Last week, I bought a tank top. One goddamn tank top. It was light blue with stripes. It wasn’t supposed to be a big thing. Sure, it was the first tank I’d ever owned, but I didn’t expect my whole life to become about it, y’know?
I had always been… not nerdy or anything. I was never picked last for a team, I was never bullied, I was never the smartest kid in class. I was just nondescript. Picked somewhere in the middle, ignored, and unremarkable.
It’s stupid, the stuff you argue with yourself about. I’d always felt like I was just a little too skinny to pull off a tank top. A little too pale. But three weeks ago I was in the mood for a change, and summer was coming up anyhow, so I screwed up my courage and bought that damn shirt.
I know, I’m 35, I shouldn’t have to screw up my courage to go shopping anymore. Shut up, okay? Some of us never really got over ourselves.
“Anything else?” the clerk said, some bored-but-hot 22ish year old dude. The kind of guy who would rock this tank without a second thought.
“Nah bro, I’m good,” I said, trying too hard.
“Cool,” he said. “Hey, you know anyone who needs a job? We need a stockboy here? Pay isn’t bad, and you get a deal with the clothes.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Everyone I know is sort of past doing retail in their career.”
“Serious? Everyones got a couple friends who’d be happier with a slack job,” the clerk said.
“Thanks buddy,” I said, starting to get irritated at how long this was taking, “But me and my friends are all professionals. Why don’t you harass someone else?”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, sounding like I just kicked his dog. “Twenty bucks even.”
He messed around with the tank for a minute while I swiped my card, pulling the security tags off and stuff. I wished he’d hurry - I felt so exposed, being a normal fucking human being in a mall.
I crammed it into my backpack after I paid. The whole walk home, I felt like I was smuggling something.
Safely back in my apartment, door locked, I pulled off my shirt and modeled it in the bathroom mirror. In the fluorescent light, I looked a little too skinny to pull it off. A little too pale.
I stuffed it in a dresser drawer and promised myself that I’d wear it at least once this summer.
Safe to say bro, that’s gonna happen.
The next morning I was running late for work. I’m an auditor at a pretty big company - big enough that you’ve heard of them, so I won’t tell you who it is. As I pulled together my suit, I noticed something weird in my undershirt drawer.
I had two tank tops. There was the blue one I bought yesterday but… when did I buy that other one? I was plain red, the same cherry shade as one of my favourite t-shirts. Whatever, I didn’t really have time to puzzle over it. Maybe my fuckbuddy Josh left it here? He was a lawyer across town, but sometimes he liked to play up how bro he was.
Something else weird happened that day, but I didn’t realize until I woke up for work on Friday.
Every single fucking shirt I owned was gone. In their place were weird /almost/ versions of them. Plain white T’s had been replaced with ‘beaters. Old band shirts had the sleeves ripped off, sometimes cut like halfway down the shirt. Even my dress shirts had been replaced by brotanks of the same colors.
That was… impossible. Someone had to be fucking with me. Maybe one of my friends had seen me buying that stupid tank top in the store the other day and now they were screwing with me.
Not a cheap joke, but hey, we all make good money. Maybe Josh was having a laugh? Or Trevor? They were both occasional fuckbuddies, so they both had keys.
Whatever was happening, I couldn’t end up late for work. And it’s not like you could call in and say ‘I’m not sick, but someone stole all my shirts overnight and I don’t have anything office-appropriate’. Instead I started digging around in my hamper.
But my hamper was full of the same kind of thing, except that these were even worse. The tanks were all covered in sweat like some neanderthal had grunted for hours at the gym in each of them. They stunk like a college locker room. I was seriously going to have to do some wash after work, provided I didn’t just throw out the whole damn bag.
Wash! They had to have missed the laundry. But no, my dryer was full of casual khaki pants, dress socks, …and sophomoric sleeveless fashion choices. My dry cleaning had expensive suit pants and tank tops that were sure to highlight the narrowness of my shoulders.
Even the shirt I wore yesterday had been replaced.
So I called in sick to work. I lied and told them I had a 24 hour bug. My boss probably thought I was hungover, but that’s better than him knowing how thoroughly I had been pranked.
I actually checked, but there’s no uber for shirts or anything, so I resolved myself to actually leaving the house in one of my many tank tops. I sure as hell wasn’t going to text my friends and let them know that I was stymied.
I chose something ‘conservative’ - a plain black tank with a thick red stripe across the chest. I matched it with a pair of blue jeans that I had kept around for - I don’t even know why I still had these. They were pretty tight on me. I’ve gained some desk weight since the last time it was appropriate for me to wear jeans.
The black and red tank hung off my body - a little too skinny and a little too pale.
I headed to the mall, this time feeling out of place in my regular stores. I looked stupid, dressed like some college kid, pawing through the racks and trying to find a few polos and dress shirts.
I had no idea what possessed me to even buy that blue tank in the first place. Thirty-five years old, probably looking like some out of touch loser.
I got through the humiliating experience, waving off the clerks every time they came near. Eventually I put about $500 on my card and walked out with some actual real clothing.
I even wore one of them out of the store - a black golf shirt. I never wear clothes before washing them, but this was an emergency.
It probably won’t surprise you that when I pulled them from the bag at home, my new shirts had been replaced by tank tops. These ones were neon and reflective, like I’d just come from Gym-Clothes-R-Us.
What the fuck was happening?
Josh and Trevor were smart, but there was no way they’d intercepted my new shirts and replaced them. The shirts had literally been in my sight the entire time, from rack to change room to the house.
A horrible idea washed over me and I ran for the bathroom.
Sure enough, I was wearing a baggy neon yellow tank. There was absolutely no way that Josh and Trevor could have done that.
When you’ve eliminated the impossible…
Something fucked was happening…
It was like it was infecting my clothes? Making them like it?
Saturday morning, I got up and put on a faded purple racerback with pinstripes. I think this one used to be my favourite dress shirt.
I actually don’t look bad in these clothes. I swear these tanks actually make my shoulders look decent, and the way my pecs press out of them makes me look bigger.
But goddamn it, all of my underwear had transmogrified into jockstraps.
I don’t know if you’ve worn a jockstrap before, but I woke up feeling constricted. Even the boxers I went to sleep in ended up as a tight black pouch and two ass straps.
My body was definitely changing. I measured my chest on Saturday afternoon. I had gained like an inch in the last day. And my arms had definition. Like I could actually see the curve of my delts. I flexed in the mirror for a while (yeah, like you wouldn’t?) and I’ve never seen my biceps peak like that. Plus my tanks were starting to hang loosely on me - my core started to tighten up.
And my cock… well it was constricted in the morning, but my mid-afternoon it was fucking packed into the dark purple jockstrap. I had selected my purple jock for how spacious it seemed that morning.
I spent the day plotting out my next move - but who do you call when a tank top suddenly decides to take over your fashion choices? Is there a witchdoctor in the phone book or something?
I went out and grabbed groceries, got some takeout, even thought about picking up some new shirts - but what would be the use? I knew I couldn’t go into work like this on Monday, and I probably couldn’t call in sick for more than a week without losing my job, but at least for the day I was starting to feel normal. I liked the way that the early summer sun felt so intense on my bare shoulders.
And after I got over the feeling that I was walking wrong, the jockstrap was actually feeling pretty okay. I might keep a couple, after I solved whatever was happening to me of course.
I woke up late on Sunday morning with my cock rock hard, stretching out the elastic of my jock. I was very, very horny.
So horny that when I opened up my closet and saw that every pair of pants I owned had been transformed, I didn’t even care. When you own nothing but tank tops, who needs dress pants or dockers or even jeans anyway?
Instead my closet was full of short little workout shorts, long shiny basketball shorts, and a couple pairs of sweats and track pants.
Whatever I was wearing, it needed to slip on quick anyway. I didn’t have time to fuck around. I needed to fuck.
> Hey! this early? Wanna grab brunch first?
> > After… or do I need to call trev isnteadd??
That’d do it. Josh hated the idea that he wasn’t my boyfriend (which he wasn’t) or that Trev was hotter (which he wasn’t). I watched the typing bubble my phone for ten long seconds while Josh wrestled with the idea.
I left the house wearing black baller shorts over a neon green jock, and a ripped up tank that was made from this old rock and roll T I loved. I ran my hand through my short hair and slipped on a pair of flip flops. No time to get ready - I needed this.
I slipped my phone into the shorts pocket and put in my earbuds. I felt like listening to some rock. Might as well match the shirt.
Some days your dick is in control, you know?
Josh was super surprised by the way that I looked. If I had any remaining doubt that he might have somehow been behind this, I put that to rest.
“Have you signed up for a gym or something,” he asked. “Trevor has that one he’s been going to, and if it works that well…” Josh trailed off.
“Yeah bro,” I lied. “It’s good.”
“Bro?” Josh laughed. “What are you, twenty?”
“I wanna fuck you so bad,” I said. “I need my dick inside you.”
“Seriously though,” he said. “Are you okay? You’re like a pure bottom. Not that I mind getting plowed for once, but…”
I kissed him deep, just to shut him up. Then I peeled off my band shirt and dropped my shorts. I groped Josh’s ass and pulled off his polo shirt. The button of his dockers popped off as I fumbled to get his cock out.
“Hey, watch it!” Josh said.
And then I was down on my knees, sucking at his dick through the thin blue material of his boxers. I practically ripped them down his legs and let his cock slap my face. I pounced on it, desperate to get Josh as horned up as I was.
I didn’t take long. In minutes, I was pumping in and out of his tight ass, our clothes scattered all over his bedroom floor. Josh had never ridden my cock before - nobody had, really - but he was loving all nine inches of it.
A week ago, it had been maybe five inches. Damn. If I’d had a cock like this in college, I would never have bothered learning to bottom. Hell, I might not have bothered learning anything.
I came like a volcano. And with my rod pulsing inside of him, Josh came moments later.
For the first time in days, my mind felt totally clear.
I left Josh in his well-earned afterglow and gathered up my clothes. My jockstrap is lying on the floor next to his dark blue one. Weird - I thought Josh was wearing boxers earlier.
I slipped my spent cock and balls back into my neon jock, and slid my baller shorts up my tight ass. Before I slipped my tank back on, I took a look at myself in Josh’s hall mirror.
I wasn’t just looking bigger. I wasn’t just looking good. I was just short of jacked.
Well, fuck me harder. I looked awesome. I even had a healthy tan going on, though you could see an obvious line where I wore tanks all the time.
I threw on my tank. It had to stretch to make it across my wide chest, though it hung loosely over my defined abs. My shoulders looked so powerful, bursting out of their holes. If this shirt had arms, it probably wouldn’t even fit me anymore…
I flexed my biceps and enjoyed watching a vein stand out. I started to get hard in my jock again. Just salivating over my amazing body.
I hadn’t looked this good since…
Had I ever looked this good?
I studied myself carefully. My face had the look of a young man just escaping college-age and emerging into adulthood, framed by shaggy hair that spilled over my forehead. My body was hard-won, shaped by countless hours in the gym and as a fuck machine in countless beds across the city.
Back on the street, I pulled out my phone and tried to throw my music on again. But it wasn’t my music. I scrolled through the music. This was definitely my phone, but EDM had replaced all my classic rock.
Apparently whatever magic was making this happen, it had crept from my shorts to my phone. The heavy beat of an EDM artist blasted in my ears.
I tried to remember what was wrong. It seemed like something was wrong.
Nah… Things were actually going pretty fucking well. I could remember everything - the tank, my clothes being changed, my body growing to match, my cock needing to be fulfilled, my friend fucked into submission on his bed…
No, everything seemed alright.
I walked home, letting the heavy beat wash away my concern.
I woke up the next morning to my phone playing EDM. Nothing gets my ass out of bed in the morning like shaking it to some tunes.
My apartment felt weird for some reason. I had a vague memory that it should be different - boring and stodgy. All clean and neat, organized, with fancy art and a diploma on the wall. I’d been 4th in my class, and I was proud of that.
I shook my head. That was ridiculous. I went to college for less than a year before I dropped out. There was too much ass to fuck with my giant cock. There was no point in learning when you were this young and pretty.
I’d been out of school for… oh man, it seemed like 15 years, but really I know it was only one or two. I still remember the day I walked off campus, straight into a house on frat row, and fucked anyone who wanted it. It took all day and most of the night, but I didn’t want to have any regrets about leaving.
No diploma. Yeah, there wasn’t anything weird about my room. It was messy, piles of tank tops and athletic clothes all over the floor. A rack of dumbbells in the corner. A chin-up bar hanging above the door. Posters tacked to the walls - my fave artists and teams natch.
I did a quick set of 5 chin-ups. I’ve got this deal with myself, I do them every time I walk through that door. No excuses.
That’s how you end up being a stud like me.
I grabbed a shower, swapped out for a fresh tank and a clean jockstrap. All the time, I kept getting texts from Josh.
> Bro, what the fuck is happeneing? I feel all weird
> is this cuz we hooked up??
> fuuuuuck bro!! answer!! all my shit is… fucked up…
Whatever. I had to hit the gym. No excuses.
I pounded through my sets. The EDM blasted my skull with thick beats. I love the way my muscles feel when I work them. The blood flooding in. The fatigue.
Between the sweat and the music it was getting hard to think - like counting reps is hard, but whatever, just push through when you lose count. Just keep going. It’s not like an extra couple reps ever killed anyone.
Bench. Incline. Decline. Dips. Flyes. Fuck I love chest day. And I was wearing a ripped up tank that split most of the way down. All the bros in the gym could see my sweet pec flex.
I ignored my buzzing phone. Josh was totally high maintenance. I kinda felt like maybe I should think about him… but the EDM was washing away my thoughts as they formed.
Push through this next rep. You got this bro.
By the time I finished up my routine I was soaked in sweat. Everything from tank to jock was covered in my musk. Nothin’ smelled good like hard work.
And results. I flexed in the locker room mirror as I wrapped a towel around my waist. Nothin’ looked as good as results.
After a quick rinse, I headed to the steam room to relax. My earbuds were out, but I could swear that I could still hear the music, thumping back and forth in my brain. That beat keeping me on track. Keeping me from thinking too bad.
There was a kinda-hot kinda-old dude enjoying his own post-workout relaxation. I checked him out for a minute, feeling my cock harden. Eventually I figured out how I knew him.
“Trev!” I said. “How you doin’ bro?”
He looked up surprised. “Do I know you?” he asked.
Trev’s jaw practically dropped through the floor.
“Wow,” he said. “I really didn’t recognize you. I know we haven’t seen each other for a couple weeks but… are you on steroids or something man?”
“Whatever bro,” I said. Then I lifted my towel and motioned. He couldn’t resist. Who could?
I leaned back and watched him sucking my rod while I enjoyed the steam.
“You got a nice mouth Trev,” I grinned after I came. Then I pointed at my rapidly re-hardening cock - “You wanna take a shower together? Get that ass fucked?”
Trev nodded, lost in the haze of sex and steam, and followed me out of the steam room. We grabbed a shower cube and I used shampoo as lube while he moaned softly under the hot water. After I blasted my load up his ass, I gave him another look.
You know what? I don’t think Trev was really that old. Hell, he was probably around my age.
It turned out that his locker was next to mine. I glanced inside when he unlocked it. Man, Trev must have been shopping at the same store as me - either that or my clothes had done their magic even through the locker wall.
I could see a moment of confusion on his face as he pulled out a tank top instead of a t-shirt.
I changed into my ‘street’ clothes - there’s really no difference between my gym gear and my normal gear, ‘cept that one of them is fresh. My phone was still buzzing off the hook. It was my roommate Josh, still freaking out.
> Bro for serious… i need to get fucked. U cumming home or do i gotta go online for dick?? >> omw
I was headed to leave when Trev called out behind me: “hey brainiac, you left your cap!”
I turned around. Trev was headed towards me, his tight body wrapped in trackpants and a highlighter yellow tank. His gym bag was flung over his shoulder, and he was holding a maroon baseball cap in his hand.
I grab the cap outta his hand and slip it backwards over my mop of hair.
“Thanks bro,” I say. And for an instant I see my buddy Trevor, a 36 year old accountant. Or Trev, a 23 year old club kid. Both images seem to fade into each other like some hokey special effect.
I blink again and again. I try to focus. Who the hell would want to be friends with some old dude? Finally I snap back to reality, headed out of the gym with my roommate Trev, headed home to make sure Josh gets fucked. Man, he’s such a needy little whore.
Back at our apartment, the whole fuckin place is a mess. My slacker roommates never clean their shit up, but I can’t really complain. It’s not like I clean either. Anyone who gives a shit - whatever, I’ll fuck that out of them.
Not that i need to go out hunting for ass. I just do it cuz it’s fun. Between Trev and Josh, I could spend all day getting my cock taken care of. And I need it - if I don’t cum like five or six times a day, I can’t even focus on my reps.
For now tho I gotta get to the mall - it’s almost time to work. Being a stockboy is boring. But the work is easy and I get to listen to my tunes. Plus the deal with the clothes is great.