Fred W. Kong's Other Stuff

He/Him. 20s. Reader and writer of kinky tf stuff. See my writing at @fredwkong. Tf reblogs and ooc rambles here.

[fredwmain]

Moved in right before the start of Pride. We are so fucking back

[fredwmain]

So close. I'm SO close. I'm buying furniture to get delivered next week. SO CLOSE.

[spiraledfaun]

some of you are painfully unaware that part of the whole reason many kinksters are like "what happens in my or someone else's bedroom is no one else's business"

is because people have been arrested and put in fucking PRISON just for having gay sex in the privacy of their own homes. in the United States. this millennia.

if you think i'm joking, look up Lawrence v. Texas (2003). 14 out of the 50 US States STILL had laws on the books criminalizing sodomy--and yes, you could be imprisoned for multiple years and sometimes even life for repeat offenses.

in the years directly leading up to the landmark case, enforcement even in those 14 states varied, but it was absolutely weaponized against queer people, especially when stacked on top of other offenses to make up a longer sentence.

um so anyway, what happens between two or more consenting adults in the privacy of their own homes is none of my OR YOUR business, and i'm not fucking kidding!

[prismatic-bell]

Important additional context:

"Sodomy" does not, in a legal context, mean "anal sex."

It means "any sexual act the court has decided is deviant."

BDSM? Sodomy.

Crossdressing for sexual pleasure? Sodomy.

Jacking off to nude photos or video your consenting adult lover sent you of themselves? Sodomy.

Het oral sex? SODOMY!!!

If you're starting to think "but how could anyone prove that happened without breaking down the door?"

Ha. Haha. Ahaha.

First, I'll give you one guess how they did prove it.

Two, these were often scapegoat charges--basically they couldn't actually nail you on anything because you hadn't done anything actually illegal, only things they didn't like, and they relied on public disgust against your "degenerate character" (yeah there's a very big reason we keep saying not to use that word and it's not to be killjoys) to make sure you knew your place.

Which means that in practice:

Went to a socialist meeting? Sodomy.

Male kindergarten teacher? Sodomy.

Mixing races? Sodomy.

Not Christian (or the right kind of Christian)? Sodomy.

Kink is only the beginning. They'll come after the kinksters because they're low-hanging fruit, and you'll gleefully help them dig a hole, laughing all the way and never consider that it's way too big for the number of bodies you need to bury.

[prismatic-bell]

I see someone in the tags saying "except pedophiles, they don't count, hang them."

YES THEY FUCKING DO COUNT.

Wanna know why?

Take a look at how many politicians have labeled trans people and their allies as pedophiles.

Take a look at how many politicians used to label gay people as pedophiles.

Take a look at how much suspicion falls on innocent men who just think working with kids is fun and want the chance to help, grow, nurture, and teach.

Take a look at yourself.

What about you could someone twist into "that person is a pedophile" if they wanted rid of you?

I can tell you exactly how they'd do it with me. I'm queer. I have a niece who came out as lesbian in her teens. I supported her.

Clearly I groomed her into that lifestyle, right?

Child sex abusers should be proven in a court of law to be guilty, and penalized to the fullest extent of the law. Pedophiles who have not abused children and seek to avoid doing so should not be hanged for something going wild in their brains.

Yes! That's super uncomfortable to say! I'm a CSA survivor! It's awkward and it means I have to defend people I really wish were not the way they are!

But the rope you use to lynch another will yank you into the tree to die.

No sodomy laws. None.

[changeling-droneco]

TW for talk on CSA and child marriage, this topic tends to get me fired up

Its also a fucking useless example for sodomy law especially because of how wildly age of consent can vary even in the united states. Which I hate that people get so weird about when you try to discuss it. No, knowing this stuff isnt a "red flag" you have to know something before you can speak on it or try and change it!

Child marriage is legal in 34 states with 4 of them technically not even having an age minimum outside of common law that could theoretically set it at 12. If we go back a few years the state of it would be even MORE dire as many of these laws putting age minimums only were put into place in the past eight years! So if one defines sodomy as "any sexual act done premarital that isnt missionary" then these wouldn't be covered.

Sodomy laws are USELESS for protecting children, because laws about CSA are better off being their OWN thing with strictly defined terms. Sodomy is so nebulous and hand wavy it does nothing but punish people who have done nothing wrong, strict terms with clear meanings is what creates protections. "You can't just make "if we think its gross" the law and expect that to actually work on deterring people who are doing the actual crimes. Which are ALREADY illegal.

Plus this isn't even getting into the psychology part of it that most people who commit CSA aren't even attracted to minors, they just like power over their victims and its easy to hold power over a child. its about control. Not 100% of the time, but very very often its about dominance rather then attraction. Plus there's the fact of sexual intrusive thoughts being a common form of OCD that causes a lot of distress in those that have those thoughts. This is a whole rabbit hole but just... You dont need to be attracted to a victims to traffic them, you might just want control, or authority, or just money!

[penrosesun]

I think it is really, really worth focusing on that “already illegal” part, because this is the foot in the door for a million and a half fascist proposed laws, not just sodomy.

“We need a law that makes it illegal to go into a bathroom that doesn’t align with your birth sex! Otherwise, people might go into the wrong bathroom to sexually assault someone!” Huh, interesting, but isn’t it already illegal to sexually assault someone, including in a bathroom??? Because if so, then you can just completely discard that explanation for the entire law. It is already illegal to go into the wrong bathroom and sexually assault a person; ergo, the law is not about sexual assault at all, it’s just about bathrooms.

“We need to arrest undocumented immigrants in order to crack down on gang activity!” Huh, interesting, but isn’t that gang activity already illegal??? So, if you wanted to crack down on gang activity, you could simply arrest people who are associated with gangs, and in fact, we do already do that. Ergo, this rhetoric isn’t actually about gang activity at all; it’s just about undocumented immigrants.

“We need to diminish free speech and freedom of movement rights for suspected terrorists, because otherwise they could commit mass murder!” Well, interestingly, mass murder is already illegal, and if you have probable cause that indicates that someone is planning to commit mass murder, you can simply arrest them for that. Since the law is already fully equipped to go after people who are genuinely suspected of gearing up to commit a violent terroristic act, this clearly isn’t really about terrorism at all; it’s just about diminishing free speech and freedom of movement rights.

“We need tort reform that caps the monetary damages that large corporations can be forced to pay, in order to keep people from bringing frivolous and fraudulent lawsuits!” Hmm, but see the thing with that is fraud is already a crime, and frivolous lawsuits can already be thrown out. If a law caps the amount of damages corporations need to pay in lawsuits which were not found to be frivolous or fraudulent, then almost by definition, it has nothing to do with frivolous lawsuits or fraud – it’s just about limiting corporate liability.

I could go on.

Always ask yourself what the actual function of a proposed law is – not just the stated goal, but what it actually does that is not already covered by an equally restrictive law.

And remember, a good general rule is:

If something is already illegal, then the people who are trying to pass a new law to ban it are probably trying to ban something else.

[idesofrevolution]

For y’all amazing tippers:

It’s time for Ko-Fi! If y’all like my work and would like to support it moving forward, I’d appreciate it dearly if you’d hit up my tip jar here. It’ll help take some of this pressure off, and help move the stories forward.

Thank you so much, friends. I know times are tough, so anything would be so genuinely appreciated.

Support Frost

Support Frost

[idesofrevolution]

If you have the means, I would genuinely appreciate any support you could spare moving forward. The more financially viable I am, the more time I can dedicate to writing our little freak shows. As of right now I work 6 days per week and there isn’t much time outside of my one day off (this one being 12 days of work in a row) to write.

So, if you can manage it, of course. I would be so genuinely appreciative. New story should be coming up in the next few days.

[idesofrevolution]

Tight Squeeze

With a pep in his step and a beaming grin on his face, Javi strut down the hotel hallway with his bag in tow. The annual vacation with Tom was the one thing that he looked forward to more than anything— he and his childhood best friend made plans every year since they had graduated high school, each destination getting more and more exciting. In just ten years, they’d visited six new states and four countries. It was a far cry from their summers in rural Indiana, and each time was a new opportunity to relive those days of playing the PS3 at his house until 4 in the morning and spending every waking hour together surrounded in laughter and excitement. Now, as the lovely New York City hotel rolled out the red carpet to room 1709, the simple task of pressing his room key on the door and the click of the door unlocking marked the beginning of his yearly respite. Javi pressed his hand against the door, and pressed it wide open.

"You're early," Tom said, his voice gruffer than Javi had ever heard it.

Javi looked up from his phone, his heart skipping a beat. The hotel room looked normal, just as the website had advertised, but something was definitely off. The lights were dimmer, the air thick with an unusual musk. And there, snapping a selfie in the mirror, was Tom. Or at least, someone who looked like Tom, but this Tom was… different. His skin was covered in a fine layer of hair, his body bulging with muscles that seemed to have been photoshopped on overnight. Javi's eyes lingered on his friend's feet, noticing the way his toes curled and flexed in those dirty, sweaty black socks. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a strange mix of fear and excitement.

"What the fuck happened to you, man?" Javi's voice cracked as he took a tentative step closer. Tom's reflection in the mirror smirked, turning to face him with a swagger that was entirely foreign to him. His warm brown eyes had a feral glint to them, his teeth baring wide in a snide smirk. Javi stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do… what to say… what to think.

"You like what you see?" Tom's tone was laced with an arrogance that made Javi's cheeks burn. He couldn't help but nod, his eyes darting back to those bulging muscles and the way the fabric of Tom's jockstrap strained against his shockingly massive bulge. The smell in the room was intoxicating, a buttery stink wafted off every inch of Tom's chiseled body. Something that sent a thrill down Javi's spine and made his knees weak as Tom stepped forward, his socks squelching with every footfall and leaving a trail of sweaty footprints as he strode forward. The walk, the voice, the fact that his formerly 5'8" band geek friend was now suddenly at least 6'0" and hulked out… There was an innate panic that swelled within him, but just the carnivorous eyes that New Tom flashed at him had Javi shuddering.

Tom stepped closer, and Javi found himself backpedaling until his knees hit the bed. "Yeah, I know you do," he said with a cocky grin, his teeth gleaming like a frat boy who had just scored a winning touchdown. "I've seen the way you look at me, the way you follow me around with those puppy dog eyes." He leaned down, his breath hot and minty on Javi's cheek. "I've seen you staring at my feet, Javier. How much you want to kiss them?" His words were a taunt, a challenge wrapped in a velvet threat that made Javi's cock throb.

Javi's heart raced as he tried to form a coherent sentence. "T-Tom, what happened to you?" He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the bulge in Tom's jockstrap. "You're not acting like yourself."

Tom flexed his biceps, his muscles rippling like waves under the dim hotel room light. He let out a deep, guttural laugh that seemed to shake the walls of the room like an earthquake. "You think?" He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, let me tell you, the old Tom is gone, baby. This is the new Tom, and boy, do you ever look like you're going to love him." He winked, his new, alpha-male persona oozing out of every pore.

Javi felt his body betraying him, his own cock straining against his pants as he took in the sight of Tom. He had always had a thing for jocks, for the way they could make him feel so… small, so insignificant, yet so desired. And now, here was his best friend, his secret crush, transformed into the epitome of masculine dominance. He could feel his resistance crumbling like a cookie in a vice, and as much as he wanted to flee, his ass remained rooted to the spot.

"T-Tom, this isn't funny," Javi stammered, his voice a mix of fear and arousal. "You need to go to the doctor, something's seriously wrong."

Tom just snickered, the sound sending a cold shiver down Javi's spine. He took a step closer, and before Javi could react, his massive, hairy hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. The mattress groaned under the weight of Tom's new form, and Javi found himself pinned down, the scent of his friend's sweat and musk enveloping him.

"There's nothing a doctor can do for me, Javier," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "This is who I am now. And it's about time you admitted who you really are, too." Tom's grip on Javi's chin tightened, forcing their faces closer together, his breath hot and minty. Javi's eyes searched Tom's, looking for some semblance of his friend, but all he found was a ravenous hunger that reflected his own hidden desires.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Javi's voice was a whisper, his body trembling beneath the weight of Tom's towering form.

Tom's grin widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "You know exactly what I mean," he said, his grip on Javi's chin tightening. "You've had the hots for me since we were in high school. Don't even try to deny it." His eyes bore into Javi's, and for a brief moment, Javi could see the flicker of the old Tom, the one who had been his confidant, his ally. But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, hard stare of the new Tom. The one who was in complete control.

"You're wrong," Javi protested feebly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tom's grip on his chin tightened, his thumb tracing the line of Javi's jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the power behind it. "Am I?" His eyes searched Javi's, looking for the truth that they both knew lay just beneath the surface. "You've been pining after me for years. Now's your chance to show me how much you want this." His breath was hot and minty on Javi's face, the scent of his minty breath mingling with the musky aroma of his body.

Javi's mind raced, trying to piece together how Tom could have changed so much in such a short time. It was impossible, it had to be some kind of prank, or maybe a really good costume. But the feel of those muscles beneath his fingers, the way Tom's body seemed to radiate heat and power, it was all too real. He tried to fight the urge to kiss him, to touch him, but his body was already responding, his cock straining against his pants.

Tom's grin grew wider, his eyes never leaving Javi's. "Feeling a little excited, are we?" His hand slid down to Javi's crotch, giving his erection a squeeze through the fabric. Javi's eyes went wide with shock and arousal. He couldn't believe this was happening, but the proof was in the way his body was begging for more. "Told you," Tom said, his voice a low purr. "You can't resist New Tom can you?"

Javi's mind raced, trying to find some rational explanation. He'd seen prosthetics in movies, maybe Tom had gotten really into cosplay. The smell of his sweat, the way his muscles bulged, it had to be a silicone suit. It had to be. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the fear that had been building up. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, Tom. I get it. You're just… playing a role."

Tom leaned in closer, his grin turning predatory. "You want to play along?" he whispered. "You want to find out who's really in charge here?"

Javi nodded, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The musky scent of Tom's body washed over him, making his head spin. He could feel the heat emanating from his friend's body, the power in every inch of him, and it was intoxicating. Tom grinned wickedly, rising to his feet and strutting over to the chair.

"Come on, then," he said, gesturing to his socks with a jerk of his head. "Take them off, I want you to get a good whiff."

Javi's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire as he slid off the bed and onto his knees. He felt the plush carpet against his skin, the fibers sticking slightly to the sweat that had gathered on his body. As he crawled towards Tom, the room felt hotter, the air thick with the scent of unwashed socks and virile musk, something that was making his cock throb even more insistently. He reached out tentatively and took hold of the top of Tom's sock. The fabric was warm and damp, and he could feel the outline of Tom's toes through it. His stomach fluttered as he tugged it down, revealing the hairy, sweaty arch of his friend's foot.

"Look at them," Tom said, raising one of his massive, muscled legs and pointing a toe at Javi's face. "These are what you've been dreaming about, aren't they?" The room was so silent, it was as if the very walls held their breath. The smell of Tom's unwashed feet hit Javi like a truck, a powerful aroma of butter and roquefort that seemed to fill every molecule of the air around them. The sight of those size 15 soles, glistening with sweat and grime, had him feeling lightheaded with a mix of fear and arousal.

Tom's toes curled and flexed, the muscles in his legs bulging like those of a Greek statue come to life. He placed his foot firmly against Javi's cheek, his toes digging into the side of his face. "Worship them," he ordered, his voice a thunderclap of dominance that reverberated through Javi's body. And despite his racing thoughts, despite his better judgment, Javi found himself leaning in, his nose brushing against the furry, sweat-soaked arch of Tom's foot.

The scent was… indescribable. It was like a symphony of manliness, a concert of musk and sweat that played a siren's song to Javi's deepest, most secret desires. It was the smell of power and strength, of a man that knew no bounds, that could take what it wanted with no apologies. It was a scent that made him feel small and helpless, ensnaring him like a moth to a flame. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the odor filling his nose and mouth, coating his tongue. It was thick and heavy, with notes of gym socks and washed rind cheese, of locker room floors and the faint hint of something… animalistic. It was a scent that made his cock throb, his knees wobble, and his heart race.

Tom's voice was like a serpent whispering sweet nothings into his ear, urging him closer, deeper into the rabbit hole. "That's it, baby," he crooned, his toes sliding along Javi's cheek, the calloused skin leaving a trail of heat. "Sniff them, lick them, show me how much you love these stinking, sweaty dogs." The words were a command, a declaration of ownership that Javi found himself obeying without thought. He leaned in, his nose buried in the high arch of Tom's foot, inhaling deeply. The scent was overwhelming, but as he let his tongue snake out to slide across the slick sole, he found it… delicious. The salt of his sweat, the faint cheesy tang of his skin, it was a feast that had Javi's mouth watering. He licked along the length of Tom's foot, from his heel to the base of his toes, savoring every inch, every taste.

"Mm, yes," Tom murmured, his foot pressing harder against Javi's face. "You've always been such a good boy, haven't you?" Javi couldn't help but moan into the arch of Tom's foot as he continued to worship the musky flesh before him. "But now, you're going to see just how good I feel in this body." Tom leaned back in the chair, his muscled chest heaving with each breath, his abs rippling like a mountain range.

With a swift kick, Tom sent his other foot flying through the air, the smell of his sweat-soaked sock smacking Javi right in the face. "Take them off," he said, his voice a growling command. Javi's eyes watered, but his hands were already moving, eager to obey. He peeled the sock off, the fabric sticking to Tom's skin with the suction of a vacuum seal. He held it up to his nose, inhaling the potent stench of his friend's foot.

"Now put them on," Tom said, his foot still pressing down on Javi's head. Javi took the sock, his heart racing, and slid it onto his own foot. It was like sliding into a warm, wet glove that had been marinating in a frat house's lost and found. The fabric clung to his toes, the scent of Tom's sweat enveloping him. He took a deep breath, the smell of his friend's feet filling his nostrils and making his cock throb even harder. He couldn't believe what he was doing, but he also couldn't believe how much he liked it.

"Good boy," Tom said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction that made Javi's stomach flip. "Now the other one." Javi obeyed, his hands shaking slightly as he slipped the other sock onto his foot. The smell was overpowering, a heady mix of musk and sweat that made him feel like he was inhaling pure, concentrated masculinity.

Tom's foot remained planted on Javi's head, his toes digging into his hair like they were anchors holding him in place. "Now, sniff them," he ordered. "Let me hear how much you love the smell of your new master's stench." Javi brought his best friend’s foot to his nose, his eyes rolling back in his head as the damp, sticky sole pressed against his nose. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding as he inhaled the scent that seemed to fill his very soul with a dark, delicious hunger.

“Ahhh fuck, Tom. Shit that’s so good.” With every suction of the thick miasma wafting now from both Tom’s foot and his own, he fell deeper and deeper into the thralls of lust. Letting his hand slide past the waistband of his shorts, the touch of his sweaty fingers gliding against the throbbing meat within made him gasp, droplets of Tom’s ripe sweat soaring into his lungs. Before he could take the initiative to pump, an even firmer pressure against his length was felt on his pleading groin. Opening his eyes, Javi could have burst just from the sight of it: Tom’s wicked smirk and his grimy left foot rubbing him through the pre soaked fabric.

“Such a good boy, Javi. I think I may deserve a treat, don’t you think?” Tom’s devilish grin sent shivers down Javi’s spine, and all he could do was nod in affirmation as the sweaty foot gently slid back and forth. “Yeah. I deserve a treat. I deserve you, Javi. Are you willing to give me my treat?” A guttural moan burst from his lips, the flavor of Tom’s sole against his face breaking any notion of resistance. He cried out with a muffled ‘mmhmm,’ desperation deep in his tone. That’s all Tom needed to hear.

It started as an ever so quiet little squeak, barely perceptible to the enraptured Javi. Though as he continued to lap at the slick sole, it wasn’t the wet squelches or the rubbery stretching that echoed in the hotel room that caught his attention; no, it was the sole. The way it started undulate, to bubble and warp beneath the smelly skin— Javi opened his eyes to see just what was truly happening. Tom’s sweat drenched boxer briefs, pulled down just below the pendulous balls, his long uncut shaft bulging and warping before his eyes as a grotesquely bulbous lump began to squirm up the length of his cock.

“Awww yeah. Javi, I’m gonna love it in there. You’re gonna love it too.” Tom’s teeth gritted with euphoric fervor as the bulge breached the tip of his stretching cockhead, wiry gray hairs slithering out wet and shellacked to the wrinkled, albeit handsome head of a man he did not know. Javi froze, the funk wafting from the feet his only comfort as the cock bloated and gaped around a vascular neck and broad shoulders. His eyes darted between Tom’s still smirking and wicked face and the hulking muscular man slithering out of his urethra.

“Oh… ohhh… unghhh…” The moans of pleasure that bellowed out of Javi’s mouth made Tom’s smirk widen as he continued to rub Javi’s throbbing appendage. Javi couldn’t process the surreal sight of the muscular man crawling out of his rod, down his thick, hairy legs toward him. As the man’s calloused hands pushed Tom’s foot from his face and his round rump and slimy cock sprang from the engorged slit, Javi’s mouth sat agape in mind numbing shock.

“Give me my treat, Javi.” Tom laughed wickedly as the man’s first few fingers slipped past Javi’s lips without so much as a gag of resistance. The taste of Tom’s cum coating the man’s form flavored his tongue with the sweetness of pineapple and tang of spunk as the man’s hands squeezed into his mouth— then his forearms, then his head… no pain, no discomfort, just… surrender. Once the foothold was established, the man’s arms thrust deeply down his bulging throat and into his core, it took little more than a firm tug for the man to slurp the rest of his chiseled form into Javi’s yielding body.

His cock tightening back to its thick, 9.5 inches as the last of the man’s ripe stinking size 15 feet slopped out of his slit, Tom let his head fall back onto the back of the chair as he wrapped his own hand around the length. He snickered to himself, listening to the schlorp and squelch of the man’s toes squeezing past Javi’s lips. The very same euphoria that overcame him when the leather daddy had dominated and entered his own body in the LaGuardia bathroom merely hours before was now overtaking Javi as the man made himself at home within his second body. Though it was not truly Tom in drivers seat behind those big brown eyes, he reveled in the addition of his host’s best friend into the cavalcade of identities merged into his consciousness— one more body to enjoy and experience. As he slipped on Javi’s skin, the overwhelming exhilaration of feeling the sensations of two bodies at once flooded his synapses while he pumped and smugly admired the hairy stud he’d created from the blank canvas of Tom’s skin.

“Heh, yeah boy. We’re gonna have some fun.” The sound of stretching rubber and elastic squeaks emanating from Javi’s warping form accompanied the slick, slimy noises of his lazy stroking. Gurgles and murmurs rang out with increasing frequency, mirroring the pace of his hand movements, until he grunted as the man’s head slipped into Javi’s like a silicone mask.

*SNAP*

Silence. Then a wry snicker as Javi stood- now mirroring his 6’4” stature and muscular, with the stench to boot. He towered above Tom, tugging on the elastic skin of his cheeks before they snapped into place, permanently.

“You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna join me?” Tom chided as he watched himself flex Javi’s thick, muscular arms- sweat dripping from his hairy armpits. His new acquisition still pouring in the body’s memories and incorporating them into his dominant consciousness; Javi leaned in, his tattooed hands landing squarely on either side of him on the armrests.

“Yeah, let’s have some fun.” Javi’s formerly sweet and innocent voice now thick with his gravel and grit, he sneered as their lips collided and tongues tangled.

———

“He’s on his way.” Javi leered as he fell backward onto his couch, kicking his funky, three week worn socks onto Tom’s lap as he sipped the last of his beer.

“You take the front, I’ll take the back. Nice spit roast for us.” Tom placed the empty Heineken on the table, resting his own identically ripe feet on either side of Javi. “Suckin’ and fuckin’, all at once. That’s the good shit.” Three weeks of wild debauchery in New York, and he had all but mastered the art of piloting two vessels at once. Tasting two brews simultaneously, savoring the buzz of poppers from two perspectives, feeling the tightness of latex on Javi and the creaks of leather on Tom… Manhattan had proved to be quite the training grounds for him. He wasn’t planning on letting that education go squandered.

“I know. That little twink won’t know what squeezed into him.” Javi smiled wryly, wriggling his toes beneath the grimy socks. “But until he gets here, give Javi some attention. The twink shouldn’t be the only one to enjoy him.” Tom grinned, letting his hands grip onto Javi’s damp foot, pulling it close to press against his face. “But you know, two is a party- three is a rave.”

[king-craftsman]

The Curse

“Honestly- honestly not gonna lie, not gonna lie, like half the guys in that gym are so dumb,” Gavin guffawed as he clinked beer bottles in the dark and shady bar he found himself in at four in the morning. He had work in the morning but he couldn't care, instead being too interested in the green neon lights that illuminated the worn down establishment, highlighting the speckles of dust that hung in the air and hugged the stools and bottles. 

There was nobody else here, the pool table was abandoned midway through a game, two lone darts barely stuck in the board and a barkeep whose eyes threatened to fall one last time and send them to the sweet slumber of sleep soon enough. It was clear the bar was going to close too - but Gavin still couldn’t care. Ever since he met his trainer (whose name he could barely remember, let alone say in his slurred speech), Gavin just felt so much more comfortable. He had been growing more and more insecure with his stick thin body and his friend was the one to finally drag him to a local gym and get him a proper trainer. 

At first that gym culture that Gavin saw plastered all over social media was the worst of his fears instead of the nights of sweats, the breathlessness, the straining legs after cardio or the burning arms after hours of exercise to finally craft them into biceps. Suffice to say - he was somewhat right, all the gym bros all talked the same and thought they were attractive physically, their personality was like a poster, boring, plain, and only good to look at and show off - at best. He was glad now that after a few shots and beers he could confide in. 

“Really? You don’t like any of em?” asked his trainer, and Gavin simply shook his head as he took another draw of his beer, draining the bottle to its last dregs. He resisted the urge to burp, and cursed under his breath as he spilled some of his beer on his formal clothing. Out of all the days, why was it the day when I actually had to dress like an adult to work, to come drinking? “Careful, keep talking like that and you might get cursed.” Gavin furrowed his brows as he waved towards the barkeep. 

“Cursed?” muttered Gavin. His interest was clearly piqued, and his trainer smiled. 

“Yeah, cursed, it’s just something we tell each other at the gym. You know, if you talk shit about someone you’re gonna be cursed by it, either by having a bad gym day-” The trainer paused as Gavin focused on sitting up and wiping his mouth, trying to compose himself. 

“Can I get another beer pleze-” Gavin hiccuped and the bartender nodded, clearly trying their best not to roll their eyes as Gavin turned back to his trainer, once again captivated by their story. 

“Or having whatever you complain about, happen to you,” finished the trainer. Gavin simply nodded, raising his eyebrows and feigning interest as his drunken mind seemed to get bored ten times as easy as he thought. As Gavin looked around to the bar, almost as if realising it was near empty besides them, he didn’t even notice the open beer bottle gently placed on the bar, or how it fizzed slightly as the trainer’s fingers wafted over it. “Anyway, maybe this should be our last drink?” Gavin spun back on his stool and nodded.

“To gym,” he slurred, raising his beer bottle as some spilled onto the bar (and the wooden texture underneath the droplets slowly turning into a dark plastic), as he took a swig of his beer. Gavin stuck his tongue out, cringing at the taste. 

“You alright there?” asked the trainer, there was a smugness to his voice as Gavin simply nodded. 

“Yeah, drink was just awful mate,” said Gavin, suddenly the british born’s voice sounded...different, his accent was stronger, no longer stifled by years of American living, even the dialect changing somewhat. “Think I should just get ho-” Gavin accidentally spilled the beer, watching as the alcohol fell and stained all over his suit pants, causing him to jump up. “Oh fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, voice beginning to shift and deepen.

“You okay?” came the voice of the trainer, sounding slightly more distant than it ever did in his drunken haze. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m…” But Gavin wasn’t okay. He watched in mild confusion and horror as suddenly his pants were suddenly growing shorter and even darker. They suddenly grew incredibly tight as the material changed, shifting somewhat as the once dark suit pants were now branded, appearing more like sports shorts. Gavin tried to say something but grunted as he felt his ass begin to protrude, the cheeks thickening and growing heavy, yet still remaining tight as he could feel the muscles in his glutes shift and grow stronger. 

His thighs thickened, keeping the shorts on too tightly as he tried his best to tug at them, only for the muscles of his legs to grow so large, expanding that the shorts would practically have to be torn off. The wave of muscle and pleasure rushed through to his crotch. “No...no what is-”

Gavin moaned out loud, the bartender turning to raise an eyebrow at him as Gavin clutched at the bar, suddenly feeling his cock beginning to snake down his thighs, the average sized member was now growing far larger and thicker than any erection ever gave him. But Gavin knew he wasn’t just getting erect, he was growing bigger, as the thick cock continued to snake down and the head threatened to poke out the leg of his short, constantly throbbing as his grip on the bar tightened, not realising, in his drunken mind, how wet it was, as a tingling began to overtake his fingers.

“Wot istis?” Gavin’s voice still shifted as it began to deepen, accent growing stronger, and still in drunken stupor the familiar heat of alcohol warming up in his throat as his voice cracked.

“The curse,” said the trainer simply, knowingly smiling at Gavin. Gavin’s eyes widened and then he looked down, cursing as he jumped from the table, hard cock still flopping (and feeling so good as it slapped against his hard thigh, letting him feel the strong muscle).

His wet fingers grew paler somewhat as they twitched, it was an odd sight as some grew faster than others, looking slightly more weatherbeaten and hardy (as if used to spending time gripping weights and other gym equipment) that his other fingers (more relegated to keyboards) weren’t. But the worst part was how some of his new fingers twitched with a mind of their own, as all the fingers on his damp right hand threatened to go down and touch his cock. 

Gavin grabbed at his right hand, quickly stumbling out the bar and groaning under breath as his hard cock continued throbbing against him and it felt so good to even move, to feel how his tight ass rubbed against the shorts or his muscular thighs that let him practically stride from the bar to the door in so few steps. Though he was trying to stop his new fingers from touching and teasing his cock, Gavin could already begin to feel the curse spreading.

Aw mate, gotta think of something - Gavin hated his inner monologue more and more, or did he love it. No, he needed to think. The drunk Gavin, with muscular legs, a thick cock, and growing hands, quickly raised one as he saw a taxi passing by, a semblance of relief sweeping through him much like the cold as he stepped outside, as he saw the taxi slow down. Gavin immediately hopped in. 

He needed to think

needed to think

needed to flex

no needed to

…

to think, 

that was the word 

Yeah…

flex, 

no think... 

Gavin looked up, realising he was nursing his growing hands, both now pale weatherbeaten large hands that grabbed at his thighs, feeling the muscles. He hoped they stayed there.

“Uh, um take me to 1507 Oak Avenue-” Gavin put his hand over his mouth without even thinking, eyes widening as he realised he gave a different address...or was it his? No, it was...it was his...no different...was it? But the eyes widened again as he felt the familiar taste of alcohol on his lips, realising that his lips were now thinning from the touch, and growing somewhat fuller. Gavin knew it was the wrong address but couldn’t speak as his lips only opened to let out a quiet moan. 

Gavin was thankful for the darkness of the taxi as his hands threatened to go closer to his cock, inching closer and he stifled a groan as he felt a finger begin to circle around the head, causing pre-cum to begin gushing out.

“You alright back there?” grumbled the driver.

“Yeah course,” replied Gavin, his voice completely different and taking himself back as he almost whined somewhat, at this point begging instead of fighting as he could feel the curse take control of his body. His toes began to push out, sighing in relief as his longer toes now destroyed his dark dress shoes, the tops of his feet tearing the footwear apart and splitting the shoes. His calves expanded, veins being highlighted among his muscular legs.

“We’re here,” informed the driver. Gavin’s cock throbbed and he instantly fished out a handful of dollars left in his shorts and gave it to the man, quickly stumbling out as his legs moved all by themselves. 

He tried to speak, tried to say something, but his lips were only parting to let himself groan and moan, as every time Gavin fought against himself, he could barely make himself stumble as he walked into the unfamiliar apartment building. Gavin got into the lift, pushing a button and immediately collapsing against the wall as a button from his dress shirt pinged across the small room. He yelped and looked down to see that where the shirt had opened slightly, he could begin to see his once stick thin body bloating, expanding and growing larger as abs began to develop. 

Each button pinged and shot off the dress shirt each and every one as Gavin saw the shirt torn open, the back of it destroyed as the fabric was stretched over his growing back which lengthened, causing Gavin to grow a few inches taller. His pecs pushed forward, mountains of muscles now gracing his upper chest. As his sleeves were shredded, Gavin saw his biceps double in size, watching in shock as dark ink started to fade in around the upper left arm, his own tattoo accentuating his muscular bicep. 

Gavin stumbled, groaning out loud as his hand automatically fished out a key in his short, sticking it in a door and closing it, looking around to a large apartment where he could easily see a treadmill and gym equipment cornered off for its own section. He knew there was no way he could ever make it to the bathroom as the changes rushed up to his face now. 

Gavin’s facial hair grew lighter, transforming into a full blonde as his face elongated somewhat, giving more room for his jaw which sharpened, immediately growing more chiselled. His long nose retracted, the end turning up slightly as the bridge narrowed. All the while a certain haziness graced Gavin’s eyes, no longer were they full of that spark of intellect, but instead his eyes grew darker and hazier, now more mindless. As the changes rushed to his forehead, a myriad of thoughts, all to do with nerdy hobbies, gaming, everything that made him Gavin was beginning to quieten down as new thoughts, ones that Blaine shared such as sports or working out. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He relented. The curse took over. 

“Oh fucking hell!” moaned Gavin, his British accent as strong as ever as his cock couldn’t take it anymore, flooded with pleasure that sent him over the edge and suddenly the head gave one last throb as a spurt of cum shot out of his cock, again and again, staining the shorts on the inside.  Even just cumming seemed to be its own workout, Gavin’s shirtless body sweating as if he had just completed a full workout, the shorts finally being torn as he bent over to grab at the table as he came, his tight ass tearing it to shreds. 

Gavin didn’t know how long he had been there, but the next thing he knew was waking up from the floor, somewhat dizzy and absent minded. He stood up, near naked if it wasn’t for a dark red speedo that had somehow made its way onto his body, wrapped tightly around his cock. 

The last dregs of Gavin panicked, he needed to get out of here, he needed to get help, needed to tell someone what happened he needed to...Fuck. He passed by a mirror and instantly lost control of his body again as he saw himself.

He needed to...flex. 

And Gavin did - barely remembering what any of his old hobbies were. He loved games, he guessed, at his office job, but he loved the gym more. With these muscles, he didn’t know how nobody in the office could agree. But maybe he just needed to commit himself to training them, like he did all the lads at his gym, starting with that Ryan guy. 

Either way for now, Gavin just loved to flex dumbly and enjoy his body, already feeling his cock throbbing as he grew dumber and hornier with each passing moment, like a proper gym lad. 

This story was originally posted on my Patreon but was taken down, so I've uploaded here for free. If you want more stories like this, check out over 200+ stories here.

[alphajocklover]

Yet another recently completed commission! I'm glad to say I've almost got all of them done. it'll be nice to have a fresh slate, especially considering how long it's taken me to get through some of these. Anyway, enjoy, and if you're interested in your own commission, let me know!

Club A

“Oh for the love of god please don’t make me do this…”

Mike Hartley couldn’t help but whine as he looked at the intensely bright nightclub that stood before him, which pounded with a heavy beat that Mike could feel in his bones, even from across the street. Mike was 22 years old, openly gay, recently graduated from college, and painfully, almost unbearably shy. The scrawny brown haired geek had managed to go through all 4 years of college without breaking out of his shell, and had only made one close friend the entire time: Caleb. Caleb, a cute, extroverted asian twink who had been Mike’s freshman year roommate, had somehow managed to worm his way into the introverted Mike’s heart, something that Mike was seriously regretting right now. Because, in yet another attempt to get Mike to come out of his shell and make some more friends, Caleb had dragged him out to the most popular nightclub in town, Club A. “C’mon man, this will be fun! You promised you’d come out with me for my birthday.” Caleb said with a cheeky smile, knowing he had managed to trap Mike with his promise. Mike bit his bottom lip and suppressed a groan, trying desperately not to voice his frustration. He had made that promise to Caleb, since he knew how much his friend wanted to spend his birthday out partying, but here of all places? Club A was the most popular, exclusive, and well known club in town, so well known that even Mike, who had never gone clubbing before a day in his life, knew about it. It was flashy, huge, and constantly thrummed with a loud beat so powerful that Mike couldn’t believe this place didn’t have more noise complaints. He had no idea how Caleb had managed to even get them admission into the club, though he imagined it was a gift from one of Caleb’s many hookups. “Look, I did promise to go out with you, but… do we have to go here? I thought we’d be going to one of the smaller clubs, not the biggest one in the city! I’m already having a hard time hearing myself think, and almost everyone in their is fucking beautiful, and sure you’ll be ok but I…” Mike took a deep breath, trying to stop the anxious rant that he was quickly spirally into. Caleb’s face fell at Mike’s words, a sympathetic look on his face. The young asian man placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder and smiled at him. “Hey. I know you’re nervous. But tonight is going to be fun, I promise. If it helps, I’ll stick by you the whole night, alright?” Caleb said with a slight, sweet smile. Mike smiled back, unable to help himself. Even if Caleb could be a little pushy, he was Mike’s friend for a reason, and Mike trusted him deeply. The anxious, pale man took a deep breath and nodded before responding.

“Alright. I’ll try. Let's do this.” Mike said, doing his best to pretend to be determined. Caleb’s wide, excited grin made it all worth it, and soon the smaller man was pulling Mike towards the club. As Mike and Caleb made their way through the crowd in front of the club, full of people desperate to get in, Mike couldn’t help but feel completely out of place. It wasn’t just that everyone around him was clearly an avid partier who truly wanted to be there, it was that they were all so… well, hot! With how exclusive Club A was, only the best looking people seemed to get in, with even the people waiting desperately to get into the club being fairly attractive. Mike, who was average at best and, felt incredibly out of place, especially considering that everyone besides him, including Caleb, were wearing showy, fashionable club clothing. Mike couldn’t help but feel ridiculously out of place as Caleb showed the incredibly muscular bouncer their special admission tickets and the two were let on it. 

Mike could practically feel the blood drain from his place as they entered the club together and witnessed the chaotic scene before them. If the deep and relentless beat that felt even stronger now that they were actually inside the club wasn’t enough to overwhelm the timid man, the flashing lights and roar of the crowd before him definitely did the job. Mike felt his legs turn to jelly beneath him as Caleb, too excited to notice his friend's nerves, pulled him further into the club and out onto the dance floor. Mike let out a terrified squeak that went unheard as he was pulled into what could only be described as a crowd of grinding, half naked sex gods. Well he tried to keep his hands to himself, Mike found that no matter how much he tried not to touch anyone, some part of him was always rubbed up against someone else's warm, supple flesh. One moment a guy had his hand on Mike's ass, the next a girl was feeling up his arm, the next someone had their tits, or possibly pec, shoved right in front of his face. By the time Mike emerged from the other side and reached the slightly less crowded bar he had gotten a couple phone numbers shoved in his pocket, was fairly certain he had gone to second base with someone, and had completely lost track of Caleb, whose hand he had accidentally let go of somewhere in the crowd. Mike winced and quickly sat down at a rare empty stool as he tried to take stock of himself. Of course he would immediately lose Caleb. Of fucking course. He had to wonder if Caleb had legitimately lost him, or had quickly forgotten his promise and gone off with some hunky guy. As much as Mike loved Caleb, he could be a bit of a, well, slut at times. Mike was pretty sure Caleb had slept with half the guys in their dorm. Mike decided to order a drink as he tried to catch his breath. Without Caleb, Mike was officially alone, in a giant club, surrounded by people, with no ride home. He couldn’t even really leave, because if he did Caleb would give him crap about it for weeks. So, he decided to do the only thing he thought could possibly make the situation a little less unbearable. He decided to get drunk, or at least try to. Mike looked over the drink menu that hung above the bar and sighed. He should have expected the drinks at a huge club like this to be ridiculously expensive. Mike placed his head on the bar, trying not to look entirely miserable… when someone placed a drink right next to his head

Looking up Mike saw two things immediately. One was a very dark, rich looking beer in a tall glass, well the other was the cutest bartender that Mike had ever seen. A ridiculously cute guy, no older than 23, with long blond hair and wearing a thin, see through crop top that showed his lithe body underneath. The bartender smiled at Mike, who couldn’t stop looking at the cute man's emerald green eyes. “Hey.” The blond said with a sympathetic yet slightly sultry smile that made Mike “You look like you could use a drink. Consider it on the house.” he continued, shooting Mike a playful wink as he pushed the glass closer to him, and went back to serving the others. Mike watched the beautiful man mix drinks effortlessly, almost enchanted, and took the drink without thinking. He took a light sip of the drink, and was almost shocked from his trance by the taste. It was a deep and rich flavor, with hints of vanilla that danced across his tongue. Mike smiled slightly as he drank deeper. The beer didn’t just taste good, it tasted… expensive, in a way that Mike couldn’t quite explain but inherently knew. He downed the drink, quicker than he thought possible, and felt a warm feeling form in his stomach. Whatever that drink was, it had definitely helped him relax, and Mike couldn’t help the uncharacteristically confident grin that came over his face. He ran a hand through his hair, not realizing it was slowly darkening from brown into a solid black, and ordered another, the same blond bartender smiling as he handed him another. Mike downed another, and another, not realizing his skin was darkening ever so slightly as the drink settled in his stomach and the lights of the club washed over his skin. Finally feeling the effects of the first drink hit his head, Mike got to his feet and started to make his way to the dance floor. Why had he been so nervous before? He was at a club, he should be partying, not just sitting at the bar and getting drunk. Even if the bartender was pretty cute. Maybe he’d get another drink later…

The next hour flew by in a blur for Mike as he headed back onto the dance floor and began to enjoy himself to the fullest. He wasn’t sure if it was the beer or something else, but the heavy beat echoing through the entire club didn’t feel bad anymore. In fact as he found himself dancing with one of the other club goers, he realized that the beat actually felt really good. As he danced with his new friend, a gym bro whose name Mike couldn’t hear over the music, he could feel the beat flowing through his body, which seemed to throb with every powerful thump. As his skin darkened just a bit more, and his dancing became more and more openly risque, Mike could feel his muscles grow slowly but surely with every hit of the beat, becoming bigger and bigger until he was actually a little larger than the gym bros he had found himself almost humping.

“So, uh, what's your name bro?” The jock asked as his hands traced themselves across Mike’s well cared for abs and well developed pecs. “It’s Mike!” The now black haired man said, yelling over the music. “What did you say dude? I can’t hear you.” The muscular dancer said as he hands groped the now tan Mike’s arms, feeling up their increased mass with a slight grin.

“It’s Mike!” The young man said, feeling uncharacteristically annoyed. He knew clubs were loud, but fuck this was ridiculous. 

“I still can’t hear you!” The handsome man said as he pulled himself even closer to Mike and not so subtly reached down and grabbed his bulge.

“It’s Malik!’ The young Arab man said, his voice deepening as he spoke and his new heritage solidified. The former Mike grinned slightly at the understanding on the gym bros face, realizing that he had finally heard him, before taking the man into a deep, dominant kiss. For a moment Malik felt a little strange about kissing someone so forcefully, but that thought quickly faded away. Malik was always the top in his relationships, and well the nameless jock was pretty big, he wasn’t quite as muscular as the completely and totally ripped Malik. Malik grabbed the jock ass, getting a slight squeak from the surprisingly submissive dude bro, before pulling back.

“I gotta go, uh, find my friend. See you later, hot stuff.” Malik said, handing the other man his phone number with a slight smirk before walking off. As much as the Arab jock hated to leave such a hot guy, he had promised he would spend the night partying with his friend, and that's what he was going to do. Plus, well jocks were hot, Malik had always had more of a thing for twinks, since he liked to manhandle the cute guys he slept with, just a little. He tried to remember where his friend was, but found his memories of the night were a little blurry. Fuck was he that drunk already? Ok, when he first got here, the first place he headed to was… the bar! So, maybe he’d find Caleb there? Malik made his way over to the bar, a cocky spring in his step that Mike had never had, only for all thoughts of Caleb to immediately fly out the window upon seeing the bartender from earlier. Fuck that twink was hot as hell. Why hadn’t he made a move on that earlier? He could vaguely remember feeling shy, but that wasn’t like him at all. He grinned as he walked over to the bar, which luckily wasn’t too busy, and ordered his favorite beer, the same one he had earlier. He smirked slightly as he felt the familiar rich taste with distinct hints of vanilla flow down his throat. Knowing how expensive the drink was made it taste all the better. He knew not everyone could afford to pay 30 dollars for a single beer, but hey, Malik Hajder was used to the finer things in life. From his designer shoes, to the 2,000 dollar white dress shirt he was currently wearing half unbuttoned to show off his huge pecs, to his luscious, thick black hair, Malik always made sure everything about him radiated money. Malik felt a charming smile come over his handsome, flawless face as the cute bartender came over to him once again. This was going to be fun.

___________

It had taken Malik less than ten minutes to get the still unnamed bartender in the men's bathroom, on his knees, with his thick, 10 inch middle eastern cock shoved down his throat. The blond was clearly experienced, and as Malik looked down at the cute twink’s emerald eye, he almost came on the spot. Malik had never been one to settle down with one person, but fuck this twink almost had him thinking about it. Maybe he could take the little slut home with him, make him one of his house boys. It wouldn’t be the first thing afterall. Malik began to go faster, fucking the twinks throat with an almost wild abandon, before cumming down the twinks throat. Malik smirked as the cute blond drank his cum greedily, before pulling his cock out and slapping him across the face. “Good boy.” Malik said with a masculine purr that sent a visible shiver down the twinks spine. The blond let out a wild moan as he was flipped around, and Malik’s saliva-covered cock was shoved into his raw ass. Malik chuckled darkly as he began to ram the slutty twinks ass, almost drooling as he heard the slutty moans come out of the cute bartenders mouth “M-malik! F-fuck me please! Maliiik!” The blond moaned, making Malik smirk, the sound of his voice stroking the stud's ego. “Call me sir you little whore. My whore.” Malik commanded, getting another wanton moan from the needy twink. “Sir! Fuck me Sir!” The twink moaned, his own small cock spurting cum across the wall of the bathroom stall as Malik himself came deep inside his ass. “... good boy…” Malik said with a smirk as he pulled out of the blonds ass and shoved his cock back into his designer jeans. It occurred to him, in the back of his mind, that he still didn’t know the cute blonds name, but that didn’t really matter to him. Once he convinced the fuck drunk blond twink to quit his job and come ‘work’ for Malik in his mansion, well, he could call the emerald eyed slut anything he wanted. Soon he was bringing the twink to one of his personal cars he had called over, and sending him on his way to his mansion to prepare for his new life. Normally Malik would go with the blond so he could break in his new boy by fucking him all night… but something told him he should stay. He was looking for someone after all, wasn’t he?

Malik swaggered back into Club A, a cocky grin on his face as the crowd in front of the club parted for him like the red sea. He could feel the envy and lust coming from the eyes of the crowd, and felt fueled by it. He passed by the bouncer without a care, the bouncer looking at him with undisguised respect and awe. He had to treat Malik with respect after all, Malik was a regular at the club, one of the only people who could get in whenever he wanted. There were even rumors among the staff that he was related to the owner, though as far as Malik knew that wasn’t remotely true. His family had made their fortune from oil, not clubs, though personally Malik would love to own a place like Club A.

Malik would like to say that he immediately got to looking for whoever it was he was looking for, but if he was being honest, he immediately got distracted. It was only after another hour and grinding, drinking, and making out with slutty, bubble butted, desperate twinks that the muscular alpha remembered why he had reentered the club. Fuck, he was supposed to be looking for someone, wasn’t he? He thought, for a moment, he was looking for a friend of his, but he knew that had to be wrong. He had come to the club alone, without his posse of rich, hyper masculine Arab men that he usually had around him. The guy he was here for was… twinky, wasn’t he? Had he seen another rare twink that was worthy of his interest and forgotten about it? That didn’t seem like him. His head started to hurt… until he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Malik turned to see a cute, slim asian twink with a worried look on his face, and grinned. Somehow he just knew this was who he was looking for, and even if he was somehow mistaken, it was definitely who he was taking home now. The cute asian guy had the juiciest ass he had ever seen, and Malik could already imagine him fucking it as he moaned wantonly. He was a little put off by the fact that the cutie before him looked more worried than anything, as he wasn’t used to anyone looking at him with anything but envy, admiration or lust.

“Uh, hi! Have you happened to see a small guy with brown hair around here? I came here with my friend Mike, but I ended up losing him right away. I’ve been looking all night, but I can’t find him and he’s not answering his phone…” The sweet looking man said worriedly in front of him. For some reason, Malik felt a distant pang of guilt as he looked at the guy before him. It had never happened to him, of course, but he knew getting ditched at a club sucked. Maybe he could help cheer the stranger up… “Nah, I haven’t seen anything. Too distracted.” Malik said casually

“Distracted? By what” The other young man asked 

“By that ass of yours.  I mean, have you seen that thing? Fucking hell you’ve got the juicest, finest, curviest ass I’ve even seen.” Malik said with a smirk, quickly grabbing the now blushing man by the hips and pulling him close to him “What’s your name sweetheart?” Malik asked flirtatiously as he felt his own, hard cock press against the cute twinks tiny one.

“I… I’m Caleb… I-I really should find my friend…” Caleb said breathlessly, looking at Malik with undisguised lust. Malik smirked at the poor attempt at resisting him, and grabbed Caleb by the throat, forcing him to meet the Arab stud's eyes. “Hey. Forget about your friend. Why don’t you and me have some fun?” Malik said with a cocky, seductive smirk before pulling Caleb into a deep kiss that the small asian almost melted into. Malik grinned into the kiss, knowing he’d be taking another cute, fuck drunk twink home with him tonight and adding them to his harem. 

As Malik sauntered out of the club and to another private car, an excited and horny Caleb on his arm, he didn’t realize that someone was watching him, grinning ear to ear. The owner loved watching the fruits of his labor, loved watching another changed young man leave Club A, or as he liked to call it Club Alpha, as a true and total stud.

[sanzaibian]

I could tell we weren’t welcome the moment our band of three loud and proud queers decided to eat at this restaurant.

While we waited at the entrance of the restaurant ‒ as I instructed my friends who aren’t part French ‒ I could see the bartenders whispering in our general direction with waiters who were definitively free enough to sit us. Even Tommy, who had never made the trip out to the other side of the Atlantic before, was starting to ask Sage and I whether this was normal. I told him that they might be a little busy, before adding in French, loud enough to be heard even by the bartenders :

"Je me demande pourquoi ils prennent tant de temps à servir leurs clients. (I wonder why they’re taking so much time to serve their clients.)"

I always stood up against unequal treatment back in San Francisco, I don’t know why I shouldn’t do that in France too.

And, lo and behold, a waitress decided to approach us. She started motioning towards a table far enough from any window for us not to give this restaurant any "bad press" ‒ or so I assumed ‒ making me even angrier. So, before she could tell us to follow her, I gave her instruction in the fakest cheery voice I could muster :

"Bonjour ! Excusez-moi, mes amis et moi préfèrerions une place à l’extérieur, pour voir la Tour Eiffel. (Hello ! Excuse me, my friends and I would prefer a seat outside, so that we can see the Eiffel Tower.)"

I looked to my friends, who duly nodded, only having understood "Bonjour" and "Tour Eiffel" from my intervention. The waiter could barely contain her sigh, and motioned us to a nice seat outside, next to flower pots. She handed us the menu, and we took a seat, me satisfied.

"Girl, what was that all about ?" Tommy asked me, his tone flamboyant as always. "I think I missed a beat, because all of a sudden you were speaking French for no reason ? ‒ They don’t want us here. I guess they think queers are outside of their clientele, and I couldn’t exactly stay quiet, you know me… ‒ Be careful, one day it’ll bite you in the back." Sage pinched in, their voice high and a bit nasally. "If the waiters don’t like us, they’ll make sure we have a miserable experience ! ‒ Yeah, they’re right. Girl, you said it yourself that employees in France can be very rude if you’re rude to them ! ‒ I wasn’t rude, I was sarcastic, girl. Big difference." I let my wrist go limp, showcasing my nail job. "Besides I’m right, they can’t refuse us service for being queer ! ‒ You don’t understand, you don’t get away from consequences by being right !"

I continued arguing with Tommy for a little while until Sage finally broke us up and forced us to choose something from the menu before the waitress comes back for our meal ‒ having the one outcome of making us all growl at how expensive this restaurant actually was. I should have chosen a more affordable restaurant to be angry at... Sage had always been the level-headed one of us three, even though they had the most complicated experience of us three. Being a chubby enby in today’s America, especially one who’s broadly transfem, is hard, especially when you not only find no support from family, but they send you to actual torture. But they persevered, and they’re now in a good place with us, with their iconic undercut, beard and makeup combo.

Tommy on the other hand is a lot more similar to me. A very effeminate man, his only major difference from me is the fact that he is quite the muscular guy, which he always shows off with his tank top, and he has a beautiful mop of curly hair he dyes in fantastical colors ‒ pink, as of late. On the other hand, I’m a twinky motherfucker with a short brown ivy league quiff… which I guess is quite similar to other twinks, I’m not that original... I think this is why we always end up arguing. We’re both sarcastic and engaged, we’ve both watched every season of RuPaul’s Drag Race, we both spend our week-ends in bars… People who are too much like one another will end up stepping on each other’s toes !

"Avez-vous fini de choisir ? (Have you finished choosing ?)" Suddenly interrupted the waitress, from behind me. I took a glance at the others, who had already closed their menu. ‒ Oui, c’est bon. (Yes, we did.) ‒ Prendrez-vous un apéritif ? (Will you take an appetizer ?)"

I quickly asked the others if they want one, and both say no. Tommy has been complaining for an hour straight that he needs some protein in his system or he’ll die.

"Non merci. (No, thanks.) ‒ Très bien. Je suis prête à recevoir votre commande. (Very well. I’m ready to write down your order.) ‒ Alors… pour ma part, je vous prendrai des tomates avec du pistou et de la burrata crémeuse, s’il vous plaît. (So… for my part, I’ll take tomatoes with pistou and creamy burrata, please.)" I gave a look to Sage. ‒ Er… Je veux… Dos de Cabillaud Poêlé… s’il vous plaît. (I want… cod fish filet… please.)" They said with a heavy English accent, pointing to the item on the menu ‒ which did seem to appease the waitress somewhat. ‒ I want the… Filet de bœuf, sauce béarnaise & belles frites… er… merci ? (Beef filet, bearnese sauce and fries… er… thanks ?)" Tommy tried, not disproving the stereotype of Americans not being able to speak any other language than English. ‒ Vous voulez une boisson avec ? (You want a drink with that ?) ‒ Excusez-moi, je vais leur demander. (Excuse me, I’ll ask them.) Do you want any drinks ?" I translated. ‒ Oh, I’d want some cocktail if they have one !" Tommy lit up. ‒ Yeah, but they don’t have that." Sage pointed to the drinks part of the menu. "They do have tons of wine, though. ‒ Girl, they’re so expensive…" I complained. ‒ Yeah, but we did say that we wanted to treat ourselves to real French cuisine, right ? Avoiding wine seems like a misstep, and the last time I came here I was too young to try it. ‒ I guess Rosé, then ? I don’t know much about wines, but I’ve already drunk some in my parent’s stash. ‒ Girl, you got to tell me that story." I couldn’t help but get curious. "But which one do we take ? ‒ ‘Rosé du moment’ ?" Tried Sage. "I guess it’s the safest ? ‒ Yeah, I agree. ‒ Okay, I’ll order that. Euh, nous vous prendrons un verre de rosé du moment chacun, s’il vous plaît. (Er, we will take one cup of today’s rosé each, please.) ‒ Très bien, je vous apporte ça ! (Very well, I’ll bring that to you !)" The waitress announced, weirdly chipper all of a sudden.

But I paid no mind to that, as we listened Tommy’s wild stories of sneaking behind the back of his hyper-religious parents. He tasted all the different alcohols inside their secret alcohol stash while still underage, but at the end of the tasting session, though, he was so drunk that he slept in the whole morning afterwards. Thankfully, it was a Saturday and both his parents were too busy to pay attention to him. At that point, the waitress came back with three wine glasses, and immediately started serving us. I was so engrossed by Tommy’s story that I did not pay attention at how that bottle did not open with its distinctive pop sound, nor that it was label-less.

"Bonne dégustation, messieurs. (Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen.)" She said before leaving, insisting on the male referent.

How disgusting is the homophobia on display, here ‒ and I guess transphobia, too, considering Sage. I had almost forgotten how much we were not desired here, with how much fun we were having at that table, until then. I sighed, but decided against translating that. Sage and Tommy are right, I should avoid stirring unnecessary problems, else I’ll put my friends and I in danger. I noticed Sage’s cunning look, and decided to raise my glass.

"What do you say we toast ? For our vacations in Paris ? ‒ Yeah, girl !" Tommy almost shouted, raising his glass so fast a few drops almost fell. ‒ Be careful, Tommy, it’s expensive…" Sage also raised their glass.

And so we all toasted, and took a sip.

"Oh, it’s strong !" I couldn’t help but exclaim, feeling a weird tingle over my body. ‒ Yup, I agree…" Said Tommy with a weird face. "Not bad but… unexepected. ‒ Yeah-"

Suddenly, Sage found themselves taken by a coughing fit. I was about to ask whether they were okay, but when it stopped, they said it was okay with a small but strangely deep voice.

We did not pick up on that detail, though, and Tommy and I just continued talking, sipping our wine. It was weirdly addictive, I must admit, and clearly Sage agreed as they were concentrating on sipping theirs while listening to us. As a result, the discussion naturally shifted to types of alcohol, and I found myself being weirdly passionate on this topic, even though I barely drink any. But I was much more intrigued by Tommy’s hair, as something felt… off about it. Was it the color ? I couldn’t quite place my words on it, so I didn’t raise it to his attention ‒ though I still kept an eye on it.

By the time our meals started arriving, we had drunk quite a few sips of our wines ‒ Sage naturally more than any of us, as they didn’t say a word over the whole discussion.

"Bon appétit, messieurs. (Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.)" The waitress said, once again insisting on ‘sirs’, her voice sounding even more delighted than before. ‒ Merci beaucoup ! (Thank you very much !)" Answered… Tommy ??

Sage and I both looked at Tommy, who had not only suddenly spouted French, but also had a decent accent ?

"Wait, what ? Tomm- … Tom," Why did saying ‘Tommy’ suddenly feel weird ? "when did you learn French ?! ‒ Er…" He ran his hand into his hair, which seemed to be flowing rather fluidly through his fingers. "I… don’t actually know ? Like, it… made sense ?" ‒ What do you mean it made sense ! Girl it doesn’t make any sense ! ‒ Exactly !" He took a sip of his wine, almost automatically. "I don’t understand ! ‒ Tom." Suddenly asserted an unknown deep, booming voice. "I remember you telling me that French couldn’t penetrate that thick head of yours, and suddenly you can speak it ? Something must have happened between those two points."

Tom and I looked at the origin of this voice, finding... Sage ? It wasn’t right, it didn’t fit them, they usually have a rather androgynous voice ! And… their beard also seemed kinda spotty…

"Sage !" Tom interrupted as they were going to continue. "Enough about me, have you stopped voice practice ?!"

Tom had known Sage for a lot longer than me, they actually met before they started transitioning. I… guess it didn’t occur to me that their usual high voice was the result of training…

"No, I haven’t !" They continued, their voice still deep. "… I guess I’m just tired, I don’t know. And it’s not that bad, isn’t it ? It’s such a hassle, sometimes…"

In shock, I took my hand up to my necklace, but instead got a hold of my collar. It felt weirdly prominent, for a t-shirt… but I decided against focusing on it too much for the moment.

"Dude !" Why did I say ‘dude’ instead of ‘girl’ ? "What do you mean a hassle, we’re talking about your gender identity ! ‒ Yeah, well I’m kinda getting annoyed at how everybody’s walking on eggs around me ! The moment I’m anything but cis, everybody’s acting as if I’m a performative they, like I’ll die if even one person misgenders me ! Gender’s so fuckin’ complicated, and it’d be easier if you just used he/him !"

Tom and I were both stunned. I remember them… well I guess him being so happy when th- he overheard me talking about him with they/them pronouns. And he suddenly wanted to throw that all away ?

"I’msorry, Sa- Sedge." I apologized to him. "I didn’t think that you were so upset by this, dude. If that’s what you feel fits best to your gender identity, then I’ll use he/him, bro. ‒ It’s not‒" Sedge sighed, and took a sip of his wine, interrupting his flow for some reason. "It’s just that… I’m assigned male at birth, right ? I’m not really hurt when others think of me as a man, so why forgo the privilege ?" Another sigh, another sip. "And why are we even talking about that when you’ve been spouting ‘bro’ and ‘dude’ like you’re a frat bro !"

I choked on the wine I was mindlessly sipping, making me cough on my… white t-shirt with long sleeves ? I was wearing short sleeves coming in, under that heat ! I put my glass of wine down, but before I could investigate, Sedge pressed on.

"Have you suddenly decided to switch girls with men or what ? I remember you using ‘girl’ all the time ! ‒ That’s not true, bro, I’m not doing that !"

Sedge made me a face, wordlessly telling me that I did the exact thing I was telling I wasn’t. I remember him doing that to me many a time, though I remembered his face having a beard rather than the mere stubble he was wearing.

"Are you sure ? I… don’t even notice it… I guess it’s so natural that it just doesn’t register, man… ‒ How the fuck does it not register ! You just started using it a minute ago ! You don’t just do that ! ‒ Well, dude, you don’t just decide that you’ve always wanted to be called he/him after years of telling me that you wished people would just ask for pronouns, bro ! ‒ How is that even comparable ! Well, if you’re just going to go for ad hominem, then when did you plan to tell us that you were growing your hair ! ‒ Hah ? Well when did you plan to tell us you were shaving your stubble ! And taking a regime, ‘cause you’re looking quite slim, bro ! ‒ Stop inventing stuff ! You‒ ‒ Stop ! Arrêtez ! (Stop !)" Suddenly moderates Tom. "It’s going too far ! We are friends, not enemies ! So calm down ! Besides, we have a meal to eat !"

We both sighed and took a sip of our wine to decompress, before we fully realized what just happened.

Tom had a French accent.

"Tom… what happened… why do you sound French ? ‒ I agree with him, why do you suddenly have a French accent, bro ? En plus j’suis à moitié Français, donc j’ai plus d’autorité sur ça que lui. (Plus I’m half French, so I have more authority on that than him.) ‒ Hey, I heard that !" Complained Sedge… ???? ‒ J’sais pas, ça vient juste naturellement ! (I dunno, it’s just coming naturally !) It’s like when you say ‘bro’, ‘dude’ or ‘man’, your mind just decides to do it and you don’t know why ! ‒ Yeah, bro. I can feel that…" I let a bit of silence, before I had to add a bit of a bad taste joke. "Mais ton accent en anglais est franchement hilarant, tu devrais t’entendre.. (But your accent in English is honestly hilarious, you should listen to yourself...) ‒ Arrête, on n’est pas tous comme toi à être à moitié Américain… (Stop, we’re not all half American like you…)"

Silence then befell our table, and we all took a sip of our wine ‒ not really daring touching our food, and maybe a bit too addicted to our tasty beverage.

I passed my hand through my blonde locks behind my head. Had it been that long since I last went to the barber’s ? And where did my nail polish go ? Fuck, Sedge was right…

"Guys… I think that, somehow, we’re all changing. ‒ J’l’avais pas vu venir, Sherlock. (No shit, Sherlock.) ‒ Welcome to the club, dumb-ass."

I rolled my eyes at their reactions.

"Okay, it wouldn’t have cost you extra to be a bit nicer, bro. ‒ Meh, didn’t feel like it. ‒ You asshole. ‒ OK les gars, vous pouvez parler comme des humains normaux ? (Okay, guys, can you talk like normal human beings ?) ‒ Dit celui qui ne parle qu’en français à une table d’américains… (Says the one that only speaks French at a table full of Americans." I couldn’t help but snark. But looking at their serious faces, I understood that this wasn’t the right move. "Sorry, dude… … Well, what are we doing about all that ? ‒ On pourrait chercher qu’est-ce qui cause les changements ? (We could search for what causes all the changes ?) ‒ Or we could start by listing what has changed." Decided Sedge, still the most astute of us three. "To agree on what everybody has gone through to see when a new thing changes.

We all agreed on that, and started looking at one another for details on others that we might have missed. On Tom, I noticed that his hair had fully become straight, and was coiffed into a simple blonde middle part. He also had lost some muscle mass, getting a leaner build. I noticed that, similarly, Sedge’s hair had morphed into a style slicked to the side, with mass on the side and back making his hair no longer an undercut. I also noticed that his facial features were a lot more masculine, while Tom made us realize that he now had a smooth face, as if it never had any hair.

As for me, Sedge took a picture of my face, and I saw how my hair had become a long blonde middle-part ‒ a far cry from the short ivy league quiff I used to have. Tom on the other hand made me notice that I was bigger, and I was wearing a dress shirt... which seemed obvious yet I didn’t think of it ? In fact, everything about that had that feeling. Like there were some obvious changes that had happened, yet we only noticed them when pointed to us. Like every shift had always been there, as if an alternative reality was superposing on ours.

Makes you wonder if we would even notice a change that happens to us three at the same time. What a scary thought.

"Donc, maintenant on cherche ce qui nous transforme ? J’veux pas dire mais moi, tout ça, ça m’effraie. (So, now we go look for what’s transforming us ? I must admit, all that is scaring me.)" Tom took another sip of his wine, tilting the glass quite a bit. "Merde, il fait trop chaud, aujourd’hui… (Shit, it’s too hot, today…)" He commented, pulling on… his collar ?

Tank tops don’t usually have collars, right ? And he was still wearing a tank top just then, right ?

"C’est le vin. (It’s the wine.)" I declared, before taking a sip myself. ‒ Ouais, je suis d’accord. (Yeah, I agree.)" Added Sedge in an unaccented French, himself sipping his wine. ‒ Alors pourquoi vous continuez à en prendre ? (So why do you continue taking it ?)" Asked Tom, also taking a sip. ‒ Je… ne peux pas m’en empêcher. (I… can’t stop myself.)" Sedge opened up the center of his hoodie, showing off an athletic build. Looking at his smug face, I could tell that it was intentional. "C’est tellement bon, le laisser là serait criminel. (It’s so good, not touching it would be criminal.) ‒ Même si ça nous transforme ? (Even if it transforms us ?)" I asked, rhetorically, as if I wasn’t myself addicted to its taste. ‒ C’est pas une si mauvaise chose, en somme. (It’s not such a bad thing, actually.)"

I noticed how Tom… No, Thomas’s glass was almost empty. He was now fully decked out in a striped dress shirt covering his athletic build, but not as ripped as before. He looked like a completely different man, with his neat straight blonde hair and conservative yet classy clothes, instead of the curly pink mop and pink gym clothes he came with. Someone who clearly fits this establishment’s… tastes a lot better.

Yet, this didn’t bother me. Before, I would have thrown a fuss about how homophobic the direction was, but now that I was wearing this classical style, with my white dress shirt, slacks and neat blonde middle part, I was actually happy to… look normal.

"Les gars, vous voulez qu’on prenne la dernière gorgée tous ensemble ? (Guys, do you want to take the last sip together ?)" Suddenly asked Sedge. "Je ne sais pas ce que ça fera, mais bon, c’est pas comme si on arriverait à s’empêcher de le terminer, de toute façon. (I don’t know what it will do, but honestly, it’s not as if we would even manage to stop ourselves from finishing it.) ‒ Ouais, faisons ça, Sed-… Je veux dire Serge. (Yeah, let’s do that, Sed-… I mean, Serge.) ‒ Ouais mec ! Mais avant ça, dis-moi… (Yeah dude ! But before that, tell me…)" I couldn’t help myself from asking, curious as to how much Serge changed. "Pourquoi t’as ouvert ta chemise ? Gros, j’croyais que t’étais dysphorique avec ton torse ! (Why did you open your shirt ? Bro, I thought you were dysphoric about your torso !)"

Serge smirked, and adjusted the collar of his shirt out, letting more skin show, as well as a checkered pattern inside his collar.

"Pour montrer mes atouts masculins, évidemment. (To show off my masculine assets, of course…)" Serge’s voice was ever so slightly deeper and sultrier, embracing his masculinity even more. ‒ Daaamn bro, you’re looking hot as fuck !" I couldn’t help but catcall. ‒ Well, if you want anything, I’m your man !" Serge’s accent had morphed to a definitely French one. ‒ Dude, you’re gonna be my suave Parisian sweetheart or what ?" I laugh. I’m having too much fun. ‒ Eh les gars, on est en France, ici ! Tout le monde n’est pas à moitié américain comme toi, (Hey, guys, we’re in France, here ! Not everybody’s half American like you,)" Thomas looked at me, interrupting our fake-flirting, before turning to Serge. "ou super doué en anglais comme toi ! Je veux aussi jouer à la drague ! (or is great in English like you ! I also want to play flirting !)" He pouts. ‒ Pardon, j’suis désolé ! (Sorry, I’m sorry !)" Serge punched Thomas’s shoulder, definitely patronizing him. "Bon, c’est pas tout, mais il nous reste qu’une gorgée de rosé ! (Well, then, we all have only one sip of rosé remaining !)"

We all smiled, and made a toast, before gulping the rest of the wine down, ready and happy to accept any and all consequences.

The rest of the lunch went smoothly. We all rediscovered our meals ‒ which had gone cold, we had to ask the restaurant to reheat it, which they were all so happy to do ‒ and then bitched for fifteen minutes about which wine would go best with our respective meals. We ended up ordering a full bottle of white wine ‒ Serge was so ecstatic when he saw that they had his favorite vintage of Champagne ‒ much to the frustration of Thomas who complained that it wouldn’t fit well with meat. However, considering the restaurant didn’t have any red that satisfied his needy tastes, that was a sacrifice worth making.

By the time we ended eating desert, I looked at my Rolex ‒ it’s getting old, I should probably buy myself a new one ‒ and saw that it was already 1:30 PM.

"Les gars, on a encore une demi-heure devant nous avant de repartir au taf. Vous voulez y aller ou pas ? (Guys, we still have 30 minutes until we go back to work. You want to leave or not ?) ‒ Tu parles, moi, même si j’arrive en retard d’une heure rien se passera. Ma mère me donne carte blanche tant que j’me mets pas à la drogue ! (What a joke, on my side if I arrive one hour late nothing will happen. My mom lets me do anything as long as I don’t do drugs !)" Serge laughed. ‒ Tu crois que les poppers ça compte comme de la drogue ? (You think that poppers can be classified as drugs ?)" Asked Thomas, sticking his tongue out. ‒ J’espère pas, mec, sinon j’suis foutu… (I hope not, dude, else I’m cooked…) ‒ Heh, problème de passifs ! (Heh, bottom problems !)" Snarked Serge. "En plus, si je dois vraiment pas en approcher, y’a toujours plein de filles au boulot à ma mère qui voudraient bien de mes couilles ! (Plus, if I have to avoid it, there’s still tons of girls at my mom’s workplace who’d like to experience my dick ! ‒ T’es dégeu, gros… pas comme ça au resto ! Tu vas donner une mauvais impression ! (You’re disgusting, bro… don’t do that at the restaurant ! You’ll give a bad impression !)"

As if I had called it, the waitress came back to us to take away our desert plates. Thankfully she wasn’t there when we let our mask slip !

"Votre déjeuné s’est bien passé ? Voudriez-vous un café ? (Your lunch went well ? Do you want some coffee ?) ‒ Oui, volontiers. (Yes, gladly.)" I answer, somehow still in charge for our table. "Je pense qu’on en veut tous un ici, hein ? (I think we all want one here, huh ?)"

Everybody agreed, so she took our order, and quickly went back with three cups of coffee. By then, our discussion had morphed into talking about economics ‒ after all, as future CEOs and investors, we have to pay attention to that. A much more acceptable subject of discussion at a table of an expensive restaurant with bigoted owners !

Because no matter how much they changed us with their spiked wine, they only applied a coat of paint over our real selves. Made us appear more normal, but did not make us become more normal. Even Serge, who is definitively gloating in his newfound appreciation of masculinity, has later confessed to me still being uncomfortable with being labeled as a man ‒ whence why he now hates his beard.

After our by all means pleasant lunch, we all said goodbye ‘till the evening and went out in our own direction, putting on the classy sunshades we bought when we last went to America to protect against the strong summer sun. Serge went to smoke near his motorbike, Thomas called up a taxi, while I walked towards the Champ de Mars ‒ the company I work being very close by.

As I walked, I decided to call up my best friend, Maria, a childhood friend from when I lived in America who has since taken a strong interest in witchcraft. What happened here would likely be very interesting to her. But as I was explaining how I had been transformed, and how it happened, I made an off-hand comment about us getting some Champagne afterwards, making her immediately react :

"Wait, Champagne ? When did you get filthy rich !"

… Fuck...

[fredwmain]

AI companies will fail. We can salvage something from the wreckage | Cory Doctorow

AI is asbestos in the walls of our tech society, stuffed there by monopolists run amok. A serious fight against it must strike at its roots

Cory Doctorow is a great sci fi writer and tech commentator and this whole article is deeply worth the read.

[sanzaibian]

I really like your tfs where a character's language changes. Any particular faves in terms of a language or dialect you would want to be tfed into speaking?

Oh yeah, language change is something I put a lot of emphasis on when I do any kind of nationality/racial change (because I may or may not love languages) !

What I really like is getting the opportunity to dig into a rare language, where I actually have to seek out research papers to see how to construct sentences. This is what I did with Chechen and Modern Nahuatl, though for those I mostly used phrase books, as well as Classical Chinese when I wanted to mess with the Calamities and more recently AAVE ^^

But as for what I would prefer, I must admit I really don't know ! It would preferably be a language I don't already know (sorry modern Chinese ^^'), but at the same time the hottest might be a language which has a special societal status. All put together, I think that Arabic might be the hottest, but others would also be very cool ! ^^

Oh my god I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were Moroccan ! Sma7li, I didn't want to sound offensive !

... What do you mean you weren't Moroccan before ? ... You say you found that football jersey, and after you put it on, you found your muscles growing lean and your facial features rearranging, and l-Engliziya becoming no more than your second language, being replaced by d-Darija ? You're right, you're more and more taking on an Arabic accent...

Fuck, right before my eyes your hair is getting all feathery and well-set, and hair is growing out your lip and your chin ! You're looking like a real footballer by the minute ! Wait, I'm going to find a solution !

... Why are you looking at me like that ? You've... got a l-koura match coming up and you can't miss it ? So... you want to stay like this because... you can't disappoint your teammates ?

Okay, fine, I'll come back after your game, but don't be surprised if I can't fully put you back to normal...

T7alla f-rasek, saa7ebi.

If you have any question for me, don't hesitate to ask them ! I can't promise I'll get to them right after you ask, but I'll do my best ^^

[fredwmain]

Thanks bro! But, you know you can join us on the field, right? Just grab a jersey and enjoy the feeling of getting all hot and dumb, huhuhu.

[sanzaibian]

But how are we going to go back to normal after that ! ...

Okay, I'm too tempted, so I'll take not a jersey but a compression shirt, the effect should wear off by the end of the match (hopefully). Here we go !

Ugh, of course the first thing that happens is that a mustache and a goatee grow, I can feel their hairs getting coarser and coarser under my fingers. I can't stand beards ! ... usually, right now I'm liking it.

Oh, my arm is darkening ! And also getting bigger ! ... wait, a lot bigger, er... ouch ! Lhwa ! My whole body is getting massive ! I guess a compression shirt means more of a gym bro than a l-koura player...

What, khouya, you tell me that I'm developing an Arabic accent ? Yeah ! 9der nkellem d-Darija (I can speak Moroccan Arabic) ! Huhuh, n3bed had (I love this) !

Wallah, I'm looking so good ! Especially with these tight curls ad shaved sides, the coolest cut ! ‒ even cooler than yours, khouya !

Well, what are you waiting for, khouya, we've got a match to win !

Don't hesitate to ask me any question ! With any chance, the answer may turn out to be life-changing !

[sanzaibian]

I really like your tfs where a character's language changes. Any particular faves in terms of a language or dialect you would want to be tfed into speaking?

Oh yeah, language change is something I put a lot of emphasis on when I do any kind of nationality/racial change (because I may or may not love languages) !

What I really like is getting the opportunity to dig into a rare language, where I actually have to seek out research papers to see how to construct sentences. This is what I did with Chechen and Modern Nahuatl, though for those I mostly used phrase books, as well as Classical Chinese when I wanted to mess with the Calamities and more recently AAVE ^^

But as for what I would prefer, I must admit I really don't know ! It would preferably be a language I don't already know (sorry modern Chinese ^^'), but at the same time the hottest might be a language which has a special societal status. All put together, I think that Arabic might be the hottest, but others would also be very cool ! ^^

Oh my god I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were Moroccan ! Sma7li, I didn't want to sound offensive !

... What do you mean you weren't Moroccan before ? ... You say you found that football jersey, and after you put it on, you found your muscles growing lean and your facial features rearranging, and l-Engliziya becoming no more than your second language, being replaced by d-Darija ? You're right, you're more and more taking on an Arabic accent...

Fuck, right before my eyes your hair is getting all feathery and well-set, and hair is growing out your lip and your chin ! You're looking like a real footballer by the minute ! Wait, I'm going to find a solution !

... Why are you looking at me like that ? You've... got a l-koura match coming up and you can't miss it ? So... you want to stay like this because... you can't disappoint your teammates ?

Okay, fine, I'll come back after your game, but don't be surprised if I can't fully put you back to normal...

T7alla f-rasek, saa7ebi.

If you have any question for me, don't hesitate to ask them ! I can't promise I'll get to them right after you ask, but I'll do my best ^^

[fredwmain]

Thanks bro! But, you know you can join us on the field, right? Just grab a jersey and enjoy the feeling of getting all hot and dumb, huhuhu.

[sanzaibian]

"What do you mean my funding has been canceled !"

I shout at the representative of the university, as she was announcing to me the bad news.

"You see, since our university has… refocused its research efforts, we decided that a project aiming to…" The woman in a corporate skirt squinted while looking at the sheet of paper she was holding. "Find phonological rules common to varieties of Chinese ? Hahah, how was that even approved in the first place !"

I give her a stare as she mocks my life’s work. Yes, the application of this work is not yet evident, but it will create the foundation for more work that will further our understanding of human communication !

"Sorry, sorry." She wipes a tear of laughter. "The funding for the project aiming to find phonological rules common to varieties of Chinese has been pulled. Any question ? ‒ Why !" I give her my most sarcastic look and body posture. ‒ I just explained to you ! Our university is‒ ‒ Ugh, what a joke, they just want to suppress any learning that might be politically dangerous by replacing with dumb sports…" I sigh. "And just what am I supposed to do, now ? ‒ Well, you could start by looking at how you can refocus your specialty towards physical studies ? I don’t know, studying body language ? I don’t know, you’re the one who’s supposed to know about that, I’m not a linguist. ‒ 你他妈的官员！" I cuss, appropriately in Chinese, the language(s) I love and study. "I… have no more questions. ‒ Have a good day !" She leaves, chipper. What an hypocrite.

I slouch down on my chair, letting all the breath in my lungs out as tears start forming under my eyes. The work of my life, stolen from below my feet. A mountain of future knowledge evaporating in front of my eyes. I knew that I wasn’t engaging in the field of research to get rich, especially not in such an obscure and under-appreciated field as linguistics. But to have the funding I fought tooth and nail to obtain be taken for me in such an undignified manner is… disheartening.

I hear someone knocking on my door.

"Yes ?" I wipe my tears, letting Sandro in. "Oh. Hey. ‒ Are you alright ? I… just heard the news. It’s a bloodbath. ‒ Who else ? ‒ Well, Mael’s project on future reference in Romance languages, Michiko’s project on children’s acquisition of tone and accent systems, Lea’s project on pragmatic cues in autistic women’s humor… ‒ Stop, stop, I… I can’t."

We look at one another in silence for a while. Me looking at the sunkissed Brazilian man with short coily hair, him looking at the bespectacled dark blonde nerd that I am.

"You want to go for a walk ?" Sandro breaks the silence. "You know, to flee that damned university who’s chasing us away ? ‒ Yeah, let us…" I stand up and take my keys. "And the sun’s already going down, I guess I’ll say that I had a short day at work ‒ you know, considering I basically don’t have any work anymore. ‒ You’re right…"

Sandro and I both take up our things, each in his own office, and we join back up in front of the Language and Literature faculty.

"You took your time !" I tease Sandro, the only type of mischief I can do in these kinds of circumstances. ‒ Well, I did have to walk back to my office, if that’s a good enough excuse ? ‒ I’ll let you have it, but only because I lost my funding."

Again silence drops on us as we start walking down the paved plaza in the center of the campus.

"I knew the fact that they announced a new focus on physical studies to be bad news for us." I start complaining. "But I didn’t think they would go as far as canceling ongoing funding. It seems like it’s bordering on illegal… ‒ Yeah. I guess they don’t want to waste any time having a university full of jocks instead of controversial thinking heads… ‒ What do they want us to do ? Go try our one in a thousand luck in other universities ? Magically become jocks who are into… researching how stretchy the Achilles tendon is after some kind of injury ? ‒ Hahah, still thinking about that one PhD student you had a crush on, back in the day ?" Sandro mocks me in the way only a student buddy can. ‒ Not fair !" I smile back. "But yeah, I don’t know what they’re expecting from us, in linguistics ! What can we even study that has something to do with sports or physical medicine ! ‒ I don’t know… bro-speak ? ‒ Hah !" I snicker at Sandro’s suggestion. "I think they rather expect us to use bro-speak rather than study it ! Like they want to say bro or something ! ‒ God, can you figure that ? Noah rolling up to us and saying bro out of nowhere!" Sandro laughs back. ‒ What, bro ? You can’t handle that, bro ?" I hit him with my elbow, deliberately leaning into the stereotype. ‒ Oh my god, you’re so good at that !"

I stick my tongue out to Sandro, taking my revenge for his mockery. Though he is right, I’m nailing the accent a lot better than I was expecting.

"Try it, dude !" I grin. ‒ Okay, uh, bro." He smiles. "Heheh, that’s so weird, bruh. ‒ Yeaah…" Somehow, I got the impression that the last… bro ? wasn’t intentional. "But yeah, that aside, what are you going to do with your free time ? ‒ I don’t know… maybe go to the gym, you know ?" Sandro thinks for half a second. "You know, maybe this year I’ll be able to stick to my new year’s resolution, this time ! ‒ Nice, man !" Man ? "I guess I’ll also go there more frequently, now that I have more time… ‒ Huh ?" Sandro scowls a bit. "I guess I didn’t see that you had grown some muscles."

I look down, and see my arms glow with light muscles under the waning light of the sun. I guess… I didn’t notice my progress ?

"Yeah, I guess I progressed faster than I expected !" I put my arm behind my head, involuntarily flexing to him. "That’s what you get when you are consistent, bro !" Bro ? ‒ Hey ! I go there often, dude !" Dude ? ‒ Like once a week tops ?" I try to temper, considering he just said that it was for a New Year’s resolution. ‒ No ! … I mean, about, but I often go twice a week." He admits, also discreetly flexing his biceps to me. "Though, to be honest, you’re the gym freak between us two. ‒ Bruh." I cannot help but utter in consternation, voice weirdly deep. "Me ?"

I turn towards Sandro and hold up my arms to showcase my whole body. But as I do that, I feel my shoulders almost pop out towards the side, as if making more space for my muscles. Looking down, I find a defined musculature, both in my arms, my torso and my hips… where there wasn’t supposed to be any ? And… where is my gut ?

"Wait, dude, something’s happenin’ to us ! I… I wasn’t this muscular when the woman told me my… my… my project on like Chinese was canceled, bro !" I start panicking, suddenly aware of my shift in speech pattern. "I mean, not bro, dude ! ARGH ! ‒ You alright, brah ?" Says Sandro in a concerned, deeper tone, scratching his longer coily hair. "You… you were always ripped, no ? Like me, dude ! ‒ What ! No, no, you weren’t, bro !" I take my head with my hands as I try to get my thoughts back in control. "Fuck dude, you have a fucking goatee now ! ‒ Uh…" Sandro scratches his chin where black hairs are still worming their way out of the skin. "Yeah ? I mean… I’ve always wanted one, bro… ‒ But you’ve never been able to grow it, dude ! And your hair ! It’s like twice as long as it ever was, bro ! ‒ I…" Sandro recoils a strand of hair. "I mean, I’m not sure what you mean ? I’ve always taken tons of time to set my hair alright ? Bruh, you were there when I decided to let my hair grow !"

He… he’s right… I remember, a younger Sandro, with big pecs (?) and his buzzcut, telling me he wanted to see what his hair looked like when longer like the people on Tiktok and Instagram do it…

"Fucking hell, dude ! You’re not supposed to be this ripped ! We’re both like linguists at uni, bruh ! Not like… gym rats ! ‒ Linguists ?" Sandro furrows his brows, seemingly thinking hard. ‒ Yeah ! You were studying… like… fuck, it’s getting hard to remember, but like translations of the Bible ? Yeah ! Like Hebrew and stuff, bro ! ‒ Seems boring, dude. ‒ Fuckin’ hell it is, dude!" I take a breath, noticing how out of character what I just said is. "I mean, you loved it, bruh ! And we got problems with uni or something ‘cause like they wanted to focus on sports or something, man ! ‒ I dunno what you’re going on about, bro. But I’m glad uni’s gone this way, I love bein’ able to focus only on sports !"

Sandro suddenly takes his shirt out, showing off his muscles and his tattoos showing the image of a snake and the word "Devil". The Garden of Eden. Sandro’s favorite passage to study.

But the more I look at him, the less I can remember that old nerdy guy. I can only remember the jock I have in front of me, especially as his jeans morph into a tracksuit, and earrings and a pearl necklace materialize around his handsome face. A hunk with big muscles, big pecs and a nonchalent attitude about everything. The type to go to every party even if he isn’t invited, and be accepted because of how much effort he puts on his look.

"But bro, you seem like the one who’s confused. I dunno what you’re talking about Chinese stuff, but you’re my gym bro, bruh ! In fact, it’s more like I am your gym bro, considering how much of a muscle freak you are, dude !" Sandro snickers at his own joke. ‒ I… I… No, we’re not supposed to… dude…" I spiral in confusion. ‒ Take off your shirt, bro. You’re gonna think better."

I take off my shirt, which becomes a black tank top that I hang on the side of my pants. They’re getting stretchy, becoming gray sweatpants, getting folded inside white Nike socks and bleaching sports sneakers.

I look down, seeing the muscles of a bodybuilder. The slab of pecs, on which a "学术" (science) tattoo is inscribed, obscures my six-pack, and is sat right below a high set of traps, and between big shoulders and big biceps. The body of a giant, with a very visible V down to the crotch. The kind of jock that has its place inside the university, unlike the researcher that was in his place previously.

"I… I’m big, dude…" My thoughts are clearing up. ‒ You see, bro ! You’re the biggest ! The muscle freak of uni, dude ! ‒ Huhuhuhu" I can’t help but gloat at Sandro’s remark, my voice ever deeper. "Fuck dude, I dunno what I was on about with that whole uni… conspiracy thing, bro ! ‒ Ahhh, you’re back, bro !" Sandro taps my shoulder. ‒ Fuck yeah, bro !"

I flex to him, and he flexes back. We spend a few minutes cycling through flexing position and taking pics of one another before Sandro asks :

"By the way, the tattoo is new, right dude ? What does it mean ? ‒ I dunno, I think it’s like Japanese ? The first word means like discipline, and the second like martial arts, bro. ‒ It’s dumb, dude ! ‒ Huhuhuhu, well not as dumb as you having a fuckin’ butterfly, bruh ! ‒ Fuck you, bro !"

As we continue walking down the road towards our dorm, I feel something in my left eye. I scratch it, wiping away… tears ? Why would I ever cry, when I am living a fucking dream ! I get to focus on sports and not on dumb smart people stuff like in high school ! And not only that, but I have now tons of bros with whom to get a good pump, no nerds in sight !

Cuz dude, why would anyone do dumb stuff like fuckin’ linguistics, huhuhu

================================================

Happy new year ! Best wishes to you all !

I cap off 2025 with only 5 stories, and a bunch of drafts I wasn't able to finish. I'm really sorry about my slow rate last year ^^'

This year, I'll try to write shorter stories to hopefully be able to finish more concepts and publish them for you all to see ! and maybe to save me from having to find solace in AI chatbots

I hope you liked this story, and see you all for the next one !

In the meantime, if you have any questions for a short impromptu Q&A, don't hesitate to ask, my inbox is always open ! ^^

[fredwmain]

All I'm saying is that if hockey yaoi from 2016 can reemerge and take over my dash to start off 2026, I can set a resolution to get back to consistent tf writing this year.

[brn-t]

were I to open up a couple slots of commissions, what sort of comms would y'all be interested in?

short TF writing comms (under 5k)

single/double stage TF sequences

more general monsterfuckery art

FINISHING THE DAMN LYNEL STORY BRNT

single YCH tf scenarios

specific themed art (ie: slime, oviposition, mpreg, hyper etc)

sfw pet comms to give to Gamgam for christmas

Voting ended onDec 17, 2025

[fredwmain]

Good boys go and buy some comms from my friend! His nsfw and sfw art is great.

[beastliness]

more people need to give themselves permission to write and draw pornography

[beastliness]

it is virtuous and necessary that you write, draw, and distribute pornography

[radfemart]

can we start with not conflating "erotic/sexual art or writing" with pornography

[beastliness]

no lmao

[aetherograph]

@thoughtscout "Erotica" was first coined by people wanting to get around censorship laws that would ban pornography under the legal classification of Obscenity, but would not ban romance novels, or Literature, as that was "of artistic worth" and therefore protected speech. Here is the USA Legal definition, pulled from Wikipedia, of "Obscenity":

United States obscenity law deals with the regulation or suppression of what is considered obscenity and therefore not protected speech or expression under the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. In the United States, discussion of obscenity typically relates to defining what pornography is obscene.

It's important to understand that key idea, that "obscene" is a legal classification that marks something as not protected by Freedom of Speech, The Press, and Free Expression, which is the First Amendment.

There are several ethical problems with having a way to exempt something from protection, and therefore censor it. It encourages people who want to censor things to try and get them legally classed as exceptions to any Freedom of Speech laws on the books. Now, with art, there are exemptions that should exist--art that harms people in the making of it, for example, which is what Child Sexual Abuse Material is, and why we call it that. We also classify filmed evidence of murder done for the film's sake as an exception. But the way people define the word "obscenity" is extremely different depending on who you ask, and because definitions in this country are set by precedent, i.e. judges ruling on court cases, the definition of things like "obscenity" keeps changing.

In 1873, for example, the Comstock Act said that birth-control information and condoms were "obscene" and banned sending them through the mail, which meant a lot of people were cut off from being able to learn about birth control (because nobody was learning about it in school--most people at the time didn't go to school after learning basic reading skills, if that; children worked, just like their adult relatives, to support their families). Do you think a book like this one that educates about puberty and sex, including birth-control, is obscene and pornography? Well it was, at one time, and BANNED. And I don't tell you this so you can go, "Well people were backwards then, we're Enlightened now, we'd only ban the RIGHT things" People have always been people, just as wise AND just as foolish as we are now, and progress has never been a straight line.

Our point is that pornography is an important thing to make, and to fight for, and to CALL "pornography". It's important to hold the line and not let people begin to call WRITTEN and DRAWN things the same as PHOTOGRAPHED and FILMED things. For MANY DECADES, people have been trying to ban and censor pornography that has involved no one but the author or artist in the making, and is therefore HARMING no actual human beings. A photograph involves real, live, breathing human beings; a drawing involves a piece of paper and a pen and the artist.

Whatever you think is "just erotica" or even "not erotica at all" is going to be called porn and obscene by a malicious and controlling person like say Warriors For Innocence, who successfully scared LiveJournal into banning a whole lot of writing and drawing and also queer and survivor support communities and users in 2006. These same folks are behind the Purity/Anti culture on Tumblr, and members successfully lobbied to pass FOSTA-SESTA and the subsequent "Titty Ban" on any website that relies on an app. FOSTA-SESTA, btw, has made human trafficking and harm to sex workers WORSE, not better.

So you need to start fighting WITH pornographers who are fighting censorship, because the people you think are on your side about only banning and censoring "the REAL bad stuff" are going to turn around and call YOUR stuff just as bad. They're already calling queer people obscene just for existing. They are calling us child abusers again, just for breathing. I don't think you want to be on the side of that rhetoric, because it will come for you and call YOU obscene and worthy of arrest, in the end.

[papermoon357]

Ha fuck yeah. Who woulda thought this hypnosis command shit would work. But here he is. My pretentious nerdy prick of a roommate just standing there frozen, obeying everything I say. And I mean obeying. Told him to lose the glasses, the shirt- no problem. Then demanded he gain some a few inches and put some muscle on that pathetic frame. And hot damn. Now look at him. Puny little body is gone and those arms and shoulders almost rival mine. Something’s still missing off. Sure that face of his got some angles and confidence to it now, but still looks like an innocent little smart ass. Might as well get a roommate I can really have some fun with. So… “Looking good bro but you can do better. See that body, you need a personality to match. Be a horny dumb cocky bro, bro. Every IQ point you let go, let that cock grow and I mean get dumb bro. You’re gonna be the perfect horny slut for me. Yeah we’re gonna have some fun. So let me see it. Give me a smirk and be a bro”

[misctf]

The Officer's Son

An indirect sequel to The New Product. Hope you enjoy!

-------

Chief Benson tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, his eyes darting at even the slightest sounds or movement. This meeting wasn't on the record- wasn't supposed to happen. But when a leading member of the Sante Cambio drug cartel reached out regarding the whereabouts of his missing son, Eric, Chief Benson was ready to make an exception.

"C'mon." Benson whispered, growing increasingly impatient, "Eric... where are you?" Flashbacks flickered through his mind- of his son. Of his time volunteering, his time at the gym, celebrating his 21st birthday.

"Dad, I wanna make a difference."

"Gonna be just like you someday, Chief."

"They say I’ve got your build, Chief."

"Gotta stay in shape for the academy."

"I'm gonna make you proud, dad."

"Fuck…" Benson cursed, feeling powerless.

"Hola mi amigo!" Benson perked up as a man he recognized as the cartel's leader in the city, Diego, entered, "I am so happy you have accepted my invitation." Diego smirked, his eyes predatory.

Benson's eyes darted past Diego, landing on the enforcer behind him. He was bigger than Diego. His shirtless, hairy torso thick and broad- graced with fresh ink. The enforcer looked down and shifted his bulk, crossing burly arms over his large chest.

"Your muscle?" Benson nodded towards the larger man.

"Eh him? Sí, very loyal boy. Been with us… what, three weeks now?"

"Si senor," The man replied, gaze still focused on the ground, "Is been three week already." He spoke in heavily accented English.

"Well isn't that nice?" Benson's sarcasm was barely concealed, "Enough bullshitting around. You know why I'm here Diego. Where. Is. My. Son?"

"Of course! Should we start from the very beginning?" Diego leaned back in his chair and tossed a photo to Benson.

Benson inspected it. A selfie Eric had posted at the gym- sweating and determined, surrounded by weights and machines.

"What do you mean, 'from the beginning'? What does this have to do with anything?"

"Oh, this is exactly where it starts, mi amigo. Your dear son, so dedicated to his fitness regimen. Always pumping iron, always pushing himself harder."

Benson's grip tightened on the photo. "Get to the point, Diego."

"We watched him, followed him. Always alone, always focused. Made for such an easy target." A smug smile graced his features. "We grabbed him in the parking lot. Put up quite a fight, didn't he, guapo?" He glanced at the enforcer, who remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Benson's voice trembled with anger. "What did you do to him?"

Diego waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing much at first. He was shouting, cursing us out." He laughed, "'My old man's the chief! He won't let you get away with this!' That's what he kept saying."

Benson rose from the chair, "Do you want money? Immunity? What the fuck do you…"

"Senor, please, let me finish. Prometo que todo quedará perfectamente claro. Si?" Benson slowly nodded, "Excellente!" He reached into his jacket and pulled out another photograph, sliding it across the table, "First, let me show you the next step in our little… process."

Benson's eyes widened in horror as he took in the image. Eric was naked, bound tightly with ropes, his wrists and ankles secured to a chair. His mouth was covered with duct tape, muffling any screams or pleas for help. Diego applied the tape.

"How could you...?" Benson whispered, bile rising in his throat.

"Ah, but that's when the real fun began, Chief," Diego continued, "You see, he was so stressed. So we thought we'd introduce him to some of our product. Puffed it right in his pretty face." He mimicked the action with his hands, "We'd all just smoke around him, fill those lungs of his." Diego laughed, enjoying Benson's discomfort. "He fought it at first, of course. Tried to hold his breath, glare us down with those defiant eyes."

"He'd never touch that shit willingly. Eric's clean, always has been."

"I know, oh trust me I know!" Diego continued, "When we peeled off that tape, oh, the begging! He promised he'd keep quiet, he'd forget all about it." He snorted. "Like we were going to believe that."

He reached into his pocket once more, pulling out yet another photograph. This one sent a chill down Benson's spine. Eric was still bound, but his eyes were glazed over, unfocused. Smoke everywhere around him. But what really drew Benson's attention was the way his son's body looked. Eric seemed different somehow - tanner, more muscular. Even his hair was darker.

"I don't understand, what…?" It had to be a tick of the light.

"You see, we intensified his exposure to our special strain."

The weight of realization crushed Benson like a physical blow. He knew all about this special strain of weed. Rumors circulated among the force of a batch that made people irreversibly stoned - forever trapped in a haze of laziness and obsession with so-called "stoner culture." He'd seen it up close - good kids, even some of his officers, reduced to nothing more than drooling, lethargic shells of their former selves. The idea that this fate might have befallen Eric… it would destroy everything he worked for, everything he was. No police academy now, no future outside of his father's basement.

"Not Eric." Benson whispered, "Diego… Please not him."

Diego smirked and produced another photograph, tossing it onto the table in front of Benson. Eric sat casually, a joint dangling in his hand as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. But it was his appearance that shocked Benson the most. Eric's skin was deeply tanned. Dark stubble covered his jawline. His hair now a shade darker.

"This… this can't be right," Benson muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, "That doesn't even look like..."

Diego chuckled darkly. "Oh, but it is, Chief. You see, given his inexperience, he responded to our special strain stronger than most, even with it being highly processed." He leaned closer, relishing Benson's distress. "If we'd stopped there, he would have been a perfect little stoner. Lazy, carefree, content to spend his days getting high and stuffing his face with junk food. An absolute embarrassment to his father, right?"

"But that's not what happened, is it?" Benson asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

"No, indeed it was not," Diego sighed, handing Benson another photograph, this one showing Eric bound and restrained once again, "You see, even after all that, he still clung to his dreams of being a cop. Still clung to his misguided ideals. After we caught him, we knew he needed a real lesson."

Benson's hands shook as he took the photo, his mind reeling. He couldn't wrap his head around what Diego was telling him or showing him. Eric looked even more different in the photo. Dark hair, tan skin that rivaled Diego's.

"He fought at first. And that's when we truly let loose on him, Chief," Diego continued, "No more processed, watered-down shit. We gave him the good stuff, straight from the Amazon." He paused, savoring the moment. "It's incredible what it does to an inexperienced white boy like that." Diego chuckled, "Those baby smooth cheeks? Covered in a nice, dark facial hair." He leaned back, "And let me tell you, the change wasn't just on his face. Oh no. Full chest, back, arm, leg, you name it. But it was more than that. More muscle? Absolutely. Curves in all the right places, big arms, big legs. Not just muscle, but some nice extra padding too." Diego licked his lips, "You should've seen his face. Oh and we made sure he saw every single little change." He grinned, "After a few days, you'd never know he used to be some pale-ass gringo. Looked like one of our own."

"There's no..."

"And Chief, your boy? You should've heard him. So lost, broken..." Diego recalled, "But we talked to him, helped him realize he would never be a pig. He'd always crave the high, always need to smoke. His old life, his old friends… they'd never recognize him looking like that. Wouldn't accept him." Diego leaned in, "Made him realize he'd disappoint everyone. Especially you, Chief. So we opened our arms to him. Offered him a new family, a new purpose, a new name. And he accepted." Diego smirked and glanced at his enforcer, "And as a reward, I opened my bed to him. I pleasured him in ways he'd never dreamed of, showed him what his new body needed, left him begging for more. Tatted him up real nice, gave him a sense of belonging. A new purpose in life."

With that, Diego reached into his pocket and pulled out one last photograph. He slid it across the table to Benson.

Benson looked down at the image, and froze. It was a selfie. A man with thick dark hair- face framed by a scruffy beard. His face was broader, features harsher. Tanned skin stretched taut over massive shoulders and biceps. A broad belly spilled over the waistband of his pants. Tattoos marked his chest and forearms.

"This was a selfie your boy took after we tatted him up." Diego smirked, turning to meet the admiring gaze of his enforcer, "So fuckin' handsome, right?" He reached around and grabbed a fistful of his enforcer's juicy ass, "Right, guapo?"

Benson's head snapped up, his eyes darting to the enforcer standing beside Diego and back to the photo. The broad shoulders, the hairy chest, the round belly. The tattoos, the face, the body... it all clicked into place

"Eric? Is... is that you?"

The enforcer stood frozen, his loving gaze shifting away from Diego. Slowly, hesitantly, he met Benson's eyes- embarrassment, shame filling them. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

"Hola papá…" He began, his new accent still heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue.

And he could see it on his father's face. The shock, the horror, the desperate attempt to reconcile the man before him with the son he knew. And in that moment, he understood what his dad was thinking. How he'd never see his son wear the uniform, never live up to the ideals he had been raised with. Probably realizing one day he'd have to bring him in, handcuffs and all... Diego and the others were right – he would never be accepted, not as he was. And there was no going back, no way to reverse this.

"They call me…" He started slowly, but faltered, realizing his new name wasn't just something they called him. No… it was his name, his identity. His life as that clean-cut, eager-to-please young man, ready to follow in his father's footsteps, was over. He was now the newest recruit of the Sante Cambio cartel, "No… My name… Mi nombre es Enrique."