He breathed deep into the wet white cloth pressed hard against his face, savoring a fresh wave of salty sweat and man musk. The smell was intoxicating, like a warm blanket on a bitter winter morning.
As he inhaled, Paul imagined the jockstrap as it was just hours ago (had it been hours? He’d lost all sense of time): cradling George’s fat hairy balls and big bear ass, stretching and straining against his backside as he did deadlifts at the gym, soaking in his essence until it was dripping with sweat.
So enamored was Paul that he didn’t even notice the changes his own body had undergone. He didn’t notice the patches of dark brown hair sprouting across his chest, arms, and legs with each sniff. He didn’t notice the bulk he had packed on, the steady swelling of his muscles, and the growing resemblance he was now bearing to the bear who’s undergarments he had stuffed in his face.
This was so unlike him. Paul had never been one to care about a man’s scent. In fact, he preferred not to smell anything when being with another guy. But then came George: a massive, burly mountain of a man who became a staple of Paul’s quiet Midwestern gym just a few months ago.
The first thing Paul noticed about George (besides his barrel chest and rippling biceps) was his smell. It was pure masculinity, raw and ripe ready to sniff. It wafted off him in sheets; Paul could almost always smell George before he saw him, and his scent would linger on the equipment long after he’d moved onto another exercise.
It wasn’t long before Paul became something of an addict. He couldn’t go a day without catching a whiff of his unique scent. He even shifted his schedule so he could workout at the same time as George. Paul was pretty sure the older bodybuilder knew he was being watched, but George didn’t seem to mind. Even if he did, Paul didn’t have the strength to stop.
But that day, Paul took his addiction one step too far. That day, George decided to take a shower after his workout. Disappointed as Paul was that this man would choose to wash off that glorious smell, George had also left his used jockstrap hanging in his open locker. Unattended.
So here Paul found himself: standing in his bedroom, knees quivering, George’s jock held tight to his face. The magical musk seeped through the fabric into Paul’s tissue, rewriting his very DNA. When Paul groaned with longing, it was in a much deeper voice. When he rubbed his dick in his own jockstrap, it was with big meaty mitts and thick, hairy fingers.
Paul awoke that morning a smooth, average-looking man in his mid-20’s. Now: he could have been in his late 30’s, hard-bodied and covered in hair. His toned muscles and comfortable bulk screamed former bodybuilder, and though he was nowhere near as big as George, he was certainly getting close.
“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
Paul jumped, and the jockstrap fell to the floor. There, standing in the doorway of his bedroom, was George.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” George said in a gruff voice, “I could smell you halfway across town.”
Smell? What was he talking about? Paul didn’t smell like anything… did he?
The bearded bear shook his head like a disappointed parent. “That smell you’re so turned on by? It’s not technically mine. Well, it is now, but it wasn’t always.” George stepped forward into the room, filling the tiny space with his stench.
“In fact, I used to look a lot like you before some big hairy bloke walked into my gym smelling like… well… this.” He lifted his arm and gave the deep, pungent pit a good scratch. Paul’s dick stiffened. He knew he should be concerned—this strange man in his house telling this strange story—but the closer Paul George got, the hornier he became.
“Don’t you see? This scent is a curse, turning normal guys like us into the biggest, sweatiest, smelliest versions of ourselves. Don’t believe me? Look at yourself! I barely recognized you when I walked in.”
Paul was completely unprepared for what he saw in the bedside mirror. The reflection staring back at him looked more at home in an underground leather bar than a young man’s bedroom: big veiny biceps, puffy pecs and a small gut cresting over his jock.
And the hair… Christ, it was everywhere. Bushes of brown bristles littered every inch of his skin, gathering like pools under his pits, pubes, and in his new cleavage. What was worse? Not all of the hair was brown; Paul could see speckles of grey in his new facial scruff. Crows’ feet were starting to form around his eyes. He looked 38… at least.
Paul felt a warm breath on his back, and that all-too familiar scent burned his nostrils. He saw in the mirror as George came up behind him, studying his new body with a mix of regret and desire.
“I—“ Paul stammered, “I’m… I’m—“
“Fucking gorgeous,” George crooned. He wrapped those big arms around Paul’s torso and pulled him close, kissing his neck. He shivered as George’s whiskers tickled his skin and his hips thrust gently against Paul’s exposed ass.
A wet spot appeared on the front of Paul’s jock as pre cum began to spill from his iron rod cock. He resisted the desire to push back against George’s dick, to spread those hairy cheeks and give into the advances of a man he’s lusted after for weeks. “No,” he said (more to himself than George), “this isn’t me. I have to change back.”
“Too late for that bro,” George whispered directly into Paul’s ear. “My advice? Best just enjoy the ride.”
With that, George pushed Paul onto the bed. His added weight caused the frame to groan and creak, and Paul watched over the horizon of his widening pec shelf as the muscle bear began to peel the clothes from his colossal body.
As George undressed, thoughts of fear and uncertainty swirled in Paul’s mind. Was he to spend the remainder of his life as this: an old, smelly brute with more hair on his body than his head? Would too inadvertently pass this fate onto some other guy?
George bent down and gave Paul’s own jock a hearty sniff. His transformation had been a workout unto itself, so the orange fabric was drenched in sweat and—by the look on George’s face—smelled of that familiar tang. He shook his head. “I just can’t get enough of it,” George confessed.
And the truth was: neither could Paul. He was possessed by the sudden realization that from now on, it would be he who would walk into the gym and turn heads with his musk. He was the muscle mountain that guys couldn’t resist, more a man than he had ever—and possibly would ever be. This wasn’t a curse: it was the opportunity of a lifetime.
All fears subsided as the scent consumed his every sense. In that moment, all he wished was to be with George: sandwiched between his thick lumber legs, tucked in his warm embrace, and bathing in a smelly sea of hair, muscle, and pure masculine essence.
George took the strap between his teeth and pulled it from his waist, unleashing the full force of Paul’s fresh odor, and letting his sweaty cock flop onto his new bear belly, leaking like a busted pipe.
He was about to get his wish.
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