d changed. How nice for them. And then he saw his. Closer and closer as Blake marched him towards it, dragging him by his own underwear.
With a heave, Blake hooked Frank’s tighty whiteys from the bleachers next to his senior portrait. There he was as he was in high school, with thick glasses, greasy hair, headgear and braces, and dorky clothes. And here he was now, with thicker glasses, greasier hair, headgear and braces, and dorky clothes.
But he had changed. He had changed so much and worked so hard for that change. But Albert had undone it all in a night. Frank felt the weight of his thick glasses, the tightness of his plaid pants and tie, the heft of his pocket protector. As he dangled there, he let out another huge fart as the stench washed over him. That old familiar scent that he’d be stuck with his whole life; the scent that earned him his nickname; the debilitating extreme flatulence that would keep him as a pathetic virgin nerd who stunk forever. He wasn’t Frank anymore; maybe he never had been. He was just Farting Francis, and that was never going to change.
It's never too late to return to your nerdy ways. Become a nerd at the Nerdification Discord.
Frank never thought he’d be the kind of guy who would look forward to his high school reunion, but the past decade had been great to Frank. He had become the kind of successful, fit, and stylish man that anyone would be thrilled to be, a far cry from his days at Albany High School. As his rideshare coasted along from the hotel, he winced as he remembered what his life had been like back then.
A scrawny and gangly teen, Frank had never had many friends. Virtually devoid of style, Frank had gone to school every day in a tie and pocket protector. He didn’t really know any better and since he was raised by his grandfather, an old school engineer, it just seemed like the normal way for men to dress. His classmates didn’t agree, and would rag on his style daily. Since leaving high school however, Frank had been hitting the gym hard to gain a physique that all the men down at the local gay bar drooled over. And he had studied up on fashion and style, curating a wardrobe that regularly got him compliments on the street.
His dweeby style and scrawny figure were just the tip of the iceberg for Frank’s time at Albany High. Frank suffered the double whammy of extremely bad vision and crooked teeth. Every yearbook photo was worse than the last as the glasses got thicker and his braces stayed clunky. By senior year, his orthodontist had recommended headgear for the final year of treatment and Frank’s final yearbook photo was a true horror: a tangle of metal and straps with his pleading eyes behind two fishbowl lenses that made him look pathetic. Of course now, Frank had a perfect smile and after lasik, deep beautiful green eyes that you just wanted to fall into.
The worst of it had been his nickname in high school: Farting Francis. Frank now knew all about celiac disease, lactose intolerance and irritable bowel syndrome, but back in high school, he was plagued with flatulence so severe, it ruined what little chance of a social life he had. He couldn’t make it through a single class without ripping a fart so loud that the entire class would burst into laughter. Of course now he knew about his conditions and how to eat right (an added bonus of his newfound emphasis on healthy living) but the memories of four long years of being called Farting Francis stayed with him.
Frank gazed at his reflection in the car window as the rideshare coasted along the road. He really had come so far in so many ways. He knew his old classmates would hardly recognize him and would be shocked to see how much of a man he had become. The week before the reunion, Frank had looked up Blake Denvers, his old high school bully. Blake had made his life hell, coining the term “Farting Francis” and ensuring that Frank spent most afternoons dangling by his undies on the fence outside the school for everyone to laugh at on their way home. After some cybersleuthing, it seemed like Blake had mellowed way out. He was married now, with kids, and had a modest job at an insurance company. Still, Frank was excited to show Blake how much he had changed. Hell, Frank was sure he was way cooler than Blake now, a fact that brought him no small satisfaction.
“Heading to the high school reunion?” the driver piped up, scaring Frank.
“I am,” Frank said, trying to not appear too interested in conversation. He hated it when these rideshare drivers tried to make small talk.
“Lots of folks headed that way tonight,” the driver said. “I’ve already taken a few.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a long night ahead of you,” Frank said.
“Oh not really,” said the driver. “You’re my last ride of the night actually. I’ll be attending the reunion as well.”
“But why would you…” Frank began before trailing off.
“It’s ok, nobody else remembered me either,” said the driver. “But I’m surprised you didn’t, Francis.”
“Hey buddy, it’s Frank”
“Well it wasn’t when we were in school together.” The driver looked back at the rear view mirror, catching Frank’s gaze. There was something familiar about the driver, his voice, and the thick glasses peering back at Frank.
“Albert?” Frank asked.
“Oh so now you remember me, Francis,” he said. As he uttered the word “Francis,” Frank felt a sharp pain in between his eyes, as if the memory of being called that was too much to bear.
Albert had been Frank’s only friend in high school, the only person who could tolerate the social pariah that Frank was, if only because he was equally pathetic by the school’s standards. Albert was a true four-eyed dweeb: obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons and truly devoid of any fashion sense. Frank and Albert would eat lunch together every day as they endured the mocking stares of the other students. It didn’t bother Albert as much; he said life was better as a nerd anyways. But now Frank was cool and hot and Albert was a four-eyed dweeb driving people around for a living so Frank wasn’t so sure that nerd life was really that much better.
The two of them had drifted apart after graduation. Frank embarked on his quest for self improvement while Albert just stayed mired in his extreme nerdiness, going beyond his love of D&D into larping and engrossing himself in a more intense world of fantasy and magic. As Frank got cooler, Albert just served as a reminder of the nerd he used to be… the kind of man who repulsed him now. Within a year, the two had fallen out of contact.
“I’m not surprised,” Albert said as he took a right turn. “I mean you haven’t contacted me in years, even though I was your only friend in high school.”
“Albert I’m really sorry,” Frank said. “I just… you know, people drift apart.”
“Yeah especially when one of them decides he needs to change to be happy,” Albert snorted. “I get it. You’re cool now. Hot. One of the in crowd. And I’m just a reminder of your dorky past. Well, you know, it wasn’t easy being your friend, Francis.” The splitting pain hit Frank right between the eyes again. “You think it was fun hanging out with the guy known for farting all the time? I put up with a lot!”
“I know you did, Albert,” Frank started. “I mean it, I’m really sorry.”
“Sure you are. You know, while you were off changing yourself to be cool, I stayed here. I got into larping and magic and the occult, and I changed, too. I learned some things. Including something I’ve been eager to show you. High school reunions are so good for reconnecting, and I’m so excited to reconnect with my old friend Francis.”
The pain shot through Frank’s head once again, more severe than before.
“You know there’s a lot of power in a name, old friend. Mystical power. And I know how to channel it now. So it’s time for me to use that power to bring back the guy we all knew from high school, Francis.”
The pain in Frank’s head shifted downward into his guts. They churned and roiled with agony. Oh god, this can’t be happening, Frank thought. But suddenly and without any control, he ripped a loud fart in the back of the car.
“I’m so sorry,” Frank said, blushing.
“Oh it’s too late to be sorry,” said Albert. “Though I’m sure you will feel that way regardless, Francis.”
Frank hunched in pain and let out another loud fart. This wasn’t right. He had been so strict and careful with his diet. But as he ripped the fart, his memories seemed to divide. On the one hand there was the Frank who had learned to manage his conditions and limit his flatulence. But another memory appeared of Francis, the farting dweeb who never figured it out. And that memory was becoming stronger.
“There he is,” smirked Albert, “My old friend Farting Francis.”
Frank let loose a giant PHBBBBBBBT! as the stench of his gas filled the car. As he did, he felt his body begin to shift. Were his clothes hanging looser? He glanced down in horror as he watched his meaty pecs deflate and shrink into his chest. The biceps he had worked so hard for were suddenly the thin twigs he had had a decade before. Frank farted again and his powerful thighs shriveled as well. Frank couldn’t believe it. All that hard work… gone! He was just as scrawny has he had been when he graduated.
“Albert please,” Frank pleaded. “You have to stop this.”
“That’s not possible,” Albert laughed. “After all, I have to ensure you’re dressed properly for the reunion, Francis.”
Frank couldn’t hold it in any more and another huge fart ripped forth. As it did, he noticed his now-loose jeans start to tighten. The fabric changed from denim to a polyester yellow plaid as the waist of the pants rose up his body and stopped at his ribs. But Frank knew he was going to fart again.
PHBBBBBBBT!
His cashmere sweater turned pale blue as the soft fabric turned into extremely stiff, starched broadcloth. Buttons and a collar appeared. Soon the entire sweater had turned into a short sleeve button down shirt, just like he used to wear in high school.
“You’re starting to look like yourself, pal. And I promise with each fart, it will become even more familiar, Francis.”
PHBBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and a geeky yellow bow tie appeared around his neck.
PHBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and a bulging overloaded white vinyl pocket protector appeared in his shirt pocket.
PHBBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and bright red suspenders hooked onto the pants and pulled them up even higher on his now scrawny frame.
PHBBBBBBT!
Frank farted, and shiny black orthopedic shoes appeared on his feet with thick white socks.
He couldn’t believe it. He was dressed just like the loser he used to be in high school. Mostly, at least.
“Wow buddy, you’re looking like your old self,” said Albert. “Well… almost, Francis.”
Frank’s guts churned as he ripped truly one of the worst farts he could remember. The smell was thick and horrible but the worst part was what changed about him afterwards. He felt a tightness on his teeth as the familiar sensation of metal wove itself throughout his mouth. It spread outward as headgear appeared on his now extremely greasy hair and attached to the braces. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, he was stuck in braces again. He glanced at his reflection, remembering the smile he had charmed all those boys with at the gay bar. Now, he just saw orthodontic metal attached to crooked teeth smiling back.
“You’re almost there, pal. I promise we’re getting close to the school and your triumphant return, Francis.”
Frank knew what to expect at this point but it didn’t make it easier. As he ripped a gigantic fart, he felt a heavy pressure on his ears and nose. He knew what it was but he didn’t want to look. Regardless, he glanced at his reflection and saw his old clunky black glasses with the giant fishbowl lenses. Except these were worse, they were thicker. After all, this Frank had never had lasik. Ten extra years of extreme farsightedness made the lenses huger than Frank had thought possible. It was clear these glasses were tough to replace, too, as they were held together in a few places with white masking tape. The prescription made his eyes even bigger than they’d ever looked, which magnified the tears he was fighting back.
“Pleashe,” he begged, nasally lisping through his headgear. “Pleashe Albert, I’m not shupposhed to be like thish anymore. I have a new life now!”
“I know you think you do,” Albert said with a grin. “So let me really drive things home for you, Francis Francis FRANCIS!!!!”
The pressure inside Frank’s guts increased and he begin farting nonstop. He farted, and his memories of working out in college evaporated, replaced with playing D&D with the other nerds. He farted, and the faces of all the men he had bedded became hazy. That’s right, he still hadn’t lost his virginity. Frank knew this wasn’t right. He still had the memories of his real life in the back of his mind. He knew if he could just make it back to his designer loft in the city, he could rebuild and get his life back on track.
PHBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBT!
He farted, and his memories of his cool loft in the city disappeared. He had never lived in the city now. He remembered graduating college but instead of getting a good job and moving to New York, he had ended up renting a room in the basement of Albert’s parents’ house. He had been so thrilled to get to spend so much time with his best friend, playing Dungeons and Dragons, watching Star Trek, and getting to be with the only person who could tolerate his appearance and flatulence. He saw them eating Doritos and pizza as they painted miniatures, unaware that that diet was the cause of his severe flatulence. Frank KNEW he had spent the past ten years living a different life, but now these memories became more present. He could remember his life as a cool, successful stud, but he knew that this second set of memories were now the real ones.
Albert shifted the car into park and Frank panicked.
“Here we are, pal. Our ten year high school reunion. Ready to see all our old classmates?”
“Albert pleashe, jusht turn the car around and let’sh go home!”
“We can do that later buddy,” Albert said as he walked over to open Frank’s door. “I really think people need to see the man you are today.” Frank meekly exited the car, with a loud fart. This was really who he was now. It was who had been the whole time.
He fidgeted nervously with his suspenders as Albert led him to the school gymnasium. He shuffled meekly in his clunky shoes, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. All the effort he had put into changing himself for the better–gone.
“Here we go,” Albert said as he pushed the double doors to the gym open and shoved Frank through. He stumbled over his own feet and entered the gym with a trumpeting fart so loud and long that the DJ stopped playing music as everyone turned their attention to Frank. He blushed, and farted again. Everyone stared in silence for a moment until a voice rang out.
“Holy shit, Farting Francis is here!?”
Frank scanned the room as he squinted through his massive glasses and found the source: his old bully, Blake Denvers. Just a few hours ago, Frank had been, well, superior to Blake. Hotter, fitter, cooler, and richer. But now, he was just Farting Francis again.
“Hey everyone!” Blake called out. “It’s Farting Francis!” The entire gymnasium burst into laughter as Frank cast his gaze downward and started farting again. Blake walked over to him.
“P.U. Francis! I see your farts have gotten much worse. I thought I had seen on Instagram that you had toned up and learned how to dress but I guess I was mistaken. You’re still the same dork you always were.”
Frank wanted to fight back. That wasn’t true. He had been cool, hot, sexy even! But who would believe him now? He just had to accept his fate.
“It’sh good to shee you too, Blake,” Frank said in a nasal tone, as he clumsily pushed his taped up glasses up his nose.
“You know, I’ve really mellowed out over the past few years but what say we do this one more time, you know, for old time’s sake!” Blake spun Frank around and reached his hands down Frank’s highwaisted plaid slacks. Frank felt Blake’s hairy mitts grab the waistband of his tighty whiteys and pull them up in a painful wedgie. Frank yelped in agony but everyone laughed. Everyone except Albert who just watched, smirked, and shook his head. This is who you’ve always been, Frank could imagine him saying to him. And at this point, it was true.
Blake scanned the room as he easily carried the now scrawny Frank by his waistband. As Frank squinted through his glasses and took the gymnasium in, he realized what Blake was looking for. All throughout the reunion hung enlarged prints of everyone’s senior photos. He could see other classmates taking pictures to next to theirs, to show off how much they’d changed. How nice for them. And then he saw his. Closer and closer as Blake marched him towards it, dragging him by his own underwear.
With a heave, Blake hooked Frank’s tighty whiteys from the bleachers next to his senior portrait. There he was as he was in high school, with thick glasses, greasy hair, headgear and braces, and dorky clothes. And here he was now, with thicker glasses, greasier hair, headgear and braces, and dorky clothes.
But he had changed. He had changed so much and worked so hard for that change. But Albert had undone it all in a night. Frank felt the weight of his thick glasses, the tightness of his plaid pants and tie, the heft of his pocket protector. As he dangled there, he let out another huge fart as the stench washed over him. That old familiar scent that he’d be stuck with his whole life; the scent that earned him his nickname; the debilitating extreme flatulence that would keep him as a pathetic virgin nerd who stunk forever. He wasn’t Frank anymore; maybe he never had been. He was just Farting Francis, and that was never going to change.
It's never too late to return to your nerdy ways. Become a nerd at the Nerdification Discord.
Derek was furious. Last night had been his 21st birthday and what should have been a blast had been ruined by all the jerks at that gay bar. “Boyfriend twins!” The taunt rung through his mind. Nobody had ever made fun of him and Arjun before! They didn’t even look that similar. After all, Derek might be tan but he could never be compared to Arjun. Sure they had both been wearing Abercrombie shirts and khakis in nearly the same hue, but lots of people dressed like that! And besides, Derek though their matching sneakers were cute.
And yet, when they walked into that one queer bar in town, the hipsters all turned to them and immediately started laughing. The door guy asked if they were clones and the bartender asked if there was a 2-for-1 special at the Abercrombie shop. Like they were so cool just because they had piercings and tattoos! That didn’t make them unique! There were plenty of hipster “boyfriend twins” in that bar and nobody gave them any guff!
Regardless, Derek couldn’t stop fixating on it. He hated being criticized by other gays after a lifetime of being mocked by straight people for being different. He glanced over at Arjun as he snoozed, admiring his butt in the matching pair of Andrew Christian briefs that they had actually bought in a 2-for-1 sale. Well damn, thought Derek, maybe we are a little similar.
“Are you ok, hun?” Arjun asked, stirring from his sleep. Derek sighed and turned away. “You can’t be upset about the boyfriend twins thing, can you?” Derek harumphed and turned to his lover, unaware that the mystical forces that grant birthday wishes had decided to pay attention to Derek this year.
“I just wish we weren’t so similar!” Derek said angrily. A lighting bolt cracked across the sky, scaring both of the boyfriends.
“You’re being dramatic,” Arjun sighed as he got up from the bed. “Let me make you some coffee and we can do something fun for your birthday. Arjun headed out to the kitchen, his ass looking great in the jockstrap he was wearing.
Wait, that wasn’t right, thought Derek. They had the same pair of underpants! “Arjun!” Derek cried. “What’s up with that jockstrap!?”
“Uh duh, it’s what I always wear, bro,” Arjun yelled back from the kitchen. That didn’t seem right to Derek. He looked down at his own lap and noticed that he was now wearing a pair of plain Hanes tighty-whiteys. That definitely wasn’t right. He sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed but something else was wrong. His feet didn’t reach the floor anymore.
Derek panicked and stood up. He looked in the mirror and something was off. Where they had both been a solid 5’11” before, Derek couldn’t be more than 5’8” now and he was looking leaner than usual. There was something weird going on with his hair but Derek couldn’t really discern it in the mirror. He grabbed his pair of thick black framed glasses from the end table and threw them on. His hair was paler, more red, than before and seemed to be stuck in a weird center part. This was not the haircut he had gotten a week ago. And wait a minute! Derek didn’t need glasses!
He threw them off and the world turned into a total blur. Derek started to panic, breathing heavily and starting to hyperventilate. Arjun reentered the room, or at least Derek thought the blurry shape was Arjun—it seemed taller—and handed Derek a glass of skim milk.
“What’s this?” Derek whined, his voice noticeably higher pitched. “Where is my coffee?”
“You can’t drink coffee, bro,” Arjun laughed, his voice noticeably deeper. “You’re spastic enough as it is.” Arjun took a deep sip of his coffee.
“Give me a sip of your coffee then!” Derek whined.
Arjun laughed. “You need to put on your glasses dude.” Derek did as he was told and was shocked as the world came into focus. The Arjun in front of him was different. He was taller for one, at least 6’2” now, and substantially more muscular than he had been before. Whereas Arjun had always been clean shaven, he was now sporting a decent five o’clock shadow. Derek rubbed his face; it was now smooth where before he had been sporting the beginnings of a beard. And then Derek noticed Arjun wasn’t drinking coffee at all. He had a protein shake.
“Something isn’t right!” Derek wheezed. Arjun rolled his eyes and handed him an inhaler.
“You need to calm down bro. And use your inhaler. You know you’re not supposed to get excited. It’s time for us to get dressed and head to campus anyways.”
“But it’s my birthday!” Derek complained, taking three short puffs of the inhaler.
“So who cares!?” Arjun laughed. “Get out of my room and go get dressed!”
Arjun’s room!? But they had shared a room for six months. Regardless, Derek felt too timid to argue and he shuffled meekly out of the room. Derek headed down the hallway and then noticed his backpack peeking out from their study. He opened the door and was shocked at what he saw.
It wasn’t a study any more. It had turned into a bedroom. In the center was a twin sized bed with Pokemon sheets. The walls were decorated with anime posters and cardboard cut outs of Lord of the Rings figures. There was an entire shelf of trophies from Math League, Chess Club, the 24-Hour Coding Challenge, Klingon Karaoke. Whoever had this room was a total dork! And that’s when Derek saw it. A framed picture on the wall of a total dork with Patrick Stewart at a comic convention. The guy looked familiar even though he was wearing thick glasses and the nerdiest clothes Derek had ever seen. He looked closer and gasped. It was HIM.
But this wasn’t right! This room belonged to a total dork and Derek wasn’t a geek! He barely even used his computer. And yet this room had a massive desk with multiple computers on them, running World of Warcraft! Derek looked at the picture again and shook his head. This couldn’t be right. He would never dress like this!
And yet when Derek opened the closet. all the clothes matched those in the pictures. Plaid button downs, cheap pleated dress slacks, shiny leather shoes. None of it seemed right.
“Hurry the fuck up and get dressed!” Arjun yelled from out in the hall. Derek had never heard him yell like that before. That wasn’t the Arjun he knew but something made Derek quiver. He did not want to make Arjun mad! He sighed and started getting dressed. He buttoned up the button down all the way to the top and felt compelled to add a too short black tie. He put on a pair of clashing brown slacks that stopped a couple of inches above his ankle and couldn’t stop himself from attaching a pair of red suspenders that yanked the waist of the pants up above his belly button. All of Derek’s socks were white crew socks now and they clashed with his black patent leather shoes but he could hear Arjun getting impatient so he threw them on in resignation. He was scared to make Arjun mad; something he had never felt before. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. He looked like a total dork! He had definitely shrunk too! There was no way he was over 5’2” now.
“HURRY UP DWEEB!” Arjun boomed from the living room. Derek grabbed his backpack and meekly shuffled out, his confidence totally eradicated. He gasped when he saw his boyfriend.
Arjun towered over him now, standing at a solid 6’6”. Where he had been slightly muscled before, he was now a total meathead, weighing in at 300 lbs of pure muscle. The five o’clock shadow he had moments before was now a beard of epic proportion that came down to mid chest and his hair was up in an unruly and super masculine bun. Arjun’s muscles were massive… unlike anything Derek had ever seen and they were on full display as Arjun was now wearing a muscle tank that said “Give Me Deadlifts or Give Me Death” on it. On his legs, he wore tight black sweats that showed off every bit of muscle in his thighs and his massive calved. His arms were now dotted with tattoos and an 8 gauge septum piercing adorned his nose while double zero gauges rested comfortably in his ears.
“S-s-s-since when do you l-l-l-lift weights?” Derek said, now aware that he stuttered.
“S-s-s-s-since fucking forever, braceface,” Arjun laughed. Braceface? Why would Arjun call him that? But Derek reached up and touched his mouth and knew the answer. Huge clunky orthodontics were now glued to his teeth and when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he sighed.
“You sh-sh-shouldn’t talk to your own boyfriend like that,” Derek implored. This sent Arjun into a series of hearty chortles.
“Boyfriend!?” he laughed. “I would never date a dweeb like you, fuckwad. The only reason we live together is that the college said I needed to get my grades up if I wanted to stay on the weightlifting team and well, you’re too much of a fucking pussy to stand up to me when I ask you to do my homework.” Derek tried to argue but found himself getting too nervous. I guess I am too much of a pussy, he thought.
“You’re right, Arjun,” Derek complied.
Arjun rolled his eyes. “How many times have I told you? It’s AJ, not Arjun. Only my mom calls me Arjun. Now let’s get going.” Arjun grabbed Derek by the waist of his tighty whiteys, effortlessly lifting him up in a painful wedgie and carried him out the door.
As they walked to campus, Derek felt all eyes on them. People were swooning over Arjun—er—AJ and pointing and laughing at Derek the whole way. He couldn’t stand it! AJ and Derek couldn’t be more different. That’s when it hit Derek. The wish. HE HAD WISHED FOR THIS.
“Th-th-this isn’t what I wanted,” Derek said meekly as they arrived on campus.
“Well I didn’t want to have to spend time with the university’s least attractive virgin but here we are,” AJ said as he dumped a bunch of books in Derek’s hands. “I’m going to need all these papers written by Monday so I can stay on the team.”
“B-b-b-but-“
“No buts, dork!” AJ yelled as he shoved him towards the library. Derek looked at AJ with tears in his eyes. They had been so close, so in love, and now this was their life. More muscular hunks walked up to AJ as they started heading off to the gym. Derek turned meekly and started shuffling towards the library, his spindly legs giving him an awkward gait.
“Hey nerd!” AJ yelled after Derek. “You forgot your student ID!” He flung it at Derek and it hit him right in the forehead, causing a chorus of laughs from AJ’s weightlifting bros. Derek struggled to pick it up from the ground without dropping all his books and gasped at his ID.
For a brief moment, it listed the correct information: “Derek Parker, English Comp” before shimmering for a moment and changing. Derek blinked his eyes and looked at it again through this thick coke-bottle glasses.
“Derwin Pimpleberg, Computer Science,” he sighed. Derek—make that Derwin—had totally changed, and all because of this stupid birthday wish. He headed into the library wanting to cry.
Luckily, Derwin found academic achievement easy, which was great because soon AJ was making him do not only his homework, but also all of AJ’s weightlifting bros’ homework. AJ and his boys would come around on Saturdays and get wasted before heading out leaving Derwin alone to play World of Warcraft all weekend. While AJ would bring home a different stud every night to fuck, Derwin was alone reading fantasy novels and writing World of Warcraft fanfiction. And the noise from AJ’s heavy fucking made Derwin sad. Before the change, Derek and Arjun had had plenty of sex, but Derwin—well that was a different story. He was a virgin and try as he might over the next few decades, no one ever wanted to have sex with him and he remained a virgin forever.
Eventually, the now roommates graduated but AJ didn’t want to let Derwin go. Why would he? Derwin was too meek to fight with AJ and would clean up after him, make his protein shakes, and wash his dirty gym clothes for him. Besides, whereas AJ’s degree was useless, Derwin’s computer science degree was a cash cow and Derwin was making tons of money consulting. Of course, AJ had made Derwin sign over all of his bank accounts to him so AJ could focus on professional body building instead of working, meaning that Derwin still had to wear cheap dorky clothes and couldn’t really afford to go out, not that he had any friends he needed to see.
A few year later, Derwin had to go to his high school reunion and AJ decided to tag along. All of Derek’s friends were shocked to see that their old buddy was now a total nerd stereotype that went by Derwin but they were all enamored with AJ and joined in on mocking, ridiculing, and beating up Derwin. As his former friends hoisted him up the flagpole so he had to just dangle there in an atomic wedgie, Derwin sighed. He had wished that he and AJ were different and well, it couldn’t have come any more true.
Hey I've been trying to find a story for a while now, but haven't been successful. I'm looking for a story where a rugby jock meets a nerd and they have sex, only for the nerd to fart in the middle of it, turning the jock into a nerd. Do you know where I can find it?
Our shrink-neighbor (though he prefers it when I call him a "therapist") was the single bachelor sort that needed the help of another pair of hands moving in and getting comfortable, and my old man had volunteered me, not that I was opposed. I had a fair amount of time between classes at the local college, having taken a light semester, and I only really had to make time for tossing the ol' pigskin at game-practice. The hiccup came when I met the guy and learned why this bachelor needed help unparticular: he was an absolute square.
His slacks were hiked half-way up his belly. He wore glasses so thick that, when he looked at you, it seemed as though he was viewing though twin cups, full of water. His unfashionable loafers were pristinely polished below rumpled, off-color socks. For some reason, despite being home from his profession, he still wore a tidy dress shirt and a formal tie. I took all of this in, as he greeted me at the door with a handshake that felt like wet macaroni and a nasally salutation, and thought on how my dad had doomed me to helping this new dweeb acquaintance of ours.
As I spent more time with the nerd, though, I found that he was rather easy to talk to, or rather, listen to. Being rather frail and scrawny, I was left to do most of the heavy-lifting around the shrink's new place, moving furniture and putting things into place, which left the new neighbor ample time to fill my ear with his nasal tone. I had found his voice and lack of assistance grating at first, but the more he talked, the more I enjoyed his input. At first I had answered a lot of questions he'd had about the town he was new to, the neighborhood he'd just joined, us living next door, about my college, what I thought of my sports teammates, what underwear I was wearing, and other such things to familiarize himself with his new home and its amenities.
At some point, however, I had stopped answering his questions vocally, simply nodding and smiling instead. They had mostly become binary "yes" or "no" queries anyway, sprinkled occasionally among the new neighbor waxing poetically about what a good young man like me should and shouldn't be. At first I didn't agree with all of his thoughts on the concept, but as I continued to help him move in, I found my head nodding in affirmation more often than shaking in disagreement. A light-headed, distant feeling settled over me in tandem with these agreements, and I begun to feel as I was controlling my body by puppet strings instead of my moving furniture, shelving curios, or trying on new clothes directly.
By the time my old man arrived, having come after finishing his day at work, I was so out of it that I actually startled from the chair I found myself sitting on. I couldn't recall when I'd settled down during the therapist and my conversation, but I was fairly certain I had been thoughtlessly staring at the far wall, only recently decorated with a mirror I had put up. Embarrassed about my inattention, I stammered and verbally stumbled over myself to both greet my father and apologize to the new neighbor with a social awkwardness that I wasn't used to. The therapist seemed charmed by the graceless display, but my old man seemed put off by my behavior, disgusted and maybe even a bit concerned as he asked if I was alright and what I was wearing.
Looking down, I realized that I was still wearing the clothes the new neighbor had suggested I try on, his clothes. Being a bigger, more strapping man than him, despite my younger age, I filled out the unorthodox formal wear like a poorly matched glove. The dress shirt hugged every curve of my muscular chest. His slacks hugged my brawny thighs like a sock. My feet felt a little tight in his loafer too, though I couldn't see them very clearly. The sensation of something dangling from my face reminded me why as I leveled my head and pushed the thick glasses the neighbor had let me borrow back into place. Squinting through them, I could just make out my dad's repulsed expression and, past him, the time shown on the wall's clock.
"Jeepers creepers!" I had cried in an unusually nasally tone before hurrying to collect my things, explaining I would be late for football practice, before beelining it out the door. My old man had called out behind me, but I heard that the neighbor had already started in talking to my dad in that familiar, relaxing, nasally tone. I felt glad to leave my father in good company as I rushed back to college, only to be utterly horrified to have left him there when I finally arrived. I managed a greater sense of awareness between my friends cracking wise as to my newfound get-up, my teammates jeering at the plain white briefs I'd dressed down to in the locker room (calling them "tighty-whities"), and the coach suspending me from the team after I clumsily made the most lousy plays he'd ever seen on that field, as he'd said.
After making a perfect clown of myself on during practice, in a comic repeat performance of cartoonishly fumbling the ball and accidentally depantsing myself more times than I'd previously though possible in one practice session, I had a fair amount of time to think as I hung from the flagpole my teammates had seen fit to wedgie me from. When I hadn't been writhing in futile attempts for freedom or wailing for help in my new nasally voice, I thought on the strange ways I was now acting in comparison to how I usually acted, and by the time a put-upon janitor reeled me down, still blushing and underpants left stretched out of the backside of my slacks' waist, I realized that our neighbor must have done this somehow.
Rushing home in the hopes that my old man might be able to help, being older and wiser than me, I found our house empty. I tried not to panic, despite my hyperventilating from the hurry as well as the worry, and procured a paper bag to breath into as I thought over my options, paying no mind as to why I new to nasally wheeze into the bag or where I had even gotten one. My dad wasn't my last option, but he'd likely be the only one who'd believe something had happened to me, having been concerned about my repulsively nerdy behavior earlier. He was always such a masculine role-model to me, that even into my college years, I carried the naïve hope that he could fix anything. That was, until I saw him through the front window of the neighbor's place.
It'd been an idle glance towards the now-dreaded house that had shown me the absent-minded grin of my father. I stealthily approached to see that he was sitting in the same chair I had been earlier, and seemed to be carrying on conversation with the next door therapist. However, it pained me to see the familiarly formal slacks, dress shirt, tie, and loafers he was dressed in. He even had on a disgustingly thick pair of glasses, his stylish hair slicked unflatteringly backwards so as to not obstruct his blurry view. He either didn't notice or didn't care about the obvious tent at the therapist's groin, the one that the neighbor openly groped and grinded into his hands with as they spoke. I was repulsed to find my own slacks tightening at the sight, and wondered if this too was part of the strange changes enacted on me. If so, why were my father's pants betraying no such indignity?
Had I not been so fixated on this mystery, grunting and whimpering as I unconsciously humped into my hands like a peeping tom, I likely would've noticed that the therapist had spotted me through his window, and drawing my old man's attention to his son's undignified situation, he waved me inside with a silent and uncharacteristically easy-going laugh on the other side of the glass. Once more, I felt myself becoming slightly dislodged from my own personage again, and like a toy on strings, yet no longer under my own power, I found myself dislodging from the hedges beneath the window and practically found my distended slacks touching the front door before it had a chance to open for me. The therapist greeted me once more, and I was escorted to a chair beside my father.
Mustering up what control I had, I turned to my old man as he too greeted me, his voice carrying a nasally tone that simultaneously turned my stomach from disappointment and yet also caused my slacks to slightly dampen in strange excitement. I managed to murmur something about being kicked off the team, the flag-pole wedgie, and was just beginning to ask him for help, alerting him to the therapists' hold over me, but the neighbor cut in with a laugh, showing uncanny comradery with my old man as he commented on how good young men are treated at school. My father nodded along in a stuporous, familiar way as the neighbor dictated my old man's past to him, saying that he too had endured a laundry-list of humiliations in his youth while citing an abundance of experiences my father had never shared with me.
Presumably, all of these were fictitious occurrences, and yet, my old man never once bothered to correct the neighbor, only nodding in agreement or occasionally turning to me to offer confirmation of the odd detail of how he'd whimpered as he was wedgied or trembled as he was teased. The more my father input into these fabrications, the more I found myself believing them, until I found myself blissfully at ease in a conversation with two fellow nerds about the plight of schooling that they'd passed through and that I was still enduring. It was posited that my being removed from the team was the best thing for a dweeb like me, having little chance to rise above the nerdy heritage of my father, and at that I agreed with a nasally moans and a hearty hump into my hands, cupped at my crotch.
This prompted an admonishment from my father, who brandished a small cage-like contraption from his pocket, saying I had forgotten it earlier when I'd so clumsily rushed off. At first I didn't recognize it, but after the therapist briefly regaled me about my father's issues with becoming irregularly excited from his humiliations and needing protection against frequently making a mess of his underwear, I easily recalled the personal item in my blushing father's trembling palm. Peeling down my slacks and tighty-whities, I allowed my old man to fit the chastity cage over my throbbing member, uncomfortably and safely securing it before, at the therapist's suggestion, pantsing himself to compare.
There, in full view of the neighbor's front window, nerdy father and nerdy son compared their chastity cages, our manhoods straining from the humiliation we happily endured.
Ferguson sat at the kitchen table sharpening his pencils, taking out his ruler and ensuring they were all the same length. One of them was a bit too long so he sharpened it precisely and laid it back down. Ah there, perfect. The doorbell buzzed and he jumped as the door camera feed appeared on his smart watch.
“H-h-hello?” Ferguson stuttered as he squinted at the image. His glasses were already so thick but his vision was just getting worse and worse.
“Fredrick, or whatever your name is,” said the voice coming from the blurry image. “It’s me Brett. I’m here for the mandatory tutoring I have to do with you.”
“It’s Ferguson actually!” the scrawny nerd said as he buzzed Brett in. “We’ve been in school together since kindergarten Brett and now we attend the same college. Surely you know my name by now!”
“Ferguson right sorry bro, guess I never noticed you really. Alright so I need, like, good grades to stay on the team. You’re gonna make sure I get good grades right? Coach says I need like at least a C+ to keep my scholarship.”
Ferguson wanted to respond. He was so humiliated that, after all these years of being made fun of by Brett, Brett didn’t even know who he was. He was humiliated that after working his patootie off in high school to get accepted to his dream university, Brett got in on a football scholarship. But he couldn’t even articulate any of that, because Ferguson was–despite his better instincts–totally distracted by the beautiful contours of Brett’s face. His perfect chiseled features, the way his hair fell in casual waves. He tried to stare discretely, but with the giant fishbowl lenses magnifying his eyes, even dense Brett noticed.
“Yo bro, you ain’t one of those faggots are you?” Brett laughed. “I mean no problem if you are, like gay rights and all that, bro, but like, no homo!”
Ferguson snapped back to reality.
“Oh gosh, please don’t use any curse words in my home,” he said, taking a puff from his inhaler. “Especially that one please. This is a no bullying zone. And just so you know, the only C+ I believe in is the programming language!” Ferguson snorted and laughed. The joke didn’t land with Brett.
“I don’t know what that is but we can hurry up? I got a hot date tonight.”
Ferguson deflated slightly. “Oh golly, sure Brett. Just grab a seat and a freshly sharpened pencil. Now I made some ants on a log if you’d like a snack and I have some diet caffeine free low-carbonation ginger ale!”
“Uhhhh yeah not gonna lie but that soda sounds terrible. I guess I’ll have one of your dork snacks though.” Brett grabbed an ant on a log and started chomping loudly.
“Ok now let’s take a look at the assignments you’re struggling with.” Ferguson hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and sat next to Brett as he opened the book. Pre-Algebra? Really? Ferguson nailed this in sixth grade. “Oh I’ll make you an expert in this in no time.”
“If you say so, bro,” Brett said with his mouth full of food. “This shit’s hard!” Ferguson bristled at the curse word but contained himself before settling in and helping Brett with the work. He tried going over the principles and explaining them, working the problems with Brett. He desperately attempted to explain what a variable was. But whatever he said, it went in one ear and out the other. Eventually Ferguson slumped down, lost in thought, pondering what to do.
“This hurts my head, bro. Why is this shit so hard?” Brett fumed and snapped a pencil in half. “You have to make me good at Algebra!”
“Hey I just sharpened that!” Ferguson said. He pondered, thinking. There was always… his genetics project. But that hadn’t been tested.
You finally have this date with a stud from scruff you’ve been lusting over for your years. But when he shows up at your place, he’s changed. His teeth are huge, he wears giant thick glasses, he’s dressed like a nerd, his butt is comically large. He steps in smoking a pipe and blows it in your face.
You’re horrified by what’s happened to him, but as you inhale the smoke, the horror turns to jealousy. He says “golly jeepers why don’t you crawl under my keister, <<GAHYUK>>” and you find yourself unable to resist
He traps you under his giant butt and farts on you as he fills the room with his smoke. You feel yourself rise off the ground as your butt grows as large as his. Your vision blurs and you know you’ll be stuck in thick glasses forever. You feel your teeth grow as the tension of tight metal headgear wraps around your mouth and head. Finally he lets you up.
You’re irreversibly changed. You should be furious but all you can say is “jeepers creepers, <<GAHYUK>>, can you teach me how to smoke a pipe?” The man smiles as he opens his briefcase, revealing an outfit that matches his, just for you, and a pipe just like his.
Acquiring the property on E. Partition Street had been a coup for Chad. For years, the location had served as the shop of one Barber Fred, a barber famous for his traditional men’s cuts, with a specialty in flat tops. His #flattopfriday Instagram posts were liked by thousands of people the world over and his books were full for months on end with dozens of eager men to try the classic haircut rendered as only a true expert in his field could do. Despite his numerous tattoos and devil-may-care attitude, Barber Fred took his craft seriously and the men who came in for a cut always left happy, freshly converted to a life of brutal landing strips and crisp, boxy horseshoes. So when the shocking news of Barber Fred’s death was announced, it sent waves of grief through the entire barbering community. Except for Chad.
Ever the opportunist, Chad jumped at the chance of a lifetime. While the online tributes to the legendary barber were still being posted, Chad made an offer on the property where Barber Fred’s shop stood and snapped it right up. After all, Chad had plenty of family money to burn through and what realtor would balk at a cash offer on an expensive property such as this? Before Barber Fred was even cold in the ground, Chad had set to work on remodeling the place and reinventing it in his image.
You wake up in a pool of sweat and open your eyes to a haze. Instinctively you reach for a pair of glasses on your bedside table. Thick, clunky, black frames that bring the world into focus. You don’t understand, you’ve always had perfect vision and have never needed glasses. Before you even have the chance to comprehend all of this, you start to notice your room isn’t your room. The sleek, modern minimalist design you worked so hard to perfect has been replaced with wall to wall posters with everything geeky from Star Trek to the most obscure anime. You rush to the bathroom in a panic, hoping this is still some kind of nigjtmare and splashing some water on your face will wake you up. It doesn’t. You look in the mirror and notice some severe appearance changes happening rapidly before you, it begins with your ears you notice them double in size as they stretch out, while your nose does the exact same making it so your glasses are never able to rest comfortably needing constant adjustment. Your perfectly smooth skin starts to feel oily as whiteheads and blackheads of various sizes appear. All of this happens so fast you don’t even notice your perfectly manicured eyebrows have overgrown into one long bushy unibrow. You want to cry and scream and kick as your perfectly toned muscular body starts to shrink, leaving you lanky, long, and slightly hunched. You look back in the mirror and notice your salon quality fade has split down the middle and grown out on the sides leaving you with an extremely greasy middle part and a cowlick you can’t seem to tame. You try to scream WHAT THE F%@$ but only a nasal “Jeepers Creepers” comes out. The rest of your new reality comes into focus. You awkwardly shuffle over to your closet and gasp in horror as you notice the perfectly tailored wardrobe of designer clothes and skimpy club looks have been replaced with plaid shirts, high waisted slacks, suspenders, and a wide. variety of neckties, bowties, and sweatervests. You feel compelled to get dressed and once you have secured your trusty pocket protector you once again look in the mirror and all the shock and horror faded away as you are filled with delight about your new appearance. Gone are the long days spent in gyms and long nights spent out at bars and clubs. Your eagerness only expands as you look forward to a life of D&D, stamp collecting, and translating your favorite works of classic literature in Klingon. You put on a polka record as you prepare your egg salad batch for the week. Your first accordion lesson is this evening, and you spend your day practicing chess strategies until then. You have finally embraced your true destiny and you couldn’t be happier.
Brock had never enjoyed college. To him, there was nothing more boring then spending your time in class, or studying in the library, or working on some terribly dull project or assignment. So it should come as no surprise to anyone who knew him that he dropped out after the first semester. His parents had come him off when they heard the news. No son of theirs would be a college drop out, but after a couple of months of struggling to find a way to survive, Brock began to thrive. Brock had always been a fan of bodybuilding and had recently discovered–thanks to the internet–that there was a whole community of skinny, submissive dorks who would just pay him to be their cash dom. They worshipped him just because he had a tumblr full of hot pics of himself and would trip over themselves to fill his paypal with money whenever he asked. He had even started to sell his sweaty underwear to the most desperate of them–a wimpy computer science major from his old college who he suspected had always been obsessed with him. Well now, Brock was their jock god, lording his perfect physique over these beta losers and he had no issues taking their money. After all, he was a perfect alpha male so this was the natural order of things.
The influencer accounts had taken an odd turn on your feed as of late, the bros and lifestyle bloggers that you had kept in contact with since high school and college had, one by one, begun taking on a rather vintage style of a rather particular sort. There was variety, to be sure, with some opting for a church-wear suit and tie in their day-to-day lives or shorts and suspenders for a more bookish appeal, but the trend towards glasses, gelled hair, and formal neckwear definitely tracked as a trend to you. If you were pressed to put a label to it, all of your old friends had suddenly and strangely transformed into old-fashioned geeks.
You frequently checked in on your social media apps through the following days, intrigued by the bizarre spread of nerdiness, like it was a virus that was spreading between their selfie-taking phones. One morning you were enjoying your usual eggs and toast, coffee on the side, when you noticed a new branch of the phenomenon, with old acquaintances from their health and fitness accounts suddenly donning slacks instead of gym wear and espousing the merits of ovaltine instead of plugging for their various sponsor fitness drinks. Each morning that you checked in, you watched the former fitness gurus' musculature wither away until you were admiring pictures of the former jocks playing at their local game store, twig-like arms clumsily slinging twenty-sided dice, while enjoying your breakfast of prune juice and spam.
You marveled to see the men's beauty video-bloggers lapse from subtle contouring to failing acne management as you donned your loafers every morning. It was a surprise to learn that your old prank-channel friend had become more used to ending up on a wrong end of a wedgie instead of giving them, though you shrugged permissively as you watched "Wedgied from World's Tallest Building (not clickbait)" while tying your bowtie. You usually checked in on the local news for weather as you decided whether to wear your favorite sweater vest or a simple dress shirt, but the dweebish anchors were more likely to be overfocusing on new sci-fi movie releases or breaking news in the world of table-top gameplay than ever getting around to old-fashioned meteorology.
These days, you decided what to wear mainly by what was on your social media feed anyway.
Men Becoming Nerds @atomicwedgienerd - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
