Untitled

[hairy-bothered]

POV: You catch your reflection and grin. Twenty-two looks good on you—thick hair, smooth jaw, just enough chest hair to remind you you’re grown without hiding the muscle underneath.

With a slow breath, you let the change begin. Your hairline creeps backward a few millimeters at a time, exposing more forehead as your temples hollow. Fine stubble darkens your jaw, first as a shadow, then coarse enough to scrape beneath your fingertips. The skin around your eyes tightens into faint crow’s-feet while your cheeks lose their youthful softness, settling into stronger, weathered angles. You hold perfectly still, watching every tiny detail sharpen in the mirror as though your face were being rendered in impossibly high resolution.

When the shift is complete, you barely recognize the young man you were a minute ago. A powerful middle-aged bear studies you from the mirror with calm, knowing eyes framed by a mature face, a perfectly groomed beard, and a thick package ready to be set free on some unexpecting twink. The receded hairline, weathered features, broad chest, and dense body hair all fit together so naturally that they feel inevitable. You roll your shoulders, enjoying the reassuring weight of your older frame before flashing yourself a satisfied smile. Then, with a thought, you know you could become twenty-two again—but for now, this version of you simply feels right.

[hairy-bothered]

The Consequence

This story is a sequel to The Exception

For three days after leaving Tom’s apartment, Brian moved through his life as though he had returned to a room where the air had gone stale.

His pickup still started reluctantly on cold mornings. His work calendar remained packed with calls he barely listened to. At home, the television filled the evenings while he and his wife sat at opposite ends of the couch, each pretending not to notice how little they had left to say to each other.

Nothing had changed on the outside - but his experience with Tom had changed him on the inside - and that was the problem.

In the bathroom before bed, he studied the gray spreading through his beard. Tom had touched it with such open affection that Brian had briefly forgotten to dislike it. He remembered Tom sitting across from him, wearing his own face and body as if they were treasures, speaking with embarrassing sincerity about the broadness of his chest, the heaviness around his middle, even the tired lines beneath his eyes. Brian had spent years regarding those things as evidence of decline - Tom had regarded them as home.

Now Brian stood alone beneath the harsh bathroom light, one hand braced against the sink, wondering what it might feel like to step outside himself for one evening. Not forever. He did not want to steal anyone’s life. He just needed a break. A break from his unhappy marriage, from his 9-5, from his inability to act on his pent up desires to fuck - or be fucked, as Tom had shown him - by other men.

He wanted only one night without the weight of being Brian. No wife waiting downstairs. No ring on his finger. No careful pauses before answering questions about where he had been. No middle-aged face in the mirror reminding him how much of his life had been built around concealment.

He wanted to be young, unencumbered and openly wanted. He had made up his mind - he wanted to knock on Tom’s door wearing Tom’s own smile.

⸻

The next evening, across town, Tom stood in front of his own bathroom mirror and pulled his shirt over his head.

He had spent the week behaving normally. He went to work. He exercised. He met friends for drinks and laughed when expected. No one noticed that he sometimes rubbed his smooth jaw as though searching for a beard that was no longer there.

He missed Brian’s body with an intensity he had not anticipated.

It was not merely the strength, though he missed that too. It was the density of it. Brian’s heavy shoulders. The dark hair across his chest. The solid pressure of his small stomach beneath his palm. The older face that made him feel more confident. Noticed. Inside Brian’s body, Tom had felt both powerful and strangely calm. He had also felt desired by Brian. That memory returned most often.

Tom opened the roulette page on his phone. He had already decided he would do it only once more. One evening. One indulgence. The spell would end in the morning, as it always did and he would return to his life.

This time, Tom wanted to watch as he changed. He positioned himself squarely before the mirror, studying his youthful body one last time: narrow waist, smooth cheeks, neatly styled brown hair. His thumb hovered over Brian’s profile.

He pressed send.

Out in front of Tom’s house, Brian parked his pickup truck beneath a streetlamp. He nervously checked the address although he had been there before. Tom’s bedroom windows glowed on the second floor. Brian imagined the expression on Tom’s face when he opened the door and found his clone standing outside - keeping a promise that the next time he came it would be to visit Tom - but adding the flare of visiting as Tom.

For the first time all week, Brian smiled. He sent the message to Tom at the exact moment Tom pressed the same button.

⸻

Back in Tom's bathroom - for a few seconds, nothing happened. Then Tom’s reflection shuddered. A tingling pressure passed beneath his skin, beginning at his fingertips and climbing rapidly through his arms. His hands broadened. His fingers thickened, knuckles becoming more pronounced, veins rising along the backs of them. Hair prickling across his hands.

Tom laughed under his breath. “There you are, Brian.”

His forearms swelled next, muscle gathering beneath his skin while a darker dusting of hair spread toward his elbows. His upper arms thickened gradually, pushing outward until his shoulders began to widen.

Tom watched the change with open fascination. The bathroom seemed to narrow around him as his frame expanded. His collarbones became less prominent. His chest pushed forward and filled out, gaining weight and mature thickness rather than the sharp definition of a younger athlete. Hair emerged between his nipples in fine strands, then darkened and multiplied, rolling downward in a dense line over his stomach.

Tom ran one changing hand through it. The gesture felt familiar. His waist softened slightly as his torso became heavier and more solid. His stomach rounded just enough to erase the last trace of boyish leanness. His neck thickened. The tendons stood out briefly, then settled beneath new mass.

In the mirror, his face began to age. His jaw widened first. His chin pushed forward, and his cheekbones shifted beneath tightening skin. Fine lines appeared around his eyes, followed by the faint darkness of years spent sleeping poorly, of too many sullen evenings with a glass of whiskey. His nose became stronger and more angular. Dark stubble erupted across his cheeks. Tom leaned closer.

The stubble thickened almost visibly, black and gray hairs lengthening into Brian’s full salt-and-pepper beard. His upper lip darkened. Hair swept over his jaw and beneath his chin until Tom could feel its weight when he moved his head. He grinned at the reflection. Brian’s familiar grin answered.

His hairline changed last, the brown deepening while gray collected at the temples. His hairstyle loosened, becoming darker, rougher and more casually masculine.

The pressure ceased. Tom stood shirtless before the mirror in Brian’s broad, hairy body, breathing deeply.

He didn’t move for several seconds. He simply looked. Relief washed over him - relief from his mundane body, the same face he'd seen every day for twenty-five years. He lifted one of Brian's large hands and slowly rubbed it across the beard, savoring the rough scrape against his palm. The broad shoulders filled the mirror from edge to edge.

“So that’s what was missing.” His voice—Brian’s voice—rumbled through the quiet bathroom. He laughed softly just to hear it again. The sound vibrated through his broad chest.

He turned sideways, admiring the heavier build before resting both palms against his stomach. The body felt planted, reassuringly solid. He drew a slow breath, his chest hair rising beneath his hands. Everything felt right. Not better. Right.

He rolled his shoulders and felt powerful without trying. His larger feet settled comfortably against the tile floor. Even standing still carried a confidence he’d missed every day since the first swap ended - before he had even met Brian. When Body Swap Roulette was something temporary and fleeting.

His eyes met Brian’s in the mirror. “I’ve missed you.” He smiled at his own reflection “One more night.”

Tom then unzipped his jeans and let Brian’s dick flop out of his pants. “And I’ve really missed you!” He gave his dick a little tug as it started to stiffen from the thrill of his transformation. He ran his finger over the head collecting a bead of precum and lifting it to his mouth.

“Mmm. Soon enough,” he said. He shoved his more substantial dick back into his jeans, he pulled on a shirt, and headed for the front door - determined to make a night of it in Brian’s body.

Simultaneously, in his pickup truck in front of Tom's house, Brian’s transformation began with his wedding ring sliding suddenly toward his knuckle as his hand narrowed around the steering wheel.

His thick fingers became slimmer, the skin smoothing as veins faded. His wrists shrank within his shirt cuffs, followed by his forearms and biceps.

His sleeves loosened. Brian gasped as the steering wheel seemed to grow beneath his hands.

The mass drained steadily from his chest and shoulders. His shirt sagged across a narrowing torso. His stomach flattened. The familiar pressure in his lower back disappeared, replaced by an abrupt lightness.

Then his face began to change. His beard retreated in waves, hairs shortening against his skin until only faint stubble remained. He felt cool air against cheeks that had not been bare in years. His jaw narrowed. The lines around his eyes dissolved. His nose softened, and his hair thickened across his scalp, the gray vanishing as it arranged itself into Tom’s tidy brown style.

Brian adjusted the seat belt and looked into the rearview mirror. Tom's youthful face stared back at him. He raised a hand to his cheek. Smooth. His fingertips searched instinctively for the familiar beard and found only warm skin. A laugh escaped before he could stop it.

He turned his head from side to side, marveling at how effortlessly it moved. There was no ache in the base of his neck from a college soccer injury. He rolled one shoulder experimentally, then the other. Nothing protested.

He flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. Young hands. Steady hands. He couldn’t remember the last time they hadn’t carried tiny reminders of decades of work.

He caught sight of himself smiling in the mirror and couldn’t stop. “I forgot…” The words slipped out quietly. “I forgot what this felt like.”

For one impossible evening, there would be no trace of a wedding band on his finger - on Tom’s delicate finger. No emotional stranger staring back from the bathroom mirror. No wondering who he might have become if he’d been honest with himself twenty-five years earlier.

Just one night. One borrowed night. Brian smiled one last time at Tom’s reflection and whispered “Thank you.”

Then the memories arrived. Not as images, but certainties. He knew the code to Tom’s front door. He knew which cabinet held the glasses. He knew that the upstairs bathroom faucet had to be turned farther than expected before the water ran hot.

He also knew he was Brian. Or thought he did. The distinction flickered and returned.

Brian removed his now loose wedding ring and placed it in the cup holder. He reached for a bag in his back seat and pulled out a red polo and khakis - the same outfit he saw Tom wearing the night they first met - and he changed his clothes. Brian desperately wanted to lean into the fantasy tonight.

He then climbed out of the pickup, briefly misjudging the distance to the pavement and taking a tumble because Tom’s legs were shorter.

“Whoa…what a weird sensation something so straightforward as walking can be in another man’s body…” he mumbled to himself as he picked himself up off the asphalt and made his way to the house.

At the front door, Tom raised his hand to knock - but the door opened before his knuckles touched the wood. Tom stood there in Brian’s older body with a delighted smile.

For several seconds, they stared at one another.

Brian had expected to arrive and find Tom in his own body but seeing himself standing at the doorway caused a flood of emotions to rise within him. He instantly felt the attraction Tom’s body had for his - and his new younger dick began to twitch in his underwear-less khakis.

Before either man spoke, Brian crossed the threshold and kissed him. The moment their lips met, something gave way inside Brian.

Memories burst loose in every direction, no longer arriving one at a time but colliding together in a dizzying rush. Brian remembered sitting alone in his pickup truck outside this very house, anxious to send the message. At the same instant he remembered pacing this hallway as Tom, checking his reflection in the bathroom mirror, secretly hoping Brian would come back.

One memory belonged to a lonely middle-aged man aching for escape. The other belonged to a younger man who had spent the week missing the comforting weight of another man’s body.

For several impossible seconds, Brian could no longer tell where one life ended and the other began.

The sensation was not like remembering something he'd been told. It was like remembering something he had lived. He could feel the texture of Tom's week—the way Tom had touched his own smooth jaw searching for Brian's beard, the way he'd stood in the shower letting water run over his narrow shoulders while wishing they were broader. Brian felt Tom's longing as if it were his own longing, and the boundary between them dissolved.

Tom also knew this kiss. Not simply because it had happened a week earlier, but because both halves of his mind had lived it. He remembered what it felt like to lean forward wearing Brian’s beard and broad shoulders, and he remembered what it felt like to receive that same kiss while wrapped inside his smaller body. The sensations overlapped until they became indistinguishable.

Tom’s easy affection mingled with Brian’s years of restraint, dissolving into a single overwhelming certainty: standing here, kissing the man in front of him, felt less like meeting someone else than finding a missing piece of himself.

For one suspended heartbeat, Brian wasn’t entirely Brian anymore. He was Brian, carrying Tom’s optimism. He was Tom, carrying Brian’s quiet longing. The boundaries between them blurred just enough that his heart recognized the man before his mind could explain why.

When they finally drew apart, he looked into his own familiar blue eyes staring back from the older body and realized, with equal parts wonder and dread, that he could no longer say which of them had wanted that kiss more.

The feeling should have terrified him. Instead, it felt like relief.

“You were going to surprise me,” Tom said. His new voice was Brian’s, low and rough. “You even are wearing my polo and khakis!”

Brian smiled with Tom’s mouth. “Looks like you had the same idea. I told you I’d come back for you…but by the looks of it I seem to have come back for me?” he said with the dumb youthful grin he had seen on Tom’s face the morning after the met.

Tom stepped aside. Brian entered as if he had done so a hundred times. As Brian turned to push the door shut, Tom—in his more substantial body with its repressed needs and desires—pushed Brian's back against the door and kissed him again, more forcefully this time.

The kiss landed like a claim. Tom felt the strange thrill of inhabiting this older frame, the weight of it, the authority in his broader shoulders. He pressed forward and felt Brian yield—*his* younger body yielding—and something in him twisted with recognition and hunger.

Brian's young body instantly betrayed him. His knees went weak, butterflies spreading through his abdomen as Tom's tongue pushed deep into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming in this body—everything felt sharper, more electric. His dick began to swell and he felt a dull, insistent ache in his ass, a craving he'd never experienced from this side of himself.

Tom broke the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his hand already traveling down to Brian's pants. He rubbed the growing hardness there, pressing Brian harder against the door. The younger man's gasp was gratifying—*God, did I always sound like that?* He unzipped the khakis and reached inside, his fingers closing around familiar flesh in an unfamiliar context. "I see you decided to go commando," he rumbled, his voice deeper than he'd ever heard it.

Brian grinned, breathless. "I was going for the full Tom experience."

Tom chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest. "Well, boy, you're going to get it." He worked Brian's belt loose, his fingers deft despite their thickness. "Funny how you always end up in a position to be the bottom. I'm starting to think it's not a coincidence."

The words hung between them—playful, but edged with something true. Brian felt heat rise in his cheeks, this body's youth making him flush easily.

Tom pulled down Brian's khakis and lifted the red polo over his head in one smooth motion. For a moment he just looked—at the lean muscle, the smooth skin, the body he'd worked so hard to maintain. It was strange seeing it from the outside, strange wanting it. He reached around with his larger, hairier hands and squeezed Brian's ass, the flesh firm and perfect in his palms. He gave it a playful slap that made Brian jump.

Brian's hands found Tom's zipper, tugging it down. Tom's fully erect cock sprang free—*Jesus, I forgot how big it gets*—and Brian felt a flutter of nervousness mixed with anticipation. He sank to his knees, the tile cool against his skin, and took the entire length into his mouth.

The taste was salt and musk and something indefinably *him*. Tom groaned above him, one hand coming to rest gently on the back of Brian's head—not forcing, just touching, grounding them both in the moment. Tom stripped off his own shirt and belt, his movements unhurried now, savoring the sight of his former body worshipping his current one.

When he couldn't take it anymore, Tom lifted Brian off his cock and kissed him deeply, tasting his own precum on Brian's tongue. The kiss was slower this time, almost tender. Their tongues moved together as Tom stepped out of his pants, and for a moment they just stood there, naked and pressed together, breathing each other's air.

Tom took Brian's hand—the touch surprisingly gentle—and led him to the bedroom. He lifted the younger man onto the bed with an ease that made Brian's stomach flip. *So this is what strength feels like.* Tom positioned him on his stomach, and Brian rose onto all fours instinctively, arching his back.

His head spun with contradictions: the newness of this experience, the strange sense that he'd done this exact thing a hundred times before with different men in this same spot. The sheets smelled like Tom's cologne—*my cologne*—and the familiarity was dizzying.

Tom knelt behind him, his hands spreading Brian's cheeks. Then his tongue was there, warm and wet, and Brian gasped. The sensation was entirely new, vulnerable and exposing and *good*. Tom worked him methodically, his beard scratching the sensitive skin, his tongue circling and pressing.

"Here we are again," Tom murmured against his skin, "with me prepping you to take your own dick, Tom."

The name hung in the air. Tom paused, realizing his slip. For a moment he felt disturbed—the boundaries blurring too much, reality tilting. Then Brian pushed back against his mouth, a soft whimper escaping him, and Tom decided to lean into it.

"You like being Tom for the night?" His voice was rough, intimate. "You wanted this. You planned it all—the outfit, the timing. You knew I'd be here. You knew you'd end up like this again." He punctuated the words with long, slow licks. "Didn't you, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Brian whimpered, and the submission in his voice—in *his own* voice—sent a jolt through Tom.

"Last time we were both you," Tom continued, his breath hot against Brian's hole. "Tonight you're me—and I know exactly what you need, Tom. I know what you've always needed."

He lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against Brian's entrance. He pushed in slowly—just the tip—and watched Brian's hands fist in the sheets. *God, I forgot how tight this is. How good.*

"That's it," Tom breathed. "Take your time."

Brian felt the stretch, the burn, the impossible fullness. But beneath it was something else—a rightness, a completion. He pushed back slightly, taking more, and heard Tom's sharp intake of breath.

Tom gave him more, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. He stayed still for a moment, one hand stroking Brian's back, feeling the younger body adjust and relax. "Attaboy," he murmured. "I've got you."

Then he began to move. Slow at first, letting Brian feel every ridge and vein, letting himself feel the tight heat that had once been his. Brian's moans started soft and grew louder as pain transformed into pleasure, as his body opened and accepted.

Brian reached down to stroke himself, overwhelmed by the dual sensations—being filled and filling his own hand. The pleasure built in waves, his borrowed body responding with an intensity that shocked him. He could feel Tom's rhythm, could picture his former cock swelling inside him, his former balls drawing up tight.

Tom leaned forward, his chest against Brian's back, his lips at Brian's ear. "That's my boy," he whispered, and the tenderness in it made Brian's throat tight. "You're doing so good."

The praise undid something in Brian. His moans intensified, his body tightening, and Tom recognized the sounds—*his* sounds, the ones he made when he was close.

Tom pulled out and gently flipped Brian onto his back. Their eyes met—really met—and for a heartbeat they just looked at each other. Tom saw his own eyes looking back at him, wide and dark with pleasure. Brian saw the face he'd worn for years, transformed by desire.

Then Tom pushed back inside, hard and deep, and Brian yelped—pleasure-pain-pleasure. Tom spit into his palm and wrapped his hand around Brian's dick, stroking in time with his thrusts. He angled his hips, moving in slow circles, finding the spot that made Brian's back arch off the bed.

"Look at me," Tom commanded softly, and Brian did.

The eye contact was almost too much—too intimate, too strange, too *right*. Tom felt his orgasm building at the base of his spine. He stroked Brian faster, thrust deeper, and watched as the younger body beneath him began to flush and tremble.

Brian came first, his body going rigid, his cock pulsing in Tom's hand as he spilled across his own stomach. The sight and sensation of it—of his former body climaxing—pushed Tom over the edge. He thrust deep one final time and came with a guttural moan, emptying himself into the body that had once been his, filling his former self with his current self's release.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, Tom still inside him. Then Tom carefully pulled out and collapsed beside Brian on the bed. Their hands found each other in the space between them, fingers intertwining.

Neither spoke. There was nothing to say that their bodies hadn't already told each other.

⸻

Later, in the kitchen, after the haze of lust settled and their minds cleared, Brian opened the refrigerator and reached automatically for a beer behind the orange juice.

Tom watched him. “I see you know where things are. A side-effect of the swap.”

Brian glanced at the bottle in his hand “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just been here before.”

“Not enough times to know they were behind the orange juice.”

Brian shrugged, though an uneasiness passed through him. “Lucky guess.” The memory had arrived without thought - his hand had simply known where to reach. Like muscle memory, except the muscles weren't his...not really.

They ordered dinner and sat together on the couch, each admiring the body the other wore. Tom kept touching his beard smiling whenever he felt its roughness beneath his hand. Brian stretched Tom’s legs out before him.

“I’d forgotten what it was like not to make a noise when I stood up” Brian said.

“You don’t always make a noise.”

“I do.”

“You sigh.”

“That’s a noise.”

Tom laughed, and something inside Brian shifted. The laugh was Brian’s, yet the rhythm belonged to Tom. A memory surfaced of hearing it in a bar booth. Then another memory followed: laughing that way himself at a college party twenty years earlier.

Brian blinked. For a few seconds, he could not remember which memory belonged to him.

The confusion passed quickly, but it left a residue - a faint unease, like waking from a dream and forgetting whether something had really happened or not.

Later, Tom walked into the kitchen and opened a drawer without searching. Inside lay a corkscrew. He stopped with his hand hovering over it.

He had never opened that drawer before…had he?

The answer came as two competing certainties. Of course he had. It was his house. No…It was Tom’s house. He was Tom. Or was he Brian?

He looked down at Brian’s large hand wrapped around the corkscrew. The contradiction made him dizzy.

Behind him, Brian said, “You okay?”

Tom turned. For an instant, he saw himself standing in the doorway. Not Brian wearing his body. Himself. Then the impression passed.

“Fine,” he said. “Just adjusting.”

Brian approached and recognized a small scar on Tom’s forearm and remembered getting it while repairing a fence. That had not happened to him - had it? Except he could see it perfectly: the splintered board, the sudden pain, his wife calling from the porch.

His wife.

Brian pulled back sharply.

Tom searched his face. “What is it?”

“I remembered something,” Tom replied.

“What?”

“A house. A fence.” Tom pressed a hand against his temple. “My wife … err, your wife was there.”

Brian’s expression tightened and Tom’s pulse thudded heavily in Brian’s neck. “The Body Swap Roulette,” he said.

Brian looked frightened now. “What?”

“Roulette. The rules.”

The word opened something between them. Memories rushed back in fragments. Four friends around a table. A phone beeped from person to person. The warning not to answer. Tom becoming Brian the first time. Then the bar where they met. Tom’s home. Morning.

Brian sitting in his pickup outside Tom’s house. Tom standing before the bathroom mirror.

Two messages crossing at once.

Brian whispered, “I messaged you.”

“I messaged you too.”

"At the same time."

“We answered each other.”

Tom felt the meaning of it before he fully understood. The normal swaps always had an original person somewhere outside the magic. Someone whose body had been copied, whose identity remained fixed. That original acted as an anchor.

But tonight, there was no untouched Brian. There was no untouched Tom.

Each man had tried to become the other at the same instant. They had not transformed. They had exchanged.

Brian stood at the edge of the kitchen counter, Tom’s youthful face pale. "What does that mean?"

Tom opened his mouth. No answer came at first. The implications were still forming, still too large to hold. "I don't know," he said finally. "But I think... I think we should go to bed. Hopefully this will sort itself in the morning when we swap back."

Brian nodded, but neither of them believe it.

⸻

They slept badly, tangled together as if physical contact might keep their remaining selves from drifting apart.

Tom woke first. Gray morning light lay across the room. For several seconds, he felt completely at peace. Then he lifted a hand and saw Brian’s hairy fingers.

He turned toward the clock. Nine seventeen.

He sat up slowly, his heart beginning to pound. His chest was still broad and covered in dark hair. His beard still brushed his collarbone when he looked down.

Behind him, Brian stirred. Tom crossed to the mirror in the bathroom - needing to confirm what he already knew. Brian’s face stared back. Nothing rippled. Nothing softened. No younger features waited beneath the surface.

Brian joined him, wearing Tom’s body and an expression of dawning horror.

“We should have changed back, right?” Brian said. His voice was small, uncertain - Tom's voice, but stripped of its usual confidence.

Tom touched the glass, his reflection doing the same. “I don’t think we’re going to...”

Tom's phone sat on the bathroom counter. With trembling fingers, he unlocked it and opened the app. He sent Brian a message.

Brian's phone beeped, he saw the message from Tom - the two men waited...but nothing happened.

Brian frantically tried the same, pinging Tom's phone - they waiting again holding their breath, but again, nothing happened.

Tom forced the app closed and reopened it. Same result. Behind him, Brian's face sunk under the realization. "It's not working," Brian whispered. The words hung between them, heavy and final.

Then Tom looked up at Brian—at his own young face wearing an expression of pure terror—and understood. The magic had erased its own evidence. There was no way back. There had never been a way back.

Brian's breath came faster. "But it always ends. You said it always ends."

"It does. When there's someone to go back to." Tom turned from the mirror to face him. "But we both sent the message. We both accepted. There's no original Brian. No original Tom. We didn't copy each other—we traded.

"So we just... stay like this?" Brian's hands—Tom's hands—were shaking now. "Forever?"

Tom wanted to say no. He wanted to promise that the magic would correct itself, that they'd wake up tomorrow in their own bodies with this whole night feeling like a strange dream. But he couldn't. The certainty settled in his chest like a stone.

"I think so," he said quietly.

Brian sank down onto the edge of the bathtub, his head in his hands. Tom approached and put his hand on Brian's shoulder. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The bathroom was silent except for the drip of the faucet Tom had been meaning to fix for weeks—except it wasn't Tom's faucet to fix anymore, was it?

"What do we do?" Brian asked finally.

Tom looked at him—at his own young face, now wearing an expression of devastation he'd never seen in a mirror. "I don't know," he admitted. "Go home, I guess. Live our lives."

Brian looked up, his eyes—Tom's eyes—bright with unshed tears. "I didn't want this. I just wanted one night. I just wanted to feel young again, to feel free for a few hours. I didn't want to be you."

"I know." Tom's voice was gentle, but there was an edge of something else beneath it. Not quite resentment, but close. "I didn't want to be you either. I just became entranced in feeling what it was like to be you. To be solid. Confident. Desired." He paused. "But here we are."

"Can't we just... explain? Tell people what happened?"

"And say what? That we used magic to swap bodies and now we're stuck?" Tom shook his head. "No one would believe us. And even if they did, what then? There's no way to undo it."

Brian stood abruptly, pacing the small bathroom. "This is insane. This is—I have a wife. I have kids. I have a life, Tom."

"So do I." Tom's voice was harder now. "You think I wanted to inherit your marriage? Your job? Your—" He stopped himself, but the words hung in the air anyway. *Your closet. Your shame. Your quiet desperation.*

Brian flinched as if he'd been slapped.

Tom softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No, you're right." Brian's laugh was bitter. "You got the raw end of this deal, didn't you? I get to be young and free, and you get to be... me." He met Tom's eyes in the mirror. "I'm sorry. God, Tom, I'm so sorry."

Tom wanted to say it was okay, that they'd figure it out, that everything would be fine. But the words wouldn't come. Because it wasn't okay. And he didn't know if they'd figure it out. And everything would definitely not be fine.

Instead, he reached out and took Brian's hand—his own hand, smaller and smoother than he remembered. "We'll manage," he said. "We have to."

Brian nodded, but his expression said he didn't believe it any more than Tom did.

⸻

Over the following days, they learned that the swap had taken more than their bodies. It had taken the certainty of who they were.

At first, the changes seemed harmless. Brian, living in Tom’s apartment, noticed that he no longer had to stop and think before doing ordinary things. His hand reached automatically for the coffee mugs Tom always used. He unlocked Tom’s phone without consciously recalling the passcode. Friends texted about plans, and instead of searching through borrowed memories, he simply knew what they were talking about.

The hesitation that had marked his first morning disappeared. He should have been alarmed. Instead, he felt lighter.

The longing that had driven him to send that reckless message outside Tom’s front door began to fade, replaced by something quieter. Tom’s routines settled around him with surprising ease. His younger body moved confidently through the world, and with it came a sense of possibility Brian had not felt in years.

He still remembered having been older. He remembered gray in his beard and evenings spent wondering when life had become obligation instead of adventure. But those memories were beginning to feel like stories someone else had once told him, the details growing hazier each time he tried to recall them.

One morning, he woke and couldn't remember his wife's middle name. He stood in the shower, water running over his smooth chest, searching for it. Sarah... Sarah what? It had been on their wedding invitations. He'd written it a thousand times. But the name wouldn't come.

In its place was a different memory: Tom's ex-boyfriend, the one who'd broken up with him junior year. Brian could see his face clearly, could remember the exact words of their last fight, could feel the ache of that old heartbreak as if it were his own.

Except it wasn't his. Or was it?

By the end of the first week, Brian had stopped trying to separate the memories. It was easier to just let them blend together, to accept that he knew things about Tom's life without questioning how or why. Easier to believe that he'd always been Tom, that the older life was just a strange dream he'd had once.

He went to Tom's job and performed it competently. He met Tom's friends and laughed at inside jokes he shouldn't have understood. He went on a date with a man he met at a bar and felt no guilt when they kissed, no phantom weight of a wedding ring on his finger.

The relief was intoxicating. This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To be young and free and unburdened? So why did he sometimes wake in the middle of the night with tears on his face, mourning something he could no longer name?

⸻

Tom discovered the opposite. Returning to Brian’s house was like stepping into a museum dedicated to another man’s life…for almost an hour. Then it stopped feeling unfamiliar.

Brian’s wife greeted him at the door with a tired smile. Before Tom had time to decide how Brian would respond, his borrowed body already had. His arms wrapped naturally around her. He kissed the top of her head without thinking. He could smell the shampoo she had always used, and the scent stirred a warmth that wasn’t his.

Or perhaps it was becoming his.

The house knew him. Every room carried habits his body remembered better than his mind. He knew which cabinet held the coffee filters. Which hallway light flickered. Which floorboard creaked outside the bedroom. His hand reached for the wedding ring whenever he felt anxious, twisting it unconsciously while he thought.

Each instinct arrived before the memory explaining it. He caught himself calling the dog by name without remembering learning it. He remembered anniversaries he had never celebrated. Arguments he had never had. Quiet Sunday mornings reading beside a woman he could no longer think of as Brian’s wife.

Because she was his wife now. Wasn't she? The thought should have horrified him. Instead, it settled over him like a familiar coat, worn and comfortable despite never having fit quite right.

Some evenings he sat on the back porch, watching the sun sink behind the fence, overcome by a melancholy that seemed to have seeped into his bones years before he was born. It was the same quiet sorrow Brian had confessed to him over whiskey. The same feeling of loving a life that had somehow become too small.

Tom had once envied Brian’s body. Now he understood why Brian had been trying to escape it.

But the worst part—the part that kept him awake at night—was that he could feel himself disappearing.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just... fading.

His memories of being Tom grew softer around the edges, like photographs left too long in the sun. He could still remember his apartment, his friends, his life before. But the memories felt distant now, observed rather than lived. He remembered going to college, but couldn't quite recall what it had felt like to be that young, that hopeful.

He remembered his first boyfriend, but the face was blurry now, the name just out of reach.

He remembered standing in his bathroom, watching himself transform into Brian, feeling that surge of rightness and relief.

But he couldn't remember why it had felt so right. Couldn't remember what had been missing from his own body that he'd found in this one.

One night, three weeks after the swap, Tom stood in Brian's bedroom and looked at the photos on the dresser. Brian and his wife on their wedding day. Brian holding his newborn daughter. Brian at his father's funeral, his face drawn with grief.

Tom remembered all of it. Not as things that had happened to someone else, but as things that had happened to him. He could feel the weight of his daughter in his arms, could taste the champagne from the wedding reception, could smell the flowers at the funeral.

The memories were his now. Completely, undeniably his.

And somewhere in the process of gaining them, he had lost the memories that had once made him Tom.

He tried to picture his own face—his real face, the one he'd been born with. But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Brian's face staring back from the mirror.

He tried to remember what it felt like to be twenty-five, to have smooth skin and a narrow waist and a whole life ahead of him. But the memory wouldn't come.

All he could remember was being forty-six. Being tired. Being trapped. Being Brian.

Tom sank down onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, and realized with a cold certainty that he was forgetting how to be anyone else.

⸻

By the fourth week, neither man noticed when the memories stopped arriving in pairs.

There was no single moment when Brian forgot what it felt like to be forty-six. There was no morning when Tom woke unable to picture his house.

The past simply blurred. Memories that had once carried labels—mine and his—merged into one continuous history until separating them required effort. Then even the effort disappeared.

Brian still remembered growing up. He simply couldn’t remember whether the memories belonged to a quiet suburban childhood or a college apartment decorated with cheap furniture and game posters. Both felt true. Both felt equally his.

Tom remembered falling in love. He no longer knew whether the memory belonged to a woman waiting patiently at home or to the older man who had smiled at him across a bar. Both felt true. Both felt equally his.

The confusion should have been unbearable. Instead, it was almost a relief. It was easier not to question. Easier to simply accept that he was who he was now, whoever that was.

Brian stopped thinking of himself as Brian-who-had-been-forty-six. He was just Brian. Or was he Tom? The distinction stopped mattering.

Tom stopped thinking of himself as Tom-who-had-been-twenty-five. He was just Tom. Or was he Brian? The distinction stopped mattering.

They were becoming the lives they had chosen to inherit. And in the process, they were losing the lives they had left behind.

⸻

Five weeks after the swap, Tom climbed into Brian’s pickup truck. He had awakened with a vague conviction that there was somewhere he needed to go. The address came effortlessly. He drove without needing directions.

The truck felt completely natural beneath him. His broad hands rested comfortably on the steering wheel. His shoulders filled the driver’s seat. The familiar scent of worn leather and motor oil should have reminded him of someone. Instead, it simply smelled like his truck.

As he turned onto the quiet suburban street, fragments drifted through his thoughts. A younger face. A bright red polo shirt. A laugh. Someone who had looked at him with unmistakable admiration.

The images dissolved before he could hold onto them.

He parked in front of a modest house. Why had he come here? He couldn’t remember. Only that it mattered.

He walked to the front door and before he could knock the door opened. A young man stepped outside.

Tom stared. The face was familiar in the way a photograph from childhood might be—recognizable without carrying any emotional weight. The young man smiled uncertainly, as though he were struggling with exactly the same feeling.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Finally the younger man broke the silence. “I… think I know you.”

Tom searched his own memories. There should have been a name. A story. Something. Instead there was only warmth. The sense that this stranger had once been extraordinarily important.

“I think…” Tom said slowly, “…I used to know you too.”

Brian stepped closer. His eyes lingered on Tom’s now older face with quiet sadness. “I’ve been trying to remember why I wanted to see you.”

Tom gave a faint smile. “So have I.”

Neither of them could recall the night they played the Roulette. Neither remembered the message. Neither remembered standing outside this same house only days earlier with two borrowed lives waiting to collide full of lust and admiration and something that might have been love.

They simply stood together on the porch, sharing the strange comfort of recognizing someone whose place in their lives had slipped beyond memory.

"I feel like..." Brian started, then stopped. He looked down at his hands—young hands, smooth and unmarked. "I feel like I should thank you for something. But I don't know what."

Tom felt it too. A debt unpaid. A gift given or received. The shape of it was there, but the details had vanished.

"Maybe we helped each other once," Tom offered.

"Maybe." Tom looked up, and for just a moment, something flickered in his eyes—a flash of recognition, of grief, of understanding. Then it was gone. "I hope things work out for you."

Brian nodded. "I think they already have."

Tom nodded as well. The words felt true, even though he couldn't have explained why. His life was good, wasn't it? He had a home. A family. Stability. Everything a man could want.

So why did he feel so empty?

Brian extended his hand. Tom looked at it for several seconds before taking it. The handshake lingered and turned into a deep hug. There was affection in it. Gratitude. Loss. Neither could have explained why.

When they pulled apart, both men had tears in their eyes.

"Take care of yourself," Brian said softly.

"You too."

Brian turned and disappeared back inside the house. Tom climbed into his pickup and started the engine. As he drove away, he checked the rearview mirror once more. The house did look oddly familiar, he thought, like a place he'd visited in a dream. By the time he reached the end of the street, even that feeling had vanished.

⸻

The Roulette had found its balance.

It could exchange bodies for a night—but only if you followed the rules. With no original Tom or Brian to anchor onto, both men had drifted until they became the "new" originals. The magic had simply filled in the gaps, rewriting their memories and identities until the swap became permanent.

Long after the magic had ended, Brian lived on—in Tom's young body, carrying Tom's dreams as though they had always been his own. And in a sense, they had. He'd been given a second lease on life, a chance to start over, to be the person he'd always wished he could be.

But he could never fully appreciate that gift. Because he would never remember what he'd escaped from. The weight of those forty-six years, the suffocating marriage, the decades of hiding—all of it had been erased, replaced by Tom's lighter history. He was free, but he would never know what freedom had cost him.

And Tom lived on—in Brian's older body, rooted in Brian's home with a devotion that no longer felt borrowed. The restlessness that had once driven him toward older men survived only as a vague ache he could never quite name.

Whenever his eyes lingered a little too long on another man, a wave of guilt rose instinctively to meet it, followed by the familiar fear of discovery that had haunted Brian for decades. He no longer understood where those feelings had come from. They simply felt like part of who he had always been.

Some evenings he caught himself standing alone on the back porch, watching the sun disappear beyond the fence, overcome by a longing for a different life whose shape he could no longer remember. He accepted the sadness as ordinary, believing it was simply the burden of growing older.

The dream of escape had faded completely. All that remained was the quiet certainty that this was his life, this was his marriage, and whatever secret part of himself still reached for a man's hand in the dark would remain hidden, as it always had.

The two men had not disappeared. They had simply become the lives they had chosen to inherit.

Neither would ever know there had once been another ending waiting for them. Neither would remember the night they had looked into each other's eyes and seen themselves reflected back, whole and wanted and understood.

That memory belonged to two people who no longer existed.

All that remained was the faint, inexplicable sadness that sometimes surfaced without warning—a grief without an object, a loss without a name. The feeling that something precious had been misplaced, though neither man could say what it was or where it had gone.

They would carry that feeling for the rest of their lives, never knowing it was the ghost of who they used to be, mourning a connection that had been erased from the world as thoroughly as if it had never existed at all.

[verus-veritas]

The Field Trip to Swap Institute

(AI-Generated)

Tyler’s fascination with body-swapping wasn’t just a passing curiosity. It was a consuming obsession that had taken root three years ago when the government unveiled the groundbreaking technology to the world. 

The idea of shedding his skin, stepping into someone else’s body, and claiming their existence as his own became a fixation that haunted his every waking moment. He spent hours online, scouring forums and scientific journals, masturbating to the thought of inhabiting a stronger, taller, more powerful body. His classmates thought his endless chatter about swapping lives was just quirky banter. They had no idea how deep his perverse desires ran or how meticulously he’d begun to plan.

When the school announced a field trip to the National Institute of Swap Science, a gleaming monument to human potential, Tyler saw his chance. He campaigned relentlessly, convincing his teachers that the trip would be a transformative experience for the senior class. His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the entire group of thirty students was buzzing with excitement. 

However, the field trip to the institute required a parent chaperone to assist Ms. Petunia, the overworked biology teacher tasked with wrangling the students. Fortunately, Tyler’s classmate Jack had a father, Clifford Donovan, who was free that day. 

Cliff was a construction manager in his mid-forties, a man whose rugged handsomeness turned heads. His broad chest, thick arms, and stubbled jaw radiated authority, and his bald head gleamed under the sun. Tyler had noticed him at school events, his eyes lingering on the man’s confident stride, his deep laugh, the way his work boots thudded against the ground.

When his classmate Jack suddenly fell ill with a fever the morning of the trip, Tyler’s pulse quickened. The stars were aligning.

—

At the institute, the tour began with a clinical precision that showcased the revolutionary technology within. Scientists in crisp white coats led the group through sterile corridors, explaining the intricacies of neural transfer with detached professionalism. The air hummed with the promise of transformation, and Tyler’s heart pounded as they approached the swap pods, sleek capsules that could rewrite reality in seconds. The students were to pair up for a temporary swap, a controlled demonstration to experience the technology’s power. 

With the ill Jack absent however, the group was left with an odd number, and Ms. Petunia hesitated, her brow furrowing as she scanned the room. Tyler seized the moment, his voice calm but his insides electric.

“Why don’t we let Mr. Donovan swap with someone? It’s only for an hour, and it’d be a waste for him to miss out.” His eyes locked onto Cliff, who shifted uncomfortably, his large hands flexing at his sides. 

The other students chimed in, their excitement overriding Cliff’s reluctance. After a moment, he nodded, his jaw tight. “Fine. But just for the demo.”

Tyler volunteered to swap with Mr. Donovan instantly, as it was his idea to begin with, his smile disarming but his mind racing with possibilities. 

The pods whirred to life, a low vibration filling the room as the swap initiated. Tyler felt a jolt, a fleeting sensation of falling through darkness, and then he was somewhere else. He opened his eyes, or rather, Cliff’s eyes, and stepped out of the pod. The world felt heavier, more grounded. His new body was tall, solid, the muscles dense under a layer of coarse hair. He ran his hands over his broad chest, feeling the weight of his pecs, the roughness of his stubble. His fingers brushed his bald head, the sensation sending a shiver of delight down his spine.

He glanced down, lifting the waistband of his pants to peek at the thick, veined cock nestled in a patch of dark hair. A wicked grin spread across his face, his new deeper voice rumbling in his throat. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered, savoring the sound.

Cliff, now in Tyler’s lanky teenage body, emerged from his pod looking disoriented, his movements awkward in the smaller frame. He caught Tyler’s grin and frowned, his high-pitched voice jarring. “Hey, cut that out! Stop touching my body like that. That's inappropriate.” 

Tyler just chuckled, his new voice rich and deep. “Relax, Mr. Donovan. I’m just getting the full experience. You should try it too.”

Cliff’s unease was palpable, his teenage face flushing, but he said nothing more as the tour continued.

The group moved through the institute, marveling at holographic displays of neural pathways and listening to lectures on synaptic mapping. Tyler barely paid attention though, too consumed by the sensations of his new body. Every step felt powerful, his work boots thudding against the floor. His hands kept wandering, brushing against his thighs, grazing his crotch, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through him.

He caught his reflection in a glass panel and paused, staring at the handsome, weathered face staring back. Cliff’s features were strong, his jaw square, his eyes a piercing blue. Tyler ran a hand over his bald head again, his cock twitching at the smooth sensation.

Cliff, in Tyler’s body, kept shooting him wary glances, his discomfort growing with every inappropriate touch. 

“Tyler, enough!” he hissed at one point, but Tyler just smirked, his new face radiating confidence.

The tour reached its midpoint in a darkened theater, where a documentary on the history of swap technology was to play. As the lights dimmed and the screen flickered to life, Tyler saw his opportunity. His heart pounded with a mix of nerves and exhilaration as he slipped out of his seat, moving silently through the shadows even in his bigger form. 

Cliff noticed a few minutes later, his parental instincts kicking in. He excused himself and followed, his sneakers squeaking faintly as he navigated the institute’s long corridors. The sound of deep, guttural groans stopped him cold outside the nearby public restrooms. His stomach churned as he pushed open the door, the air thick with the stench of sweat and cum, the groans growing louder, unmistakable in their rhythm. They were coming from the farthest stall.

Cliff’s hands trembled as he crept inside, his teenage body feeling frail and unsteady. He followed the noise, each grunt sending a chill through him. He climbed onto the toilet in the adjacent stall, balancing carefully as he peered over the partition. The sight that greeted him was a nightmare made flesh. 

There was Tyler, in Cliff’s body, completely naked. His clothes were discarded in a heap, his boots kicked aside. He stood in front of a phone propped against the stall wall, its camera recording every moment. His large hands roamed his stolen body with obscene worship, one gripping his thick, throbbing cock, stroking it with a slow, deliberate intensity. The other hand clawed at his hairy chest, fingers twisting the dark curls as he groaned. His bald head glistened with sweat, and his former face was twisted in a perverse ecstasy.

Tyler’s strokes were methodical at first, savoring every inch of his new cock, his thumb circling the swollen head, smearing precum across the tip.

“Fuck, this is better than I dreamed,” he muttered, his voice a low growl that echoed off the tiles. He leaned forward, spitting onto his cock, the saliva mixing with the precum to create a slick, obscene sound as he pumped faster. “This body… this fucking body… it’s mine now.” 

He reached down, cupping his heavy balls, rolling them in his palm as he groaned louder. “I’m never going back… Never! I’m Cliff Donovan now."

His strokes grew frenzied, his hips bucking as he fucked his own rugged hand, the stall shaking with his movements. He grabbed the phone, angling it to capture every detail, his voice dropping to a guttural whisper. “Look at this perfectly curved cock. Look at this ruggedly sexy face. This is me…Forever!”

Cliff’s horror rooted him to the spot, his hands gripping the partition as he watched Tyler defile his body. Tyler’s groans grew louder, more animalistic, as he spat again, the saliva dripping down his shaft and onto the floor. He smeared it across his cock, his movements sloppy and desperate, the wet sounds filling the stall. 

“I’m gonna live your life,” he growled, his eyes wild and frenzied. “Your wife, your job, your identity… all mine!”

His hand moved faster, his other clawing at his chest, leaving red marks in the hair. His body tensed, his breathing ragged, until he let out a primal roar, his cock erupting in thick, ropy streams of cum. The first spurt hit the phone, coating the screen, while the rest splattered across the stall door, dripping down in viscous trails.

Tyler’s knees buckled, his head thrown back in ecstasy, and then his eyes snapped open, locking onto Cliff’s.

For a moment, time stopped. Then Tyler’s lips curled into a slow, mischievous grin. He reached up, scooping a glob of cum from the stall door, and brought it to his mouth, licking it off his fingers with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving Cliff’s. 

“Like what you see?” he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. He grabbed the phone, stopping the recording, and began pulling on his pants, his movements casual despite the cum still dripping from his cock.

Cliff scrambled down, his teenage limbs clumsy, and bolted for the door. But Tyler was faster, his broad powerful body blocking the exit with ease.

His grin widened, a twisted mockery of Cliff’s usual warmth. “Where do you think you’re going, kid?”

—

Half an hour later, the tour group gathered in the pod room to reverse the swaps. Suddenly, the father Cliff burst into the room, sweat streaming down his bald head, his hands stained with blood. 

“Help!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with feigned panic. “It’s Tyler! We were in the bathroom, and he slipped… cracked his head! I-I think he’s dead!” 

The room erupted in chaos. Ms. Petunia and the tour guide rushed to follow him, the students whispering in shock. Cliff led them to the bathroom, where Tyler’s body lay crumpled, a pool of blood spreading from a gash on his head. His story poured out in a rush, of how he and Tyler had gone to the bathroom during the documentary. As Cliff, in Tyler’s body, stepped out of the stall, he’d slipped on a wet patch, hitting his head. Fortunately enough for him, the impact had somehow reversed the swap, his mind snapping back into his own body. 

By the time he woke up, back in his own adult body, he’d found Tyler unconscious on the floor. He tried CPR, but it was too late.

The tour guide, pale and shaken, called for medical assistance while the scientists ushered the students back to the pods. The remaining swaps were reversed, and the institute’s staff ran tests on Cliff, confirming his mind was intact and his story plausible. The lack of cameras in the bathroom, a privacy measure, left no evidence to contradict him. 

Tyler’s body was pronounced dead once the police came, his death ruled an accident caused by a fall. Cliff was taken to the police station, where he recounted the same story with practiced grief, his blue eyes glistening with crocodile tears. The investigators, finding no inconsistencies, released him that evening.

Cliff drove home in silence, the weight of his new reality a heady mix of triumph and secrecy. His wife, Ellen, and son, Jack, greeted him with concern, having heard fragments of the tragedy. Cliff hugged them tightly, his large hands lingering on their shoulders, savoring the warmth of his family. Over dinner, he recounted the “accident” with a mournful tone, his voice steady despite the glee bubbling beneath. 

“It was awful,” he said softly, his eyes downcast. “Please, let’s not talk about it anymore. I need some time alone.”

Ellen squeezed his hand, and Jack nodded, their faces etched with sympathy. After kissing them both on the forehead, Cliff retreated to his office, locking the door with a soft click.

—

Alone at last, Cliff sat behind the oak desk, his reflection staring back from a small mirror. He held the mask of grief for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes somber. Then, like a switch flipping, his face split into a gleeful, manic chuckle, his blue eyes blazing with unadulterated joy.

“Clifford Arthur Donovan,” he whispered, the name a delicious weight on his tongue. He ran his hands over his stubbled cheeks, the coarse hair sending shivers through him. 

“Yes, Sir,” he mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It was a horrific accident. Absolutely, Sir.”

But he knew the truth. In that bathroom, he had surrendered to his darkest temptations, orchestrating a permanent swap by ensuring Tyler’s body would never wake again. The violence had been swift, calculated, the blood on his hands a small price to pay for this body, this life. Every moment since had been pure ecstasy; the lies he’d told, the touches he’d stolen, the weight of this mature, powerful form.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. With a savage urgency, he tore off his shirt, buttons scattering across the floor. His pants followed, ripped open with a ferocity that left the zipper mangled. His broad, hairy chest heaved as he ran his hands over it, fingers digging into the thick muscle, twisting the dark curls until his skin burned red.

He gripped his cock, already rock-hard, and began stroking with a violence that shook the desk. His other hand clawed at his chest, ripping out clumps of hair, the pain mingling with pleasure in a dizzying rush. He spat onto his cock, the saliva mixing with precum as he pumped faster, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office. He leaned forward, staring into the mirror, watching Cliff’s face contort with feral intensity. 

“This is mine,” he growled, his voice a guttural snarl. “All mine! I’m Clifford Arthur Donovan now… and this is my body, my life, my perfectly thick cock! Forever!”

His strokes grew faster, his hips bucking as he fucked his hand, the chair creaking under his weight. He grabbed his balls, squeezing them hard, the pain pushing him closer to the edge. His other hand roamed his body, stroking his bald head, clawing at his thighs, leaving red marks in its wake.

His moans filled the room, growing louder, more desperate, until they became screams. “This is me! My body! Forever and ever!!!”

His body convulsed, his back arching so violently the chair groaned, threatening to snap. His cock erupted in a torrent of cum, thick ropes shooting across the desk, splattering the mirror, dripping onto the floor. The release kept coming, wave after wave, his legs spasming uncontrollably, his vision blurring as he rode the orgasm to its brutal end.

Panting, sweat pouring down his bald head, Cliff smeared the cum across his chest, rubbing it into his skin like a ritual. He scooped a glob from the desk and brought it to his mouth, sucking it off his fingers with a moan, the taste sending another shudder through him.

He stared at his reflection, stroking his stubble with a wicked, blissful grin. His cock still throbbed, twitching with aftershocks, and he gave it a slow, deliberate stroke, savoring the sensitivity.

“Clifford Arthur Donovan,” he whispered, the name a vow. He would play the role perfectly. A loving husband, a proud father, a real man, until his very last breath.

Days later, an envelope arrived from the institute, containing a letter and a hefty check. The message was clear: keep the incident quiet to protect the institute’s funding. Cliff, with no intention of awaking suspicion, accepted the payment and buried the secret deep. Months turned to years, and the truth of what happened in that bathroom faded into oblivion. Cliff Donovan lived on, his perverse claim and true identity hidden behind a ruggedly handsome smile. His stolen life and body a deception that would remain a secret forever...

[verus-veritas]

The Mogui's Curse: Mistaken Skin

(AI Generated - A spin-off from my story last month, set in the same universe of The Mogui’s Curse. Enjoy!)

The sun blazed over the turquoise waters of the island resort, its golden rays shimmering on the waves as laughter and music filled the air. I was a 22-year-old college student on summer break, soaking in the carefree chaos with my group of friends. We’d rented a beach villa at this sprawling resort, a paradise of palm trees, white sand, and endless parties. The days blurred into a haze of tequila shots, beach volleyball, and late-night skinny dipping, our laughter echoing through the humid nights. I was the quiet one in the group, always a bit self-conscious about my smooth, hairless body and the constant pressure to stay in shape. My friends, a mix of jocks and socialites, didn’t share my insecurities, their confidence as bold as their sunburns.

The resort wasn’t just for college kids like us. Families filled the grounds, their kids splashing in the pool while parents sipped cocktails under umbrellas. One family caught our attention during a family party night in the resort’s open-air pavilion. A Middle-Eastern family, their voices loud and warm, danced to the live band’s music.

The father stood out, a big, burly man with a thick, hairy frame that seemed to take up twice the space of anyone around him. He was dancing with his kids, his chunky arms wrapped around them, his laughter booming over the music. His body was a forest of dark hair, covering his broad chest, arms, and legs, the hair so dense it looked like a pelt. His belly jiggled as he moved, a soft mound of flesh that spoke of indulgence rather than neglect. His face was almost hidden behind a lush, black beard, streaked with strands of gray, and his thick, tousled brown hair matched the wildness of his appearance. Despite his size, his brown eyes sparkled with a kind, carefree joy that I envied.

My friends couldn’t help but snicker, whispering among themselves as we sat at a nearby table, our drinks sweating in the heat. 

“Look at that guy,” one of them, a wiry guy named Jake, muttered, stifling a laugh. “He’s like a walking bear rug. Bet he sweats buckets under all that hair.” 

Another friend, a blonde girl named Sarah, giggled, leaning in. “Can you imagine how heavy he must be? All that hairy, sweaty flesh… gross.” 

They laughed, their voices low but cruel, and I forced a chuckle, my cheeks burning with shame. I didn’t say much, my silence a shield for the secret I kept buried deep. I was still in the closet, my attraction to men a quiet ache I’d never shared. And truthfully, I found the father attractive in a way that made my stomach twist with jealousy. His carefree confidence, his unapologetic embrace of his thick, hairy body, was everything I wished I could be. I hated how self-conscious I felt about my smooth, lean frame, always obsessing over staying in shape to fit some ideal I could never quite reach.

The night wore on, and I drank more than I intended, the tequila shots blurring the edges of my thoughts. The music pulsed through the pavilion, the jovial father spinning his kids around, his hairy arms flexing with each lift, his laughter a deep rumble that carried over the crowd. I watched him from the corner of my eye, my friends’ mocking whispers fading as I lost myself in the sight of him. 

Then, the need to relieve myself grew urgent, and I stumbled toward the restroom, my head spinning from the alcohol. I pushed through the door, my vision hazy, and collided with a solid, warm wall of flesh. It was the Middle-Eastern father, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his hairy chest pressing against me as he too hurried to pee. The impact knocked the breath from me, and I stumbled back, my hands instinctively bracing against his broad torso.

“Whoa there, my friend!” he boomed, his voice deep and jovial, his brown eyes crinkling with a drunken grin. He was clearly tipsy, his movements loose and carefree. “Looks like we both had too much fun out there!” 

Before I could apologize, he pulled me into a warm, sweaty hug, his thick arms enveloping me, the heat of his body radiating through me. I stiffened at first, surprised by the sudden intimacy, the coarse hair of his chest brushing against my smooth skin, his musk a heady mix of sweat and spice that clung to my cheek. But as the hug lingered, I felt myself relax, leaning into it, my face pressed against his damp flesh, the scent intoxicating. 

I couldn’t help my curiosity, my hands wandering as I squeezed his thick dad bod, feeling the soft bulk of his belly, the dense hair crinkling under my fingers, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to my own. The sensation sent a shiver through me, a secret thrill I couldn’t deny. He felt my hands exploring, and with a hearty laugh, he released me, stepping back with a playful grin.

“No touching, eh? This is mine,” he teased, running his rugged hands across his hairy, thick chest, the motion emphasizing his unapologetic confidence.

I nodded, my face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and admiration, my eyes unable to look away from his bold display. He brushed past me, heading to one of the urinals, sliding down his shorts with a casual ease. I stood there, frozen, as his thick, juicy ass came into full view, the hair dusting the cheeks catching the dim light, the flesh bouncing slightly with his movement. Even more so when he reached around to scratch it, his fingers digging into the soft mounds, the ass jiggling playfully as if to seduce me. 

I was lost in the thought of touching those juicy mounds of flesh, my mind racing with forbidden fantasies, the image searing into my memory. I didn’t even notice when he finished, washing his hands with a quick splash of water before turning to me with a smile. He placed one of his large, rugged hands on my shoulder, the touch warm and firm, before brushing past me to rejoin his family at the party.

I returned to my friends, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions, the memory of his hairy chest and thick ass lingering like a forbidden secret. I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be so free in a body like his, to carry that confidence with every step. The night ended with me and my friends stumbling back to our villa, the image of the hairy daddy etched into my thoughts as I drifted into a restless sleep.

—

A few nights later, the resort suddenly descended into chaos. It started with a scream, sharp and piercing, cutting through the hum of the evening crowd. I was at the resort’s main plaza with my friends, a sprawling open area lined with palm trees and string lights, the air thick with the scent of grilled seafood and coconut sunscreen. We’d been drinking, our laughter loud as we played a drunken game of truth or dare, when the first scream rang out. More followed, a chorus of terror as people began to flee, their faces pale, their voices shouting about a monster skinning humans alive and devouring them. The crowd surged around us, families grabbing their kids, couples sprinting toward the beach, their footsteps pounding against the cobblestones.

My friends froze, their drunken haze giving way to confusion. 

“What the hell is going on?” Sarah asked, her voice trembling as she clutched Jake’s arm. 

Before anyone could answer, a jock in our group, a broad-shouldered guy named Tyler, scoffed, his arrogance unshaken. “It’s probably some stupid event, like a haunted house thing. Let’s go check it out.”

I hesitated, my gut telling me to run, but Tyler’s confidence was infectious, and the group followed him deeper into the plaza, toward the source of the screams. I trailed behind, my heart pounding, my flip-flops slapping against the stone path.

We reached the center of the plaza, a wide clearing with a fountain at its heart, and stopped dead in our tracks. A pile of human skins lay discarded on the ground, their empty, glistening forms illuminated by the flickering string lights. The skins were intact, their faces frozen in expressions of horror, their limbs limp and hollow. Standing over the pile was a grotesque creature, its bony, clawed limbs glistening with a sickly sheen, its hollow black eyes glinting in the dim light. Its maw of jagged teeth dripped with blood as it devoured a quivering mass of flesh, the sound of its chewing wet and sickening.

It was a mogui, a skin-stealing ghoul that devoured humans and wore their skins to blend in. I’d only just happened to read about them in high school after I had to pick a random course during my second year and thus chose ancient mythology.

Tyler didn’t even have time to react. The mogui leapt onto him with a guttural snarl, its claws sinking into his shoulders as it pinned him to the ground. 

“What the fuck!” Tyler screamed, his voice high with panic as the creature grabbed his mouth and pulled. 

His skin stretched like latex, the sound a wet, tearing pop as the mogui yanked it over his head, peeling him alive in a single, fluid motion. Tyler’s screams turned to gurgles as his flesh was exposed, his body a quivering mass of muscle and blood, and the mogui devoured him whole, its jagged teeth tearing into his raw form with savage hunger. My friends screamed, scattering in all directions, their footsteps fading as they fled.

I tried to run, my legs heavy with terror, but I was too close. The mogui grabbed me from behind, its clawed hand wrapping around my throat, lifting me off the ground with effortless strength. I kicked and thrashed, my hands clawing at its bony arm, but its grip was irontight. 

“No, please!” I begged, my voice a desperate sob as tears streamed down my face. 

The mogui’s hollow eyes bored into mine, its rancid breath hot on my face, a mix of decay and blood that made me gag. It shoved its other clawed hand down my throat, its bony fingers wrapping around my tongue, the pain searing as its claws scraped against the inside of my mouth. I gagged, my lungs burning, my body convulsing as it pulled, a sickening tug radiating from my throat to my gut. With a violent yank, it drew my entire flesh out through my mouth, peeling me like a fruit, the sensation a ripping, tearing agony as my skin separated from my body. My skin came free in a single, intact piece, the sound a wet, sucking pop, and the mogui threw me to the ground, my exposed flesh hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud, blood splattering around me.

It tossed my skin onto the pile, the empty shell of my face staring back at me, and turned to devour me, its jagged teeth glinting with hunger. But before it could strike, gunfire erupted, a group of security guards charging into the plaza, their weapons blazing. Bullets tore into the mogui, its grayish skin oozing black ichor as it roared in fury, dropping me to the ground as it fled, its heavy footsteps echoing into the night. 

The guards chased after it, their shouts fading as they assumed I was already dead, my raw, bleeding form motionless on the cobblestones.

I felt myself slipping, my consciousness fading as blood pooled beneath me, the pain a white-hot inferno that consumed every thought. Every movement was torture, the cool night air searing my raw nerves, my vision swimming with black spots. But a primal instinct to survive surged within me, a desperate, animalistic drive that overpowered the pain. I dragged myself across the plaza, my exposed flesh scraping against the stone, leaving a thick trail of blood in my wake. 

Each movement was agony, my muscles screaming, my vision blurring, but I reached the pile of skins, my trembling hands fumbling through the slick, warm pile, searching for my own. My mind was disoriented, my eyes blurry with tears and blood, and I grabbed what I assumed was my skin, the weight heavy in my hands as I pulled it toward me.

I was too weak to think clearly, my body trembling with shock as I slipped my raw arms into the skin, the flesh yielding with a wet squelch. The inside was slick and warm, the musk unfamiliar, a heavy, masculine scent that wasn’t my own. I pushed deeper, my raw legs sliding into the skin, the heat suffocating as I pulled it over my torso, the flesh stretching to accommodate my form. 

It was only when I was fully inside, the skin too big, the weight too heavy, that I realized something was wrong. The limbs were too thick, the torso too broad, and the musk was overpowering, a mix of sweat, spice, and raw masculinity that didn’t belong to me. But it was too late. The mogui’s magic took hold, the skin tightening around me with a series of sickening cracks, my raw flesh expanding to fill the new form, bones stretching, muscles swelling, my insides becoming flesh and bone as they fused with the skin I’d chosen. The sensation was a mix of pain and perverse intimacy, the skin molding to me like a lover’s embrace, sealing me inside with a final, wet snap.

I blacked out, my consciousness slipping into darkness, the weight of my new body pulling me under.

—

I woke up half an hour later in the resort’s infirmary, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. I was lying on a narrow bed, a thin blanket draped over me, my body heavy and unfamiliar. Voices murmured outside the room, a security guard and a nurse speaking in low tones. 

“The monster escaped,” the guard said, his voice tense. “Wore one of the dead guard’s skins and drove off on a boat. We couldn’t catch it.” 

The nurse sighed, her tone solemn. “At least we saved one. He’s awake now.”

They entered the room, the guard a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, the nurse a petite woman with tired eyes. The guard forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Happy you survived, sir. Wasn’t easy carrying you over here, considering how much bigger you are than me.” 

I blinked, confusion clouding my mind. The guard was obviously bigger and stronger than me, his muscles straining against his uniform. I tried to speak, my throat dry, but the nurse cut in, her expression solemn. “You’re probably wondering where your family is... I’m so sorry, we couldn’t save them.” 

I stared at her, my mind reeling. I had no family here, just my friends. “What are you talking about?” I croaked, my voice deep and gruff, unfamiliar to my ears. 

They exchanged a glance, the nurse patting my arm gently. “You’re in shock. It’s okay, just get some rest.” 

They left, closing the door behind them, leaving me alone with my confusion.

I noticed an unfamiliar wallet on the desk beside me, its leather worn and scratched. I reached for it, my hand heavy and sluggish, and froze as I saw my arm. It was thick, muscular, and covered in a dense mat of dark hair, the skin a warm olive tone that wasn’t mine. Panic surged through me as I flicked the wallet open, revealing an ID card. The photo showed the Middle-Eastern father from the family party night, his lush beard and kind brown eyes staring back at me. His name was written on the card: Joseph Arslan, age 47.

My heart pounded as I pulled the blanket off, revealing a body that wasn’t mine. My chest was broad and thick, covered in a pelt of dark hair that trailed down to a soft, chubby belly. My legs were massive, the hair so dense it looked like fur, and my hands were large and rugged, the fingers thick with calluses.

Realization crashed over me like a wave. I hadn’t crawled into my own skin. I’d accidentally chosen Joseph’s, the burly father we’d mocked, his hairy, chunky body now mine. 

I stumbled out of the bed, my weight heavy and strange, my center of gravity off as I scrambled to the sink in the corner of the room, a small mirror hanging above it. The face staring back was Joseph’s, his lush beard covering most of his face, the black hair streaked with gray, his thick, tousled brown hair wild and unkempt. His brown eyes, kind but now wide with shock, looked back at me, the reflection a stranger’s.

“Oh my God, no… this isn’t me,” I whispered, my voice a deep, rumbling growl that echoed in the small room. I ran my hands over my face, the beard coarse under my fingers, the hair tugging at my skin as I pulled, hoping to find a seam, a way out. But the skin was fused to me, the mogui’s magic binding me to this new form.

I turned to the nurse, my voice rising in panic. “This is a mistake! I’m not Joseph! I’m a college student, my name is Ryan! The monster… it took my skin, and I… I put on the wrong one!” 

The nurse and guard exchanged a look, their expressions a mix of pity and disbelief.

“Sir, you’re in shock,” the nurse said softly, her tone placating. “You’ve been through a lot. Your family… we couldn’t save them. It’s natural to feel confused.”

I shook my head, my beard swaying with the motion. “I don’t have a family here! I’m here with friends! You have to believe me!” 

But they didn’t, their eyes filled with sympathy as they urged me to rest. Infuriated, I ignored their advice, storming out of the infirmary, my heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, the weight of Joseph’s body a constant reminder of my new reality.

—

I made my way back to the beach villa my friends and I had rented, the night air cool against my skin, the resort eerily quiet after the chaos. The villa was trashed, furniture overturned, windows shattered, the remnants of the mogui’s rampage evident in every corner. My friends were gone, either fled or devoured, their absence a hollow ache in my chest. 

I went to my room, my suitcase still on the bed, and stripped off the hospital gown, the thin fabric falling to the floor. I tried to wear my old clothes, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans that strained against my thick, hairy legs, the denim refusing to stretch over my massive thighs. I tugged on a T-shirt, the fabric tight against my broad, hairy back, the seams creaking as I moved. 

I glanced at a nearby mirror, and the sight was absurd: a hairy, thick bear of a man trying to fit into a college boy’s clothes, the shirt barely covering my hairy belly, the jeans stuck halfway up my thighs.

I brought my thick arms up, flexing my biceps, the muscle bulging under the dense hair, and the T-shirt ripped apart with a loud tear, the fabric falling to the floor in tatters. 

“Holy shit,” I muttered, my deep voice startling me as I stared at my reflection. The hair on my arms was so thick, the olive skin stretched taut over my new bulk. I ran my hands over my chest, the hair crinkling under my fingers, the sensation both shocking and exhilarating. 

“This body… it’s so big, so hairy,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and arousal. I looked down, my eyes widening at the sight of my new cock, massive and engorged, the thick shaft covered in a nest of dark hair at the base. It was uncircumcised, the foreskin heavy and warm, and it throbbed with a need I couldn’t ignore.

I kicked away the skinny jeans, knowing I’d never fit into them again, and lay on the bed in my full, hairy nakedness, the mattress creaking under my weight.

“I’m really stuck like this… I’m Joseph now,” I murmured, my voice a deep rumble as I grabbed my new cock with my rugged fingers, the calluses rough against the sensitive skin. I stroked slowly at first, the sensation overwhelming, my entire body humming with pleasure and desire.

“God, this cock… it’s so thick, so heavy,” I moaned, my other hand reaching up to tug at my beard, the hair coarse and thick, the slight pain of pulling at it mingling with the pleasure radiating from my groin. I jerked harder, my deep, gruff moans filling the room, the sound primal and raw, a stark contrast to the voice I’d known my whole life.

I pulled at the foreskin fiercely, the sensation intense, and tugged at my beard with more force, hoping to loosen the heavy, hairy skin around me, to find a way out. 

“Maybe I can get out… maybe I can peel this off,” I grunted, my voice strained as I yanked at the hair, the follicles ripping free with a stinging pain that only heightened my arousal. But the skin didn’t budge, the mogui’s magic holding it fast, and the realization that I was trapped in this thick daddy’s identity for good drove me over the edge.

“I’m stuck… I’m wearing this hairy flesh… I’m him,” I growled, my voice rising as I exploded, cum shooting everywhere, thick ropes splattering across my hairy chest, some getting tangled in my beard, the musky scent of Joseph’s essence filling the air.

I lay there, spent and panting, my hairy, sweaty body glistening in the dim light of the villa. The future was uncertain, the mogui still out there, wearing a new skin, its whereabouts unknown. But as I ran my hands over my new body, feeling the coarse hair, the soft bulk of my belly, I realized something had shifted inside me. I didn’t feel self-conscious anymore. With a body this hairy and chunky, I didn’t care what others thought, as long as I enjoyed it myself. 

“Maybe this isn’t a curse,” I murmured, my deep voice soft as I traced the hair on my chest, the sensation grounding me in my new reality. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise...” 

I closed my eyes, the weight of Joseph’s body a comforting presence, and drifted into a dreamless sleep, my new identity a strange, perverse gift I was only beginning to understand.

[flixoran]

A new purpose

Another day of freshman year at university down and I felt just as exhausted as every other day. Hours of lectures, assignments, to finally get to go home just to have to do more schoolwork. I needed a break so I walked down the street to my friend Zach’s house. We had been friends since I could remember, even now we were going to the same university and taking the same classes. I had been over to his house so much that his parents were almost like my secondary parents. I knock on the door and Zach answers. “You here to work on that Sociology paper?” He asks seeming slightly let down. “Hell no, I need a break from all that college stuff, wanna play some video games?” I reply in a defeated tone. He seemed to empathize, almost as if he’d been feeling the same way. “I was hoping you’d say that, come on man.” He says with a smile and lets me in.

I walk inside, Mr. Jacobs was sitting in his chair like he usually was after he got home from work, dressed in his usual polo shirt and khaki pants, hair gelled to the side like it had been for the last 15 years. I start to wonder, would it be easier to live a life like that? A life already set in stone, a steady good paying job that ended once he got home, being a respected member of society, people looking at you with respect, a wife and 3 kids that loved you, the typical easy going dad life. “Hey Zach I’ll meet you upstairs in a minute.” I say as he heads up to his room. “Alright, don’t be too long, I gotta beat you in smash again.” He teases as he walks to his room.

I approach Mr. Jacobs to ask about what had been on my mind. He notices me, puts down his newspaper and smiles at me in that reassuring dad look that made it seem like everything would be alright. “Hey buddy, somethin on your mind kiddo?” He asks in a way only a concerned dad ready to help out could. “It’s been a tough semester Mr. Jacobs.” I reply. “I’m sorry buddy, I’ve noticed Zach has been struggling a little bit too. My first semester at college was a bit rough too, but it all paid out in the end to set up the future I wanted, and plus I ended up making some of the best memories I ever had there. It’s where I met my wife.” He said reassuringly.

“I wanted to ask you” I paused for a second, unsure how to form my words or how it would sound to him. “Does it get easier? It’s been real hectic recently and it doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon, but your life seems so amazing. You have a great job, an amazing family, you’re respected, you always seem so happy, like you beat life and have everything you could ever want. To be honest with you sir, it’s envious and I want that exact type of life you have, to be just like you, you’ve always been a great mentor and I really look up to you, but it seems so unattainable.” This response from me made him smile. “Well thank you Jack. Yeah my I love my job, my family, and the life we built. I’m glad I’ve been even remotely good enough for you to look up to me as a mentor. And I would say it does get easier, once you have things settled and figured out.” This is about what I expected to hear, that it gets better but not anytime soon. “But” he interjected, “It’s not as good as you may think. Don’t get me wrong I love my family, and our life, but it does get repetitive. Going to work, coming home, raising a family, nothing more to work towards, and plus getting older means more random pains.” He adds chuckling slightly. “Even though it was rough at times, I would absolutely go back and do it all again, to be able to run wild, go out and party all night with no repercussions. It’s something a lot of young people take advantage of Jack. Dare I say I’d even trade places with ya.” He sits back in his chair and takes a sip of his coffee.

This response stunned me, he wanted to go back? Even more shocking, he’d trade places with me? That sounded like a dream that unfortunately could never come true. “You’d…..trade places with me?” I respond confused.

“Well yeah, you got your whole life ahead of you buddy, a world of possibilities. A life of memories to make, you’re so young and can do anything, even if there is some difficulty still in the near future.” I couldn’t even process that he was serious, I thought he was just saying that to make me feel better. “It’s interesting you’d say you’d swap places with me since, well I would absolutely trade places with you in a heartbeat sir.”

He put down his coffee and raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He says intrigued. “Well absolutely, you have this amazing life already figured out, you have a job I’d want, you have a family I would love, an amazing house I’d take care of, what’s not to want?” He stares at me with a smile on his face, almost as if something he’d been waiting for had finally happened. He got up from his chair, walked over to a cupboard in the living room, dress shoes clacking on the floor. He opens the cupboard and pulls out an ancient looking locked box and pulls a key out of his pocket. He opens the box, takes out an old looking coin, puts the box back and sits back down in front of me.

“What’s that sir?” I ask intrigued. “This Jack, is a swap coin.” He replies. “A swap coin?” I ask confused. “Yep, it’s been passed down through my family for multiple generations. The family legend is it allows two people to swap bodies, and gaining access to their memories. I’ve never used it but that’s the story my dad told me, his dad told him, and so on.” I thought this sounded insane but he was dead serious. What did he bring this out for? Then it clicked, he was dead serious. “Wait….you actually want to….” I say unable to form the words. “Yep, with as much as you say you want my life, I wouldn’t mind trading bodies for a while, maybe even permanently.” I couldn’t even wrap my head around this. Everything I ever wanted was right here this whole time and all I had to do was ask Mr. Jacobs? “Are you sure you’re ready to give up all this?” I ask him, I wanted his life no doubt but he had more to lose than me, a wife and kids, a career, a life he’d been building for 46 years. “I’m certainly ready to give it a try, we can swap back at anytime. I say we give it a month, then meet back up and discuss if we want to swap back or not.”

I couldn’t even contain my happiness. “I’m all in sir!” I told him excitedly. “A few rules now Jack.” He said in his stern dad tone. I perked up and listened intently, keen to not ruin this opportunity. “You mustn’t tell anyone about the swap, not the kids, my wife, anyone at my job, your family, anything.” I nod in understanding. “The coin will give you my memories, so you will be able to act as me seamlessly. Let’s agree for this first month to not to anything too crazy, obviously we’re doing this to experiment, but let’s hold off on any of the crazy shenanigans until we decide if we want to permanently swap or not.” He finishes. “Yes sir” I respond.

He places the coin in his hand. “To swap, both of us must be firmly touching it. Just shake my hand when you’re ready.” I was shaking with excitement. I thought of my parents, Zach, college, my future. It almost made me want to go back, I reminded myself it wasn’t permanent and that it was only a month commitment. I braced myself, outstretched my hand, and shook Mr. Jacobs hand firmly. Everything went black.

When I woke up, I thought it was time to get ready for class, it felt like I’d just had a deep night sleep. But I woke up in the same place I was, well almost. I felt a little dizzy, but still something was off. I put my hand on my head and immediately remembered. Oh my god, it worked. When my hand touched my head immediately felt the cold from the wedding band now on my hands, signaling my new 25 year marriage. I also felt my hand collide with the glasses I now wore. And lastly, I felt the gel used to comb my hair to the side. I looked down, and there it was, there I was. The same polo shirt, khaki pants, and dress shoes that Mr. Jacobs- that I always wore. I looked at the floor and saw my old body get up off the floor and sit on the couch, examining his new self.

“It worked!” I exclaimed, my voice now much deeper, one of the many things I was starting to like about my new body. “It sure did” my old body replied. Mr. Jacobs stood up in my old body, “man it’s been forever since I’ve felt this nimble” he says happily. “Hope you enjoy it JACK, I’m certainly enjoying this already.” I replied, calling him by my name to try and get used to our new roles, which made him smile. Zach came downstairs “dude are you coming or what? Don’t try to duck me now! You two discussing the meaning of life or something?” He joked. “Sorry son” I replied in my deep voice. It felt so strange to call my best friend my son, and even stranger that he actually was, and that we were no longer best friend but now father and son. “Jack was just looking for some advice. You should get up there Jack.” I said winking at my old body. “Alright I’m coming! And I’m totally gonna kick your ass- oh, sorry for swearing Mr. Jacobs.” He replied, playing my role very well. “It’s alright Jack, you boys let me know if you’re hungry and I’ll make dinner.” I added, eager to play out my new dad role. “Thanks Mr. Jacobs.” My old body replied. “Any time Jack.” I replied with a smile as my old body as my new son headed upstairs.

As the door closed I let out a breath of relief and continued examining my new body. My polo was drenched, I assume from the swap. I got up, almost stinking getting used to Mr. Jacobs- my new height and weight. Going from 5’7 145lbs to 6’2 200lbs was a big change, but definitely a welcome one. I walked up stairs, loving the sound of my dress shoes clacking on the floor, the sound of Mr. Jacobs walking around his house corresponding to my movements. I walked into my new bedroom, I hesitated for a second, but then remembering it was now mine and no longer an off limits area of the house. I walked inside, getting immense pleasure from the fact that my new tall frame barely fit under the door frame. I stripped my shirt off and tossed it in the dirty clothes hamper, then headed to the bathroom to dry off. I took my towel off the hanger but stopped before drying myself off. There Mr Jacobs stood, no, there I, Kevin Jacobs stood. I had always seen Mr. Jacobs as a father figure, never realizing how good looking he was. And now here I was in his body, shirtless. I stared into the mirror at my salt and pepper hair, my dad attire, and best of all, my hairy and surprisingly muscular chest.

I couldn’t help but put my hands on my new pecs and feel down my abs. It almost felt wrong, but it was my body now so why not? Every inch of skin and hair that brushed against my hands felt like heaven. I was basically a hairless twig in my old body, but now? This was a man’s body, and boy was it good. I was unable to take my eyes off the mirror, locking eyes with my new reflection, staring into my own brilliant blue eyes as I explored every inch of this new perfect body. As I did, I noticed something tight, I felt down and realized, my body was enjoying this. When my hand touched my pants I felt a massive cock. Around 10 inches if I had to guess. “Holy shit” I said to myself. It was weird to hear Mr. Jacobs curse, he never did, as he was an avid church member and never wanted to swear around his kids. But there was no other word for what I had found. Even just touching it felt blissful. I was about I explore further until I heard the bus outside and remembered. Cody, my new 7 year old sun should be getting home around this time. I dried off quickly, ran to the closet which was full of very formal clothes, took one of the many polos off the hanger and tucked it into my pants. Not my usual style, but hey I had to dress the part. I ran downstairs and opened the door, walking briskly and confidently towards the bus stop, as if I was a dad and belonged out here with all the other parents. I saw one of Mr. Jacob’s friends, Mr. Hawthorne, or Andy I guess I’d call him now, standing there with his daughter and Cody, watching him til I got there. He noticed me and I gave a wave. “Hey Kevin” he said. “Howdy Andy, thanks for watching Cody for me, running a little late.” I chuckled, attempting to blend into my new persona. “Oh it’s no problem Kev. See ya tomorrow.” He replied holding his daughter’s hand and walking her home.

Cody turned towards me and gave me a big hug. “I missed you at school daddy”. This made me smile, I was really starting to feel like a dad. I lifted him up with surprising ease and gave him a tight hug. I guess dad strength was a real thing. “I missed you too buddy. Alright let’s go home, I’ll make you a snack and I’ll help you with your homework. The sooner we get it done the sooner we can practice baseball in the yard.” I replied as if he was my own son, which I guess he was now.

I set Cody down at the kitchen table and grabbed him a snack while he was getting out his homework. I made a pb&j for the both of us and poured him a glass of milk and brought it to the table, sitting down right next to him. “Here you go kiddo. Alright what are we working on today?” I ask him. “We learned about multiplication today daddy. It was really cool! They want us to practice at home.” He replied very excitedly. “Multiplication? Wow! That’s so cool! Alright let’s get this done so we can play. I sat down with him, until we finished, letting him figure it out and only intervening when he was stuck to give him pointers. Around 30 minutes later he was done. “Wow you did that so quick, good job buddy!” I say trying to encourage my new son. I gave him a celebratory high five. I wasn’t sure why, it was almost instinct. Seems like that coin really did give memories.

Just as promised, me and Cody headed outside to practice baseball. Again, somehow knowing, I opened the toy box on the front porch and grabbed a ball, some mitts, and a bat. He looked so excited to play ball with his dad, I couldn’t stop smiling even if I tried, just providing my family with happy memories was more than enough to satisfy me forever. I remembered in my old body, which seemed like it was in a completely different universe, doing the same thing with my dad as a kid. Now here I was doing the same thing but on the other side.

We continued practicing, I gave him some pointers, congratulated him on catches and good hits. We only stopped when Mrs. Jacobs- I mean my wife pulled into the driveway. “Look who it is Cody!” I pointed towards my new wife. “Mommy!” He shouted as he ran towards her and hugged her, just as he did to me earlier. When I looked up from Cody to her, I noticed 2 things. Number one, this body was extremely attracted to her, makes sense I guess. I was not attracted to her in my old body, but this one was. I had to stuff those desires down deep, family came first, fun later. The second thing I noticed, was the baby in her arms. I had forgot that the Jacobs family just had another baby. “Hi Cody!” She said hugging him with her free arm that wasn’t holding our baby, Stanley. “You’re practicing baseball with daddy? You were doing so good when I drove past!” She said to him. “Alright let’s go inside, I’m about to order dinner.” She said to him, he obeyed his mother and left me and her to talk. When we locked eyes, there was a mutual smile, a love that hadn’t dissipated in the 25+ years we’d known each other. I walked over to her and hugged her, then kissed her. Her lips felt like coming home, retuning to something I’d missed for so long but never knew I had lost. “How was your day honey?” I asked. “Well, typical long day at work, but little Stanley is sitting up on his own now!” She replied excitedly. “What! That’s great, our little baby growing so quick.” I say, feeling as if this had always been my family. “Can you take him babe? I need to get ready for our dinner tonight and order the kids food.” She asked me. That’s right, I remembered now, our 25th anniversary had just passed and this was the night we were celebrating. “Of course I can hon. You go get ready, and me and little Stanley are gonna have a great time while mommy gets ready.” I say, completely overcome with baby fever. “Thanks hon, I shouldn’t be too long.” She said walking upstairs towards our room to get ready.

I cradled the infant in my arms, completely in love with my new life. The way Stanley looked into my eyes made me realize what I had been missing from life and what I wanted to do with the rest of it. “You’re sitting up all on your own now? You’re so big!” I say softly to him. I tie him a kiss on the cheek, “you’re the cutest little thing ever you know that?” I say, more invested in my new life than ever before. I took him upstairs and played with him for about an hour, including calling to order pizza for the boys while we were gone. I went to Zach’s room and knocked on the door with my free hand. “It’s dad”. He opened the door, “hey I just ordered pizza for you two and Cody, should be here in about 30 minutes. Remember me and your mother are going out tonight, so I need you to take care of your brothers, we should only be gone for 2 hours.” I said in a calm but authoritative tone, letting him know that he was responsible for these 2 kids while we were out. “Sure thing dad, thanks for the pizza.” He replied. “Yeah thanks for the pizza Mr. Jacobs, I’ll help Zach with Stanley and Cody.” I heard my old body say from the room. “Well thank you Jack, I really appreciate your help.” I said with a smile as I went back downstairs to feed Stanley his bottle. I grabbed it out of the fridge, put it in the microwave for a few seconds, then fed it to him. It was so gratifying, feeding my new infant. I was so glad I said year to the swap and got to skip all the lead up to this. As I finished burping Stanley, my wife walked downstairs in a beautiful dress, makeup and hair done perfectly. “Wow, you look amazing honey” I said as she walked into the living room. She looked more stunning. My old body was bisexual but usually leaned more towards men, but this woman was more beautiful to my new eyes than any person I’d ever seen. I stood up and walked towards her. “I mean it, you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever known.” I said in a soft but serious tone. She blushed in response “You’re the sweetest husband ever.” She said back to me. We shared a kiss before I handed Stanley back to her so I could go get ready. “I already gave Stanley his bottle, and I ordered pizza for the boys, Jack is over right now, he said he’d help Zach watch the kids tonight.” I filled her in as I walked upstairs to change. I stripped off my clothes and tossed them into the hamper, agin noticing my new handsome body, I just had to give it a quick feel up. Again, I wanted nothing more than to milk my new bull cock which was sticking out a long ways from my boxers, but I didn’t have time. I walked into the closet and grabbed a nice black suit and tie, an undershirt, a white dress shirt, black dress shoes and a blue pattern tie. I headed towards the mirror so I could watch me dress myself. I only got harder with every piece of clothing I put on, seeing Mr. Jacobs body under my control, dressing in his suits that always made him look so powerful and handsome. Once I was finished dressing I added some gel and water to my hair to make it look a bit more formal and put together. I took one last look at myself in the mirror. Man did I look handsome. I stuffed the desire to whip my cock out while kissing my reflection deep down, and left my room. I knocked on Zach’s door again. He opened it and I could see my wife already gave Stanley to the 2 boys. I knew with Mr. Jacobs in my old body there that the kids would be more than ok. I let Zach know “We’re about to leave son. Make sure to keep an eye on the boys and make sure Cody eats and gets to bed in time.” I ordered. “Will do dad, have fun.” He said. “Lookin spiffy Mr. Jacobs, congrats on 25 years.” He said to me, I chuckled a bit. “Thanks boys” I said with a smile, then closing the door and heading downstairs.

“You look so handsome babe.” My wife said to me, giving me a kiss. “Well thank you honey, you ready?” She nodded, I made sure I had my essentials and headed out the door to Mr. Jacobs- I mean my expensive Mercedes. I opened the door for my wife, who then complimented me on being a gentleman. I got into the drivers seat and drove towards the fanciest restaurant in town. We talked about various things on the way. Such as Zach being all grown up, Cody and Stanley’s futures, both of our experiences at work recently, regular married couple things to talk about. We pulled into the restaurant, I held the door for my wife as we walked inside. We walked up to the desk and the waiter greeted us. “Good evening sir, ma’am. Do you have a reservation?” He asked. “Yes, under Kevin.” I replied. He looked at the tablet for my name, “Ah, yes sir, dinner for 2.” He grabbed some menus and silverware as another employee came up to me and asked “May I take your jacket sir?” In a very polite manner. I wasn’t used to places like this, the hospitality was amazing. “Yes, please” I replied as I took my suit jacket off and handed it to the man who hung it up on a hanger with our corresponding table number above it. “Right this way sir.” The waiter said with a smile as he led us to our table. I pulled out my wife’s chair for her to sit down before sitting down myself.

We quickly ordered, deciding on a glass of champagne, and a steak and salad for the both of us. We spent most of the dinner looking down memory lane at our relationship. It was so strange that I just knew this woman as my friend’s mom earlier today, and now she was my wife who I would die before I let anything happen to. It was also strange reminiscing on memories I hadn’t lived, even though I had them and could tell you exactly where I was inside them, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was here, having an amazing dinner with my gorgeous wife. I was looking forward to another 25 years, then I remembered, me and Mr. Jacobs only agreed to swap for a month. Well I certainly didn’t want to swap back, all I could do was hope he didn’t want to either, and enjoy the moment with my current wife. After reliving the best moments of our relationship, some much needed time alone, and a bottle of champagne later, I paid the check, grabbed my jacket, and drove myself and my wife back home.

When we got home, the first thing I did was check on the kids, those parental instincts taking over. I silently checked on Cody and Stanley, each were sound asleep. I knocked on Zach’s door again, he answered. “Thanks for taking care of the boys Zach.” I said in a genuine manner. “No problem dad. Jack went home but he said to tell you he said thank you for the advice and the dinner, and that he’s gonna text you about something important tomorrow.” He replied. “Gotcha, thanks.” I said as I walked back into my room.

I could see my wife getting undressed, so I did the same, hanging my dress clothes back up and putting my under shirt in the hamper. My wife was in the middle of changing with her back towards me. We were finally alone, I couldn’t stop staring at her perfect ass. Remembering all the times we, well Mr Jacobs and her, had sex, including when we conceded our kids. My new cock immediately spring to max length. She pulled off her dress and heels, went into the closet to hang them up. When she came out, she noticed me hard as a rock and gave a devious smile. “Get over here Mr. Husband.” She demanded. “Yes ma’am.” I obeyed. I walked over to her and immediately we began to make out passionately. I had never had sex with a woman before but this new body already knew what to do, I was almost going on autopilot. She stripped off both of our underwear, pushed me onto the bed, climbed on top of me and continued to kiss me as she stroked my new cock. My member had been begging for attention all day, and now it was getting it all at once, but I was determined not to go out early. I slipped 2 fingers inside her, and begin making the motions Mr. Jacob’s body knew would work best. She began to moan between breaths. Not long after she flipped us over so she was on the bottom. “Take me” she said in a breathy voice. That line was like a command that activated a sleeper agent. Immediately upon receiving this permission, I slipped my cock, drenched in so much pre cum that I didn’t need any lube, inside her and immediately went all the way in. She struggled to keep her voice down, and I struggled not to burst right there. I paused for a minute before resuming, giving rhythmic, powerful strokes while kissing her, both of her breast’s in my hands. “Oh my god, Kevin” she let slip out. That made me somehow get harder. This was kinda messed up, but that’s what made it so amazing. The fact that I was in this man’s body, taking over his life, using his cock to fuck his wife, while she called me his name and begged me to do it and had no idea I was an imposter. We went on for about another 30 minutes in various positions, before she locked her legs around my back, blocking me from pulling out and forcing me deeper. “Can my big strong manly husband give his wife another kid?” She teased to get me to go harder. “Oh you bet I can” I replied. I knew this was it, so I went harder than I ever had, reminding myself of my situation, thinking about how I was Kevin Jacobs, fucking MY wife, with MY huge cock, and could get her pregnant again. And immediately after that thought, my whole body tensed up and I began to shoot the biggest load I ever had into my wife. This was enough to send her over the edge, making her cum too, her wetness only making my orgasm last longer. Once I finished I rolled over and laughed. I looked at her “I love you so much honey.” And gave her a kiss before we both got up and began to clean up. We each took turns in the shower, then got ready for bed. Mr. Jacobs habits taking over, I began his nightly reading session while my wife laid her head on my shoulder. Once I noticed she was asleep, I put the book away and my set glasses on the end table. I looked at my wedding ring and touched it, glancing at my wife, smiling, before turning the light off, and snuggling my wife as I drifted off to sleep. This was everything I’d ever hoped for. An amazing wife with an amazing sex life, I had an amazing job, house, and car, and 3 amazing sons. Life couldn’t get better, I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up the next morning, and my wife had already gone to work and took Stanley to daycare, Cody and Zach had gone to school. I got up, grabbed a suit and got dressed for my first day at Mr. Jacob’s job. I took a look at myself all dressed up, the sight still hadn’t got old, man I looked good in a suit I thought to myself. As I was grabbing my breakfast and coffee before heading out, I got a text. It was from my old body. “Hey Mr. Jacobs, I know it’s soon, but I had a great night last night. I realized this is what I’ve wanted for a while. I don’t want to swap back. What are your thoughts?”

I beamed when I saw this, he didn’t want to swap back either! Yes! “Glad you’re enjoying yourself Jack. And I’m also glad you don’t want to swap back, because last night was the best night of my life. I realized I love nothing more than this amazing family and being with them.”

“Perfect. Thanks Mr. Jacobs” he texted back.

“Of course buddy, remember you can talk to me about anything, you’re like a son to me.” I assured him.

“I appreciate that Mr. Jacobs.” He replied

I smiled, realizing that this was my new life, forever, til the day I died. I grabbed my breakfast and briefcase, and headed off to work.

[verus-veritas]

Absolutely LOVE this story by this relatively unknown writer. There's just something so incredibly hot with that kind of ordinary dad life... 🤤

Check it out and give him some love!

[musclegram]

reecedberesford.

[max-the-many]

Trying to copy his content style.

How did I do? Don't wanna disappoint his followers...

[hairy-bothered]

The Exception

This story is a spin-off of Body Swap Roulette

Tom could not stop thinking about his brief experience as a middle-aged daddy that one fateful night he played Body Swap Roulette with his friends. He often returned to his online profile and looked at the man who had messaged him - the man he briefly became for one glorious evening.

The photograph waited beneath the username: a rugged man in his mid-forties, dark hair escaping beneath a baseball cap, salt-and-pepper beard, chest hair spreading across a broad, solid torso.

Brian - the name was not listed in the app, but instead it was seared into his mind from the experience - an indelible part of his own consciousness - and a side-effect of playing the game he had not anticipated. Brian was the body Tom had worn for one impossible night during the roulette.

He had hated changing back. For weeks afterward, Tom kept remembering the weight of Brian’s arms, the scrape of his beard, the confident way he felt when he hooked-up with a younger man in Brian's body - his new dick thicker, his urges keen, sharp, with a hint of closeted desperation. Even the softness around his waist had felt substantial rather than imperfect. He had occupied space without apologizing for it.

What Tom had not expected to miss were the other things Brian had left in his mind. A woman laughing somewhere behind him. Two children arguing over a television remote. A suburban kitchen glowing at dawn. The pressure of a wedding ring that had never actually appeared on his finger and never truthfully belonged there to begin with. They were not memories exactly. More like emotional bruises left behind by a life he had touched.

At nine thirty on a Friday night, Tom sat alone at his kitchen table wearing the same red polo he had worn during the first game. He stared at Brian’s photograph until the screen dimmed. He had debated revisiting Brian’s body for weeks - but it was against the rules of the game he had agreed to with his friends. Too risky to do alone. Too much a chance of losing yourself in the shuffle.

Tom couldn’t stand it anymore - he needed to feel Brian again. Needed to feel his weight. Wanted to rub a hand through his scruff. Wanted to see his pouty eyes looking back at him in the mirror. Wanted to feel the weight of his dick in his hand. Most of all - Tom wanted to better understand Brian. So against the rules and his better judgement, Tom waited for Brian’s name to appear with a green dot then he restored his profile and pinged Brian. As soon as Brian responded Tom knew he sealed the deal.

The change began in his hands. His fingers thickened against the phone. Dark hair rose over his knuckles and forearms. The sleeves of the polo tightened as his biceps grew heavier, less sculpted than Don’s gym-built arms but more naturally powerful. His shoulders widened. A warm pressure filled his chest, followed by the familiar prickling spread of hair beneath the fabric.

Tom stood too quickly. The kitchen tilted as several inches of youth seemed to settle downward into weight. His waist thickened. His stomach pressed against the polo, not huge, but unmistakably middle-aged. His thighs filled his khakis. His belt dug in.

Then his face began to pull. He gripped the counter while his jaw broadened and his cheeks roughened. Brown and gray whiskers pushed across his skin, forming the same dense beard he had admired the first time. His hairline shifted. Fine creases gathered beside his eyes.

When the transformation released him, Tom looked into the dark reflection of the kitchen window. Brian looked back.

“God, I’m so fucking hot.” Tom whispered, hearing the older man’s voice come from his throat.

A second voice answered inside him. Not words. Wanting. The thought of a quiet bar off the interstate. A corner booth. Whiskey ordered without checking the price. The certainty that Brian went there when he needed an hour no one in his family could account for. Tom knew where to find him.

⸻

Brian was alone when Tom entered the bar.

He sat beneath a muted television, wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. A pale mark circled the finger where he had removed his wedding band. Tom felt the sight of it before he understood it: guilt, relief, and an old practiced sadness.

Brian looked up. His glass stopped halfway to his mouth. For several seconds neither man moved. Then Brian lowered the drink and said, “What the fuck!?”

Tom slid into the opposite side of the booth. Up close, the resemblance was exact. The same brown eyes. The same gray threaded through the beard. The same vertical line appearing between their brows.

Brian stared as though he had found a crack in reality and was trying to decide whether looking directly into it would make things worse.

Tom offered a nervous wide smile.

Brian’s expression changed with it. “You have my teeth.”

“I have more than that” he said gesturing downward with a stupid grin.

Brian glanced toward the bartender, then leaned across the table. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tom.”

“That doesn’t answer fucking anything.”

“No. It’s just the easiest part.”

Tom explained the body swap roulette as plainly as he could. Four friends. Four profiles. One night in borrowed bodies. He did not mention every detail, especially how much he had enjoyed Brian’s shape, or that he had fucked another man with Brian’s dick, but Brian seemed to understand it anyway.

“You chose to do this again,” Brian said.

“Yes.”

“Why me?”

Tom looked down at his thick, hairy hands. “Because look at yourself! Because I missed having all of this” he said as he moved one hand across his scruff and the other down to his pants.

Brian gave a humorless laugh. “You missed being a married man with a mortgage and two teenagers?”

“I missed feeling like you.”

“You don’t know what that feels like.”

Tom met his eyes. “Your daughter pretends she hates the old songs you play in the car, but you caught her singing one in the kitchen last Tuesday.”

Brian went still.

“Your son only calls you ‘Dad’ when he wants something. The rest of the time it’s ‘Brian’ because he knows it annoys you.”

“Stop.”

“You keep your wedding ring in the coin pocket of your jeans when you come here. You tell yourself removing it is more honest than wearing it.”

Brian’s face drained of color. Tom felt fear flare through both of them.

“I didn’t go looking for those things,” Tom said quietly. “They came with you.”

Brian’s hand closed around his glass. “What else?”

“That you’ve stood outside three gay bars and never gone in.”

The silence between them changed. The television crowd cheered soundlessly overhead.

Brian looked toward the window. “You need to leave.”

Tom started to rise then Brian caught his wrist.

The contact startled them both. Brian’s fingers encircled a wrist identical to his own. He turned it over and felt the palm of Tom’s hand. Rough. With hair encroaching from the wrist and across the knuckles.

“Wait,” he said.

Tom sat again. Brian studied him with a concentration that felt almost intimate. His gaze traveled over Tom’s face, then lowered to the open collar of the red polo, where dark chest hair showed above the top button.

“I don’t wear red,” Brian said.

“I do,” Tom replied.

“It looks better on me than I expected.”

Tom smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Brian’s mouth twitched despite himself, and his forehead creased as he looked Tom over. “It’s so surreal seeing my body from the outside. Do I really carry myself like that?” His eyes moved over the familiar breadth of Tom’s shoulders, the thickness through his waist, the gray threaded unevenly through the beard. “I never realized how dark the skin around my eyes had become, or how tired I look. Back in college I ran track and played soccer. I was lean enough that I could eat whatever I wanted and still see every muscle in my stomach. Even after I got married, I kept it up for a while. Morning runs, weekend leagues, lifting in the garage.” He gave a small, embarrassed shrug. “Then work got busier. The kids came. There was always something more important than going for a run, and eventually I stopped pretending I’d start again on Monday. Now my knees ache, my stomach hangs over my belt when I sit, and half the hair on my body is turning gray.” He studied Tom’s borrowed face with open disbelief. “How could you find me attractive like this?”

Tom glanced down at the body he was wearing, not critically but almost fondly. He spread one of Brian’s broad hands over the slightly soft weight at his middle, then looked back up. “Because none of that looks like failure to me.” Brian’s expression tightened, but Tom continued. “You look lived-in. Solid. Like you’ve spent years becoming someone instead of trying to stay twenty-five forever. I like the gray in your beard. I like the lines around your eyes. I like that your body is strong without looking like you built it for strangers to admire.” He flexed Brian’s fingers once, watching the tendons move beneath the hair on the back of the hand. “And I’ve always been attracted to older men. Not just because they’re older, but because they usually seem more comfortable taking up space.”

Brian let out a quiet laugh. “Comfortable? You’ve been inside my head. You know better than that.”

“I know you don’t feel comfortable,” Tom said. “That’s different from how you look.” He leaned forward slightly. “When I became you, I felt heavier, but I also felt grounded. I didn’t feel like I had to prove I belonged in the room. People looked at me and assumed I knew what I was doing. And when I looked in the mirror…” Tom paused, almost shy now. “I liked what I saw. The chest hair, the beard, the thicker waist, your hairy dick…all of it. I didn’t see some washed-up version of who you used to be. I saw a handsome man in his forties who has no idea how much of him is still worth wanting.”

Brian’s eyes dropped to the table. “You make it sound better than it is.”

“Maybe you’ve been describing yourself badly for so long that hearing the truth sounds exaggerated.”

That small surrender loosened something. Brian asked questions. Some were practical—how long the change lasted, whether Tom could control it, whether anyone else knew. Others were harder.

“Do you feel what I’m feeling right now?”

“Pieces of it.”

“What pieces?”

Tom considered lying. “You’re frightened.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re angry that I know you.”

Brian nodded once.

“And you want to kiss me.”

Brian’s eyes snapped to his.

Tom leaned back. “That part is fairly loud.”

For a moment Brian appeared offended. Then he glanced at Tom’s mouth. “It would be like kissing myself,” he said.

“Not exactly…” Tom replied.

“But you look exactly like me!”

“Maybe but I’m still mostly another man.”

Brian rubbed a thumb along the condensation on his half empty glass. “Technically.”

Tom laughed. “Technically?”

“If you are me—”

“I’m not.”

“—or close enough to me, then it’s not exactly cheating.”

“You took off your wedding ring before I arrived. You were ready to cheat…”

Brian looked down at his bare finger and Tom felt the shame move through him like a cold draft. It belonged to Brian, but it hurt in Tom’s chest.

“I’m not here to judge you,” Tom said.

“That makes one of us.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

Brian looked at the duplicate sitting across from him. “That’s the problem. I do.”

⸻

Brian followed Tom home in his own car. He had texted his wife from the parking lot, saying an early unexpected Saturday client meeting made it easier to stay near the office for the night.

At Tom’s house, Brian wandered through the rooms slowly while Tom got the two men a drink. There was nothing remarkable about Tom’s house. A mismatched couch. Framed photographs. Shoes kicked beneath a table. A picture of Tom with Phil, Don, and Ralph at Pride, all four men sunburned and grinning.

Brian picked it up. “You just leave this out?”

“It’s my house.”

“Someone could see it.”

“Who? And why would I care if they did?”

Brian had no answer.

Tom came closer. Their shoulders nearly touched. “There aren’t any hidden compartments in my life,” he said.

Brian returned the frame to the shelf with unusual care. “That must be nice.”

Tom felt the ache beneath the words because some of it still lived inside him. He touched Brian’s cheek. Brian did not pull away. Their first kiss was hesitant, almost absurdly cautious for two men wearing the same face. Then Brian gripped the back of Tom’s neck and kissed him again with a hunger that belonged entirely to himself.

Later, in the bedroom, Brian paused beside the bed. “You said you might change back.”

“While I’m asleep.”

“What will you look like?”

“Twenty-five. Brown hair. Clean-shaven.”

“Handsome?”

“Devastatingly.”

Brian rolled his eyes, but his nervousness remained.

Tom took his hand. “You pinged my profile on Scruff. Do you remember? I’m assuming that meant you were into me. You can still leave.”

Brian looked from their joined hands to Tom’s face - his own face. “I spent forty-six years leaving, tonight I’m going to stay” he said. “Besides. When else will a get a chance to fuck myself?” Then he planted a kiss deeply onto Tom’s mouth.

“So you think you’re the top tonight?” Tom replied smirking at the opportunity that presented itself.

“I have been my entire life” Tom scoffed in between kissing Tom.

“We’ll see” Tom said with a grin while he slowly began to unbutton Brian’s shirt - sliding it over his shoulders and exposing Brian’s chest. He ran his hands through the older man’s chest hair - pulling himself closer as they kissed.

Brian then reached over to Tom’s red polo and reciprocated by lifting it over his head and rubbing Tom’s chest. He then reached a hand down to Tom’s cock and grabbed it through his khakis before unbuckling the belt and lowering the zipper - letting the duplicate of Brian’s thick uncut cock flop out of Tom’s pants.

“Sorry,” Tom smirked. “No underwear.”

Brian looked down to the fully erect version of his dick staring at him on another man's body. He lowered to his knees - hungry for the intimacy he had long desired but never acted on. He smiled up at Tom.

Tom placed a hand on Brian’s head guiding the man onto his cock. Brian took the head into his mouth and placed a hand along the shaft. He slowly moved his hand up and down the base while sucking lightly on the head.

“Whoa,” Tom said. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

Brian grinned and pulled his mouth off Tom’s dick while still pumping the shaft. “It’s my dick. You think I don’t know what it likes?”

“That’s fair…” Tom replied. “But I don’t recall giving you permission to stop.” He then grabbed Brian’s head with both hands and thrust his borrowed dick deep into Brian’s mouth.

What followed was not gentle. It was tender in flashes and anxious in others, charged by the knowledge of their shared body between them. Tom leaned into the fantasy with a kind of defiant intensity, letting Brian see and experience what he wanted, letting himself feel the strange power of being desired through another man’s outline.

Before long Tom had Brian naked on his back on the the bed taking a turning sucking his cock. He then spread Brian's cheeks and began to eat his asshole - the rough short beard scratching Brian and causing him to giggle.

“You think that’s funny?” Tom growled with the older man’s voice. Beginning to lose himself in the blur of desire. “Let’s see how you feel when I fuck you with your own dick, daddy.”

Brian stopped laughing and began to protest “Ohh, I don’t know about ….” but it was too late. Tom stood up, pulled Brian to the edge of the bed, lined up the tip of his older dick and began to push it into Brian’s tight virgin asshole.

“Uhhhh” was all Brian could get out before Tom pushed fully into his ass. Brian squeezed his eyes shut as the pain from penetration shook through his body.

After a few hard thrusts, Brian started to gently moan as Tom settled into a more steady rhythm. Tom pushed Brian further onto the bed and climbed on - leaning forward into missionary position so he could watch Brian’s face - but more importantly so that Brian could see as clear as day that he was being fucked by himself.

“Open your eyes” Tom commanded. “Do you like this? Do you like the feeling of getting fucked by your own big hairy dick?” Tom whispered.

Brian let out a soft moan as he scanned the man above him from bottom to top - his thick bush, his soft but still muscled midsection, his hairy chest, before settling into his own brown eyes. “Yes, sir” was all he could get out between the surge of pain and pleasure overwhelming his body.

“Good” Tom smirked. “Because I like fucking you with your own daddy cock. I like looking down on you beneath me, powerless, as I take your asshole’s virginity. I like you looking up at me and seeing yourself. And most of all, I like the idea of cumming so deep inside you you’ll carry it home with you tomorrow morning.”

Tom’s pace gradually quickened as Brian reached a hand down to his own dick and started jerking off. Just as Tom reached climax and shot his load deep into the mirror image of the ass he wore, Brian followed suit - spewing rope after rope of cum on his hairy chest.

The two men collapsed into a pile of sweat and testosterone. Brian’s sticky cum resting between their torsos. They stayed like that for several minutes listening as their breathing gradually slowed.

Tom pushed up into his hands and looked Brian in the eyes. “I told you we’d see if you were a top.” The two men then shared a brief laugh and kiss before settling into position to sleep - Brian getting to be the little spoon for the first time in his life.

As Brian drifted to sleep with Tom’s arms wrapped around him he felt overwhelmed with a feeling of fullness - both the fullness of having been filled by another man - cum still leaking out of his asshole - and the fullness of finally acting on a desire he had kept deep inside himself for 30 years. Where he would go from here remained to be seen...

⸻

Tom woke sometime in the night without opening his eyes. Brian’s borrowed body was dissolving. His beard receded into his skin. His jaw narrowed. The weight around his middle softened, then vanished. His chest contracted beneath Brian’s sleeping arm, the dense hair thinning to the lighter growth of his own body.

The strangest part was the silence inside him. Brian’s emotions loosened their hold. The family kitchen faded. The remembered pressure of a ring disappeared. Tom was left with sympathy rather than possession, knowledge without instinct. He became himself again and slipped back into sleep.

Later, morning light filled the room. Brian woke first. Tom surfaced to the sharp movement of the mattress and found Brian sitting upright, staring down at him.

The older man had pulled the sheet across his waist. Panic hardened his face.

Recognition arrived slowly. “Tom?”

“Still me.”

Brian stared at his real face. Tom suddenly felt very young beneath the inspection. Without Brian’s beard and bulk, he had lost the authority that had carried him through the previous night.

“You’re different,” Brian said.

“I warned you.”

“I know.”

“You can go if you want.”

Brian glanced toward the bedroom door, but he did not move.

Tom sat up, keeping a careful distance between them. “The man you came home with isn’t here anymore - not totally anyway.”

Brian looked down at his hands. “Last night, I told myself it wasn’t really another man.”

Tom waited.

“That was the excuse,” Brian said. “Not the reason.”

“What was the reason?”

Brian raised his eyes to Tom’s. “You looked at me like you already knew everything ugly about me and hadn’t decided to leave.”

“I didn’t think it was ugly.”

“You were wearing my face. That made it easier to believe you.”

Tom swallowed. “And now?”

Brian reached toward him, hesitated, then placed his palm against Tom’s smooth cheek.

“Now I have to believe you.”

He kissed Tom again. This kiss was quieter than the ones they had shared the night before. There was no mirror in it. No technical loophole. Brian touched a younger man with a different face and knew exactly what he was doing.

Afterward, still naked, except for a cap Tom had playfully put on his head before he left the bedroom because it “made him look like a baseball daddy,” Brian made coffee in the kitchen. Tom looked through his closet for a more comfortable shirt than the button-up Brian came in that might fit the larger man. Having failed, he gathered Brian's clothes from the night before.

When Tom entered the kitchen with Brian’s clothes he found Brian playfully flexing for him in the morning sunlight.

“Be honest,” Brian said. “In the light of day, without my face on you, do I still look good?”

Tom let his gaze linger. “Brian, I liked your body enough to borrow it twice. That should answer the question.”

The two men shared a laugh as Brian reached for his pants and his button up that Tom brought him.

Later at the kitchen counter while they were drinking their coffee, Brian folded a dish towel into a precise square.

“You always do that,” Tom said.

Brian looked down. “Do what?”

“Make yourself useful when you’re uncomfortable.”

“Did you learn that from becoming me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m beginning to resent how much you know.”

“You liked it last night," Tom replied with a wink.

“You were more respectful when you had my face.”

“I don’t think anything we did last night would be classified as respectful! But I also had your repression. It slowed the real me down. I was giving it like 50 percent.”

Brian laughed before he could stop himself. Then his phone buzzed on the counter and the laughter disappeared. Tom watched him read the message in silence.

“I need to go home,” Brian said.

“I know.”

At the front door, Brian hesitated. “Can you become me again?”

“Probably.”

“Can I see you again?”

Tom looked at the older man he had wanted so badly to inhabit. “Yes,” he said. “But I don’t want that to be the only version of me you’ll come here for.”

Brian’s gaze moved over Tom’s real face. “It isn’t. I mean, it won't be.”

“Then next time, come here to see me.”

Brian nodded, though the answer frightened him.

[hairy-bothered]

Body Swap Roulette

By the time the fourth phone's Scruff profile was activated, none of the four friends sitting at the dining room table were laughing quite as naturally as before.

(Pictured Left to Right: Phil, Don, Ralph & Tom)

Tom’s house had always been their safest gathering place. It sat at the quiet end of a suburban street, comfortably furnished but still half-decorated, as though Tom had moved in months ago and had never committed to where everything belonged. The dining room opened directly into the living room, where a warm floor lamp cast amber light across the couch, the darkened windows, and the crowded wooden table.

There were cards, poker chips, bowls of pretzels and tortilla chips, four beers, and four phones displaying newly created Scruff profiles.

They all knew the rules. One current photograph. No filters. No false ages. No changing the location radius. Each player would transform into the first man that messaged them. Not just his face. Everything.

Age, height, weight, dick, voice, posture, health, mannerisms. Even personality would begin to bleed across, along with fragments of memory from the stranger’s life. The player’s own mind would remain underneath it all, but the longer the night went on, the harder it might become to tell where one man ended and the other began.

They were not allowed to answer the messages. The strangers would never know what had happened.

Phil had been the one to discover the game, or at least the instructions for it, buried in an old online TUMBLR called Hairy-Bothered, which was devoted to transformation stories that everyone insisted were fictional. He had brought it up as a joke months ago. Don had dared him to prove it was real. Ralph had spent two weeks researching every version of the ritual he could find, then concluded that it was probably fake. Tom had volunteered his house.

Now, with the profiles active, “fake” no longer felt like the right word.

“Last chance,” Don said.

At thirty, he was the oldest of the group and behaved as if that made him responsible for the others, despite the fact that he was usually the one pushing them toward bad decisions. His thick brown hair was styled into a deliberate wave, and his heavy mustache gave him an old-fashioned athletic confidence he clearly enjoyed. Even seated, he held himself like a man posing for a locker-room photograph—shoulders back, arms apart, gray T-shirt stretched neatly across his chest.

Phil glanced at him. “You were the one who said backing out would be pathetic.”

“I said backing out after uploading the picture would be pathetic.”

“That is where we are now, dummy!” Ralph reminded him.

Ralph, twenty-six, sat across from Don in a black short-sleeved shirt with NAUGHTY printed in large red letters across the chest. His dark hair was carefully styled and his mustache looked almost too precise, as though he had trimmed it immediately before coming over. He was normally the most cautious of them, the one who checked rideshare license plates and made sure everyone had charged phones.

Tom sat at the right end of the table, younger than all of them at twenty-five, wearing a red Lacoste polo and khakis. He was smiling at his phone in a way that made Don narrow his eyes.

“You’re hoping for somebody old,” Ralph said.

Tom shrugged. “Not old. Mature.”

“You have been saying that since you were twenty-one.”

“What can I say? I know what I like” Tom smirked.

Phil shifted in his chair. His blue henley made his fair skin and short blond hair look even lighter beneath the warm lamp. At twenty-seven, he was quiet, agreeable, and so conflict-averse that he sometimes apologized when someone else bumped into him - like any good Canadian immigrant to a sleepy American suburb.

Phil picked up his beer but did not drink. “What if the personality part doesn’t go away in the morning?” he asked.

Ralph looked toward him. “The instructions say everything reverses at sunrise.”

“The instructions were written by someone called Hairy-Bothered. Do we feel like he's a reliable source of information?”

“They were very specific.”

“But that doesn’t make them reliable.”

Don leaned over and tapped the table near Phil’s phone. “You wanted to know whether it was real.”

Phil opened his mouth to answer. His phone buzzed and all four men froze. The sound had been ordinary, almost disappointingly so. A short vibration against the wood. Phil looked at the screen.

A new message sat beneath the profile photograph of a heavyset man in his mid-thirties. He wore a dark cap and a bulky jacket. A massive brown beard covered most of his lower face.

The message contained three words.

How you doing?

Don whistled. “Well, Phil.”

Phil stared at the picture. “He’s large.”

“He’s a hot daddy redneck,” Tom said.

“He looks like he owns several guns...” Ralph added.

“I don’t think I want—”

Phil stopped. His breath caught sharply, and one hand flew to his stomach. The first sensation was pain. It began beneath his ribs and rolled outward, flooding his chest, shoulders, and abdomen. His blue shirt tightened gradually across his torso. The fabric did not change, but the body beneath it did, swelling into unfamiliar proportions.

“Is it happening?” Tom asked.

Phil blushed and nodded quickly. His stomach pushed forward, rounding heavily over the waistband of his jeans. His shoulders broadened, not with the balanced definition of a gym-trained body but with the solid weight of someone naturally large. His arms thickened against the sleeves. Blonde hair darkened at the roots and seemed to retreat beneath the shape of a cap that had not been there before.

Then his face began changing. Phil pressed both palms against his cheeks as his jaw widened beneath them. Light stubble darkened into coarse brown hair. His beard grew quickly, spreading over his chin, down his throat, and outward until his fingers vanished into it.

“Oh my God,” Don said, half laughing and half appalled.

Phil’s eyes widened. “My voice—”

The words came out deeper than before, dragged through a thick Southern accent. He went silent.

Something else had entered him alongside the voice. For one disorienting moment, the dining room disappeared. Phil smelled hot pavement, gasoline, tobacco and stale coffee. He remembered sitting behind the wheel of a truck he had never owned, watching miles of highway disappear beneath him. He remembered arguments conducted loudly and without apology. He remembered a father who believed silence was weakness and a string of roadside bars where no one had ever asked him to lower his voice.

The memories were incomplete, but the emotions attached to them were powerful. Confidence settled over Phil like another layer of muscle and fat. His usual urge was to make himself smaller when people stared. Now he found their attention satisfying.

He leaned back, spreading his legs comfortably beneath the table. His new stomach strained the blue henley. One hand moved through his enormous beard with instinctive familiarity.

“Well,” he said slowly, the Southern drawl now effortless. “Ain’t that something?”

Don stared at him. “Phil?”

Phil looked directly at him. The old Phil would have smiled nervously. This one lifted one eyebrow. “Who's Phil? He your faggy friend?”

Don blinked and Phil’s expression shifted into a broad grin. Then he laughed, a deep, booming sound none of them had ever heard from him before.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “It's me, Phil - mostly...”

Tom handed him a small tabletop mirror. Phil examined himself, turning his head from side to side. The more he looked, the more pleased he became.

“I look strong. Real strong-like.”

“You look like you could throw me through a window,” Ralph said.

Phil’s grin widened. “Maybe don’t test me on that, son.”

The change had taken less than two minutes. When it was over, there was nothing visibly left of the blonde, soft-spoken Canadian except the blue shirt and a faint uncertainty behind the stranger’s eyes.

Phil reached into a pocket and fished out a cigar that had appeared along with his cap. He picked it up naturally.

“I know how to smoke this,” he murmured.

“That’s the memory bleed,” Ralph said.

Phil rolled the cigar between his thick fingers, lit it carefully, and took a deep drag. “Feels more like remembering something I forgot.”

While the men were still dazed by what had just happened to Phil, all of a sudden Don’s phone buzzed. His confident smirk vanished.

The message came from a twenty-two-year-old with dark curly hair, a narrow face, a slim body and almost no visible facial hair.

Don shook his head immediately. “No. Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm not going to be some Twink. I don't want to play any more!”

Tom leaned over. “You can’t refuse after the message arrives.”

“I’m not refusing. I’m stating a fact. I’m out.”

But immediately after the last word slipped out of his mouth he felt his gray shirt begin to loosen across his chest. Don looked down.

The muscles he had spent years building began to soften and recede beneath the fabric. His broad shoulders narrowed. His arms slimmed against the sleeves, veins and body hair fading as his skin became smooth. He gripped both sides of the chair.

“Son of a bitch…”

His mustache thinned with every word until only a faint shadow remained. The strong lines of his face softened. His jaw narrowed, his nose changed shape, and his heavy brown hair curled forward in loose dark waves. Even his posture collapsed inward - more diminutive. More submissive.

Don had always sat as though he owned whatever room he entered. Now his knees drew together beneath the table. His hands looked too large for a moment, then became slim and youthful.

He glanced at Phil and immediately looked away, intimidated by the bear of a man Phil had become.

A rush of foreign memories hit him. A cramped first apartment with mismatched furniture. A phone held beneath restaurant tables while he waited for a daddy to answer. A nervous laugh used to smooth over awkward silences. Nights spent trying on three different shirts because he was afraid the first two made him look too big or too masculine.

The new personality did not erase Don’s confidence all at once. It undermined it from beneath. His anger remained, but the instinct to express it weakened. “I hate this,” he said. His voice was younger, lighter and less commanding.

Phil rested one enormous arm across the back of Don’s chair. “Aww, hey there buddy, you look cute.”

Don recoiled, his face flushing. “Don’t call me cute!” The words lacked their former force.

Phil laughed.

Don crossed his thin arms over his chest, but the gesture only emphasized how small he had become beside Phil.

“I’m twenty-two,” he muttered. “I’m younger than when I graduated.”

Tom smiled. “Some people would consider that lucky.”

“I don’t.”

Don caught his reflection in the black screen of his phone. For several seconds, he looked genuinely wounded. His mustache had always been part of the identity he projected—older, tougher, more established than he felt. Without it, and without the body that supported the image, he seemed exposed.

“I look like some dumb Twink bottom that I would take home and fuck, this is humiliating...” he said quietly.

Phil’s expression softened. “You’re still Don inside there, bud.”

Don looked at him.

Phil paused, as though searching through two personalities for the right thing to say. “At least underneath those cute baby cheeks and scrawny chicken arms.”

But before Don could respond with the appropriate level of vitriol, Ralph’s phone vibrated. Ralph looked down at his phone, blinked once then closed his eyes. “Of course...it’s always older men messaging me on three apps!”

The profile showed a man around 65 with a huge white beard, a bald crown, and a broad, heavy frame. Ralph’s face drained of color. “Come on, man, he's older than my grandfather!”

“Rules,” Don said, sounding almost pleased that someone else’s result was worse.

Ralph pushed himself to his feet. He paused as his balance shifted. His center of gravity settled lower, his stance naturally widening as his body grew broader.

The external changes began in his hands. His skin thickened, veins becoming more prominent beneath weathered flesh. Coarse gray hair spread across his forearms beneath the sleeves of the black NAUGHTY shirt.

His shoulders widened. His chest and stomach filled out into the solid build of a man who had spent decades carrying himself with quiet confidence. The chair groaned when he sat back down, now supporting considerably more weight.

His dark hair retreated rapidly from his forehead and crown. Gray swept through what remained before fading completely to white.

His neatly trimmed mustache blossomed into an enormous beard. It poured down his cheeks and over his chest until it formed a thick, brilliantly white curtain. Ralph instinctively combed it with his fingers, surprised by how soft it felt.

Deep lines settled around his eyes—not harsh ones, but the kind earned through decades of laughing - but at this moment his face rested in a grimace.

He blinked. A flood of memories slipped effortlessly into place. He knew exactly how to trim a beard this size without making a mess. He knew which reading glasses lived in the kitchen and which pair stayed in the car. He remembered the passwords to three different dating apps, which profile pictures got the most attention from younger men, and which local coffee shop was best for a first rendezvous.

His phone suddenly felt different in his hand—not unfamiliar, just... organized. He frowned. "Why do I have notifications turned on for everything?"

His thumb moved across the screen before he consciously decided to. Three settings changed. "That's better."

Tom laughed. "You just hacked your own phone."

"I didn't hack anything." Ralph kept scrolling. "This app keeps suggesting men forty miles away." He wrinkled his nose. "Absolutely not."

Phil leaned over. "What are you looking at?"

Ralph angled the phone away on instinct. "My business."

Phil grinned. "You weren't this private five minutes ago."

"In my 65 years I've learned that people online will absolutely waste your time." The words came out so naturally that Ralph stopped talking. "...Did I just say that?"

Don folded his arms. "You sound experienced."

"I am experienced. Well...he is?" The answer escaped before Ralph could think. He froze - lost between his former and current mind. Then, after another moment, he shrugged. "I suppose I am."

His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Gone was the restless energy of a twenty-six-year-old. He settled comfortably into the chair, crossing one thick leg over the other with practiced ease.

His gaze drifted around the room, assessing everyone. Tom -still unchanged - looked exhausted. Phil desperately needed a haircut and a beard trim. Don's shirt fit poorly across the shoulders. Ralph noticed all of it in an instant.

"What?" Tom asked.

Ralph smiled. "Nothing. You boys just have no idea how you're presenting yourselves. People used to put more effort into such things.”

Phil burst out laughing. "There he is."

"There who is?"

"The old guy."

Ralph reached up, absentmindedly stroking his beard. "It is an exceptional beard."

"It is," Tom admitted.

Ralph caught his reflection in the darkened window. A large man stared back—sixty-five, bald on top, framed by a magnificent white beard. He expected horror. Instead... "Huh." He tilted his head. "I actually pull this off."

Phil stared. "Seriously?"

"What? I'm not saying I'd have picked sixty-five..." He turned his face from side to side. "...but I'm handsome...I mean he's handsome." Ralph rested one hand in his beard, surprisingly at ease. "I still know I'm Ralph," he said quietly. "But I also know who this man is."

Tom looked up. "What's he like?"

Ralph smiled—not sadly, but with unmistakable fondness. "Confident." He glanced at his reflection again." Comfortable in his own skin." A beat passed. "And apparently very picky."

Phil snorted. "That sounds about right."

Ralph laughed. "It really does."

For several minutes, they sat quietly. Then Tom’s phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen.

The man who had messaged him appeared to be in his mid-forties. Dark hair showed gray at the sides beneath a baseball cap. Salt-and-pepper scruff framed a tired but attractive face. His profile offered little information, but the photograph had been taken in a kitchen. A family calendar hung behind him, partially visible on the wall.

Tom smiled.

Don noticed. “You are far too happy.”

“I told you, this could be fun! I got a hot daddy!"

Tom’s red polo tightened first across his shoulders, then relaxed as his body settled into a broader, slightly softer maturity. Fine lines appeared around his eyes. His face lengthened, his jaw grew heavier, and dark stubble spread across his cheeks before turning gray in patches.

His hair darkened from sandy brown, then silver appeared at the temples. Tom held his phone in front of him throughout the change, studying every new line with fascination.

His hands aged around the device. The skin grew rougher, the knuckles more pronounced. Hair thickened along his forearms and beneath the open collar of the red polo.

He inhaled sharply when the memories arrived. A wife asleep upstairs while he stared at his phone in the kitchen, looking at pictures of men. A wedding ring slipped into a drawer before taking photographs. Children calling from another room. Years spent building a life that looked perfect from the outside and felt increasingly divided from within.

Tom’s smile faded as the stranger’s guilt settled into him alongside his attraction. He felt the practiced caution of a man who deleted conversations, cleared notifications, and always listened for footsteps. For the first time, the transformation frightened him.

“Tom?” Don asked.

Tom looked up. His face now belonged entirely to the middle-aged stranger. “He has a family,” Tom said.

Ralph frowned. “You knew that from the picture?”

“I remember them.” He closed his eyes. “A wife. Two kids. He tells himself this app doesn’t count if he never meets anyone in person. He just shares pictures and sexts men while jerking off.”

Don looked uncomfortable. “That’s dark.”

Tom rubbed his salt-and-pepper jaw. The texture fascinated him despite the sadness in his expression.

“He’s lonely,” Tom said. “And terrified. And he’s been both for so long that they feel like the same thing. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the façade before it comes crashing down.”

The older personality moved through him more subtly than the others. His posture became relaxed but watchful. His speech slowed. He checked the position of his phone before setting it face down.

Yet when he looked at his reflection in the window, pleasure returned. Tom touched the gray at his temples and smiled. “I still like this face and body…”

Don groaned. “Of course you do, and if I'm being honest from my new body yours is looking pretty good to me as well...but I'll never admit that again so soak it up.”

Tom laughed, now in the warm, slightly rough voice of a suburban father. “Sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry...”

With all four transformations complete, the four friends - now unrecognizable - sat around the same table like strangers wearing evidence of a friendship no one else could see.

Phil lounged in his blue henley, cigar smoke curling from one hand, his large body relaxed with newfound authority. Don sat beside him in his loose gray shirt, slim and young, visibly annoyed whenever Phil’s arm drifted too close. Ralph occupied the center like an aging patriarch who had been dragged reluctantly from bed after 10pm white beard resting against the red NAUGHTY lettering across his chest. Tom on the right in his red polo, smiling at a touch of his salt and pepper beard or a glimpse of his older hands whenever he thought no one was watching.

They returned to the card game. It was not the same. Phil became competitive and loud. He slapped winning hands onto the table and accused Don of bluffing in a Southern drawl that grew thicker as the night continued and he had more to drink.

Don insisted he was not bluffing, then folded whenever Phil stared at him too long out of sheer intimidation.

Ralph complained about the quality of the beer, the temperature, and the way young gay men today can’t tell Tina Turner from Janet Jackson.

Tom quietly won three rounds in a row - reluctant to draw attention to himself or to the conversation he began with a now younger man on his phone on GRINDR.

By midnight, the new personalities settled more deeply, and fragments of the other lives slipped into their conversation.

Phil described rebuilding an engine, then stopped when he realized he had never done it.

Don mentioned a roommate named Evan and could not remember whether Evan was real or imagined.

Ralph began telling a story about a great niece’s birthday before his voice broke.

Tom reached automatically for a wedding ring that was not on his finger.

At around one in the morning, the game ended without anyone declaring a winner. They remained around the table, surrounded by empty bottles, cards and phones.

As they prepared to depart for their own homes, to give themselves a few hours to "explore" their new situations, Don asked "What happens when we wake up?”

“We go back...in theory.” Ralph said.

“That’s not what I meant.”

No one answered immediately. Phil looked down at his huge hands.

“I think I’m gonna miss this, y'all.”

Don curled his cute twenty-two-year-old nose and gave Phil a tired smile, “I won’t.”

“Maybe we keep some of it," Tom said.

“The memories?” Ralph asked.

“The perspective.”

The next morning Tom woke with his cheek pressed against his pillow - and an unfamiliar young man in the bed next to him. Someone who messaged him thirstily on GRINDR before his friends headed home for the evening.

For several seconds, he did not move. Then he lifted his head and saw his own young hands. His red polo laid on the floor next to the bed. The gray had vanished from his hair. His face felt smooth. "Ugh, this is going to be fun to explain to him."

In the back of his mind Tom also felt a sense of satisfaction. He was able to follow through on an action his middle-aged married counterpart was always too afraid to carry out.

After a couple minutes reflecting on his predicament, Tom reached for his phone and saw a chain of messages from his friends on the experience from last night culminating in a message from Phil:

So ... Same time next month?

Next to the message were 2 thumbs up. Tom smirked and typed:

I can host.

[urshunt]

[its-your-body-now-deactivated20]

Azure Sands 3

I stood in the NYC hotel room in my suit, phone in one hand, the other sliding a pod into the coffee maker. The rich smell hit the air right away as the machine gurgled. I scrolled through Instagram while it brewed.

Jose’s story popped up first. There he was in a sharp navy suit that hugged his frame, hair neatly styled, flashing that easy grin straight into the camera. “Suited up and headed to court. Ready to fight for my right to live freely as I am today. Azure Sands doesn't have the right to steal my autonomy. Lets do this."

He looked sharp. Confident. The suit stretched across his chest just right, the jacket open enough to show the crisp white shirt underneath.

I was nervous to see him at the courthouse later today.

I took a slow sip of the coffee, feeling the fabric of my tight dress shirt stretch across my large chest and shoulders. It still didn't feel normal. This body just wasn't built for dress clothes.

I set the mug down and adjusted my tie in the reflection of the mirror hanging from the door. Not bad. Just not mine.

--

A little over two years ago I went to Azure Sands for a getaway.

I was 32, burnt out from nonstop work, and freshly single after my girlfriend and I called it quits. The idea of a body-swap experience sounded like the perfect way to get out of my head. I’d read the stories online—people talking about how freeing it felt, how intense the sex hit when you were wearing someone else’s skin. All anyone at the resort wanted to do was fuck as each other. I figured it’d be fun to try fucking as a completely different guy, different race, different build. Some people even ended up loving their new bodies so much they made the swap permanent. I wasn’t into that part, but it was still a glowing recommendation.

The resort was beautiful when I arrived. Turquoise water, white sand, palm trees everywhere. Everything smelled like sunscreen and salt air.

All was going according to plan at first. They had everyone check into the hotel and invited us to the Sapphire Lounge where we mingled as we waited for the pairings.

I was standing near the bar with a cold beer when this guy came up and introduced himself. Jackson. White guy from Memphis, maybe a few years older than me. He had a cool southern accent that rolled out slow and easy. Bald on top but really muscular, arms and chest filling out his tank top, cool tattoos down his arms.

We started chatting. He asked what brought me down here, and I told him the truth—needed to reset after a shit breakup and even shittier year at work.

“Same,” he said, clinking his glass against mine. “Figured swapping into something new would shake things up. You look like you take care of yourself. Bet you’d wear my body well.”

I laughed.

They made the announcement of the different pairs a little while later. When they called my name and Jackson’s, I felt a quick jolt of surprise. He turned to me with this satisfied look.

“What are the odds? Guess we’re doing this,” I said.

Jackson leaned in closer, voice low. “Actually, I paid for the higher tier package. Got to pick my swap partner before I even got here. They sent pictures and bios of everyone coming for the two weeks. I picked you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

He nodded, that southern drawl thick. “For real.” His eyes flicked down my body again. “Flattered?” He said in a vaguely flirty tone.

I'd never been interested in guys, but for a split second I saw the appeal of corn-fed guy with a southern drawl.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling the heat in my face. “I am.”

---

The swap happened overnight. I went to bed in my own skin and woke up the next morning as Jackson—bigger, heavier, tattoos covering parts of my new arms and chest.

We ran into each other at breakfast. The whole dining area was full of people moving differently, testing out new heights and weights and voices. Jackson—in my old body—spotted me and waved me over.

“Morning,” he said, grinning with my old face. “Holy shit, this feels weird, right?”

I sat down across from him, rolling my new shoulders. “Feels like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes that are way too tight in the right places. These arms… I keep bumping into shit.”

He laughed and flexed one of my old biceps. “Tell me about it. Your body’s got speed though. I ran on the beach earlier and felt like I could keep going forever.”

We spent that first day bro-ing out about it. Hit the resort gym together, spotting each other on the weights.

After that day we kind of went our separate ways.

Everyone was too busy focused on the main reason they’d come here: to fuck. The resort had us all do STI tests on arrival and put every single person—men and women—on medical birth control. They knew exactly what this place was and weren’t trusting anyone with condoms.

The next two weeks were heaven. Hot women kept throwing themselves at me in Jackson’s strong, tattooed body. I could cum deep in whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted, with zero repercussions. And they were just as into it, chasing the same rush.

One night I ended up with this Brazilian girl who was wearing the body of some bitchy French woman from Paris. She had me literally weak in the knees. The way she rode me, grinding down hard while her tits bounced, had me gripping the sheets. I loved how Jackson’s thick beard felt dragging across their pussies when I ate them out—rough and warm, the scratch making them shake and moan louder every time. She came so hard on my face I could barely breathe, then begged me to flip her over and fill her up. I did, thrusting deep until I unloaded inside her, both of us sweating and cursing in the humid night air.

The only kind of weird thing during the stay happened a few nights in. I was walking back from the beach bar when I spotted Jackson across the resort. He was flirting hard with this tall, built guy. The guy had his hands all over him—grabbing Jackson’s ass through my old shorts, squeezing his arms. Jackson looked up at him with these eager, submissive eyes, like he was already gone for it.

I hadn’t realized he was actually gay. His whole dude-bro vibe had thrown me off.

Later I saw them heading toward a villa. Out of pure morbid curiosity I followed and peered through a side window. The curtains were open just enough. Inside, the big guy had Jackson bent over the bed. He ate my old ass like he was starving for it, tongue working deep while Jackson moaned and pushed back. Then the guy stood up, slicked his cock, and slid in.

I watched the whole thing. Jackson took every inch, gasping and gripping the sheets. The guy railed him steady and deep, hitting the right spot over and over. I didn’t expect what happened next. Jackson’s cock—my cock—started shooting without anyone touching it, just from his prostate getting pounded. Thick ropes hit the bed while he shook and cried out.

Damn, I thought, staring. My asshole is gonna hurt when I get back in there.

It didn’t bother me too much. I was more surprised than anything. We were all here for the same thing. If he was getting off and it felt that good, who was I to judge?

But I was thrown when Jackson brought it up on the last day. We were sitting by the pool, drinks in hand, when he leaned in.

“Look,” he said, voice low, “I’ve been thinking. I’m loving this body. A lot. What if we just… stayed like this forever? You can fuck me, or I fuck you?"

You see, the resort’s only real rule was that swapped pairs can’t fuck one another, otherwise the swap is permanent. That said, it was an open secret of the resort that they don’t care if guests do it on purpose.

I stared at him.

He kept going, eyes serious but still carrying that flirt. “You’d have a great life in my skin. Bigger dick than what you’re used to. Women come up to me all the time back in Nashville wanting to get fucked. It’s kind of wasted on me since I’m gay. You’d kill it.”

I shook my head. “I appreciate it, man. But I’m good. I want my body back.”

He relented, but not before flashing me a half-smile and letting his hand brush my thigh. “Your loss. That cock could stand to keep fucking pussy and you look damn good in that big muscular frame.”

I laughed it off.

Then something completely unexpected happened.

---

On the very last day, right before checkout, the resort staff called everyone into the Sapphire Lounge. The coordinator looked nervous as she delivered the news.

“There’s been a malfunction with the body swap technology,” she said, voice tight. “Due to a programming error, all of you actually underwent a permanent swap on the first day.”

The room went dead quiet, then erupted.

Jackson turned to me, face pale. “Fuck… I’m so sorry, man. I had no idea.” His words sounded genuine. But when I glanced down, his cock—my old cock—was rock hard and straining against his shorts. He shifted, trying to hide it, but I saw.

We didn’t have much choice. After the paperwork and the lawyers the resort threw at us, we went back to one another’s homes. He flew to my place in San Diego. I flew to his in Nashville.

We stayed in touch at first. Texts checking in, a couple awkward video calls where we tried to laugh about it. But we lived so far apart, and real life started pulling us in different directions. New jobs, new routines, new bodies to get used to. The contact faded after a few months.

I could see from social media how well Jackson was doing in my old body. He posted a picture a few months after the swap—him and this really hot boyfriend he’d met at the airport on the way back to San Diego of all places. Tall, sharp jawline, the kind of guy who looked like he worked out just to show off. They looked happy. Really happy.

My own life in Nashville was a string of one-night stands. I’d go out to bars, and women would come up to me, hands sliding over Jackson’s thick arms and chest, tracing the tattoos that still didn’t feel like mine. They loved the muscles, the beard, the way I filled out a shirt. I’d take them home, fuck them deep and hard, watching their eyes roll back while I gripped their hips with these bigger hands. The sex was good—great, even. But it left me depressed afterward. They weren’t into me. They were into Jackson’s body, his look, his vibe. Not the guy actually inside it.

Some of the guys around town were even more confused. A few times at bars, very good-looking dudes would slide up next to me, grinning like we had history. One leaned in close one night, hand brushing my thigh. “Been a while, Jackson. My place is close. You still into what we did last time?”

I had to let them down easy. “Sorry, man. Things are different now.” They’d look surprised, almost hurt, before backing off.

---

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, two years later Azure Sands reached out to everyone. They said they’d found a way to reverse it.

Some participants swapped back immediately. Others had settled into their new lives so well they refused. That left a small group where one person wanted to switch back and the other didn’t.

Tough luck for me—Jose was one of them.

The morning I found out, I called him right away, heart pounding.

“Dude, they can fix this,” I said, voice rushing. “We can swap back. I’ll book the flight today—”

“No,” he cut me off. His voice—my old voice—was calm and flat. “I’m not doing it.”

I stopped pacing the living room. “What the fuck do you mean you’re not doing it?”

“I mean I’m happy here,” he said. “I’ve got a boyfriend who actually gets me. I make more money in your old job than I ever did in mine. I like this body. I’m keeping it.”

We started yelling. I told him he had no right to steal my life. He shot back that I was the one who’d been living his—fucking half of Nashville—and that I should just admit I’d moved on too. The call ended with both of us pissed off and him hanging up first.

Jose ended up as the lead plaintiff in the lawsuit against Azure Sands for everyone who didn’t want to swap back. It blew up into a national media case. He went on national morning talk shows, sitting there with my old smile, looking sharp in suits that fit him perfectly. People ate it up. He talked about how much he loved his new life, his boyfriend, the dog they’d adopted, how the swap had finally let him become who he was meant to be. He made it sound unconscionable that anyone would try to force him to change now.

---

I stared at his latest Instagram story one more time—the one of him suited up, headed to court.

Time to go fight for my body back.

The court case had dragged on for a few months by now, and today was the big day of testimony. The courtroom felt stuffy under the fluorescent lights as they called up swappees from both sides—people desperate to get their old bodies back, people fighting to keep what they had, and couples who had mutually agreed to stay or switch. Lawyers grilled them on every detail: happiness levels, relationships, careers, mental health.

Finally, they called Jackson to the stand.

He walked up to the stand in my old body like he owned the room. The navy suit hugged his frame perfectly. His hair was styled neat, that easy grin flashing as he swore in. The Tennessee accent was completely gone, replaced by a smooth, light Chicano San Diego cadence.

The lawyer started easy. “Mr. Rivera can you tell the court why you wish to remain in your current body?”

Jackson leaned forward slightly, sincere. “I truly believe I was always meant to be Latino. Before the swap I already spoke Spanish fluently—Mexican Spanish, actually—along with English. The real Jose didn’t. When I woke up in this body, it felt like coming home. I love connecting with my culture now. The food, the music, the community. I go to family gatherings where I actually belong. Forcing me back would rip that away from me.”

He turned and looked directly at two older Hispanic women on the jury. “Y sé que ustedes entienden lo que significa sentirte parte de algo más grande,” he said in perfect, warm Mexican Spanish. “Esta es mi vida ahora. No quiero perderla.”

The two women smiled softly, nodding like he was the nicest grandson they never had.

He continued, voice steady. “I know I would suffer permanent psychological damage if I had to wake up to a different face in the mirror every day after getting so used to this one. I’m finally in a fulfilling relationship. My boyfriend—God, I love him so much—just proposed to me two weeks ago.” He held up his hand, showing the ring. A few people in the gallery sighed. “It would be unfair to drag him through this. He fell in love with me, this me.”

Jackson glanced over at the defense table where I sat, then back to the jury. “When I look at my former body now, I don’t feel anything for it. Those old tattoos? I hate them. They don’t represent who I am anymore. Forcing a swap back would be like making me become a stranger in my own skin. I’ve built a better life here—more meaningful work, deeper connections, real happiness. I volunteer at the local Latinx community center. I’m mentoring young guys who look like me now. This body lets me be the man I was always supposed to be.”

He was flirting with the jury the whole time, too—subtle smiles, eye contact that lingered just a beat too long. The older gay man on the jury kept nodding, completely hooked. The college-age hunk who looked probably closeted shifted in his seat, cheeks a little flushed every time Jackson’s gaze passed over him.

The lawyer wrapped up. “No further questions.”

As I sat there listening to him, my jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every word out of his mouth made me angrier. I was always meant to be Latino. Bullshit. He talked about belonging like he'd earned it, like two years somehow outweighed thirty-two.

Jackson stepped down, shooting one last polite, charming smile toward the jury box before walking past my table. As he did, he leaned in just enough for me to hear.

“Sorry, man,” he whispered, that light accent curling around the words.

My attorney put a hand on my arm.

"You're up."

I stood and buttoned my jacket. Walking to the witness stand, I could already feel eyes on me. Jackson had practically floated up there. He smiled at people without even trying. He had that face that made strangers trust him before he said a word.

The clerk swore me in, and I sat down, the tight fabric of my dress shirt digging into my shoulders. My attorney started with the easy questions.

"Can you tell the jury why you're asking the court to order the reversal?"

"Because it's my body." I looked at every juror as I said it, trying to bridge the gap between Jackson’s gruff voice and my own soul. "I know you've heard a lot about identity over the last few weeks. You've heard about careers and relationships and happiness. I understand all of that." I nodded toward Jackson, sitting there in my old skin. "I'm glad he built a life. I really am. But he built it with something that wasn't his."

I held up my tattooed forearm. "I wake up every morning looking at somebody else's arms." I rubbed my thumb across the ink. "I still don't know what half of these mean." A few jurors smiled politely. "I shave somebody else's beard. I hear somebody else's voice. I catch myself in mirrors and for a split second I still expect to see..." I stopped, realizing there wasn't much point in romanticizing it. "My own face. I don't want his life. I never wanted his life. I just want mine back."

My attorney let that hang for a moment before sitting down. Then the defense attorney stood, wearing the same practiced smile he’d had all week.

"Mr. Carter, let's look at how you wound up in this situation to begin with," the defense attorney began, pacing slowly toward the witness stand. "You weren't forced to go to Azure Sands, correct?"

"No. I went on vacation."

"A very specific kind of vacation. You went there for the explicit purpose of swapping bodies with another human being."

"For two weeks," I clarified, my jaw tightening. "It was supposed to be a temporary experience."

"But you went willingly. In fact, according to the resort's logs and the discovery files we reviewed, you didn't just participate—you thoroughly enjoyed yourself. The records show you gave the experience a glowing review on your exit survey before the malfunction was announced." The attorney smiled, looking over at the jury. "You spent those two weeks engaging in numerous intimate encounters, taking full advantage of Mr. Rivera's physical build. By your own admission to the resort staff, you loved how it felt to wear his skin. You thought it was 'heaven.' Isn't that right?"

I felt the heat rise into my face, Jackson's thick neck growing warm beneath my collar. "We were all there for the same thing. It was a fantasy resort. That doesn't mean I wanted to give up my actual life forever."

"Of course," the attorney said smoothly, pivoting back toward me. "But the point remains: you willingly walked into an experimental procedure to abandon your biological identity for pleasure. And you've continued to live in it. You've now lived in your current body for over two years."

"Yes."

"You've maintained steady employment, continued your hobbies, made friends. You've dated."

I hesitated, thinking of the string of empty one-night stands in Nashville. "...Yes."

"So despite the circumstances, you've adapted."

"I didn't have a choice. I had no alternative."

The lawyer nodded slowly, walking a little closer. "You testified you've had numerous intimate relationships over the last two years. So women are attracted to your current appearance."

"They're attracted to his appearance."

"But no one forced you to date."

"What else am I supposed to do? I still have needs."

"So despite everything... you've managed."

Something about that word irritated me. "Managed? Yeah. Like a guy who loses a leg manages. You don't congratulate him for walking with a prosthetic."

The analogy landed poorly; a couple of jurors frowned. I pushed through the frustration anyway. "You all keep looking at me like this body is some prize. I'm a six-foot-three bald guy covered in tattoos. I look like I belong outside a biker bar. I walk into a grocery store and little kids stare. I don't exactly have grandmas pinching my cheeks and calling me handsome anymore."

Too late, I noticed the older Hispanic woman on the jury—the one Jackson had been charming in Spanish just minutes ago—fold her arms tightly across her chest.

"I didn't mean—" I cut myself off. The damage was done. I forced myself to finish. "This isn't who I am. I used to smile at people and they'd smile back. Now they move out of my way. I'm intimidating. I'm not approachable. I'm not... built to be this guy."

The defense attorney tilted his head, smelling blood. "Yet, you testified that people respect you. You said they don't mess with you."

"I meant... when you look like this, people tend to take you seriously."

"So this body commands respect. You enjoy that? It's useful."

"Look, anybody would enjoy not having people push them around."

"So you've benefited."

I didn't answer. He looked back at the jury with a satisfied nod. "No further questions."

The jury was dismissed to deliberate, and then all we could do was wait.

Nobody talked much. My lawyer tried making small talk for the first hour before giving up. Across the room, Jackson sat with his fiancé, their fingers intertwined. Every now and then I'd catch him looking at me with my old eyes. I couldn't tell whether he felt guilty or relieved.

Late the following afternoon, the bailiff opened the door. "The jury has reached a verdict."

My stomach dropped. We filed back in. The foreperson handed the paper to the judge, who unfolded it slowly.

"On the question before the court... the jury finds in favor of the defendant."

For a second, the words didn't process. Then it hit me. My lawyer lowered his head. Across the aisle, Jackson closed his eyes and let out a long breath, his fiancé gripping his hand.

The courtroom erupted the moment the judge adjourned. Reporters rushed toward Jackson before he even stepped into the aisle, calling him by my name as camera flashes filled the room. I stood there for another few seconds before quietly picking up my briefcase. Nobody stopped me. Nobody had any questions for the big guy in the corner.

By the time I reached the courthouse doors, I caught my reflection in the glass. Same shaved head. Same heavy build. Same tattoos. The same face I'd been trying to get rid of for more than two years.

This time, though, there wasn't another hearing to look forward to. The jury had decided that the man wearing my old face got to keep it, and I was left carrying the weight of a stranger.

[hairy-bothered]

Mark’s Body

Zach bought the gag game with a small metal token because it was stupid and of course that was the whole appeal. It sat in a dusty glass case at the back of the magic shop between trick decks, rubber thumbs, vanishing coins, and a cheap plastic wand with half its glitter rubbed off. The box was small, black, and dramatic, with a cartoon lightning bolt across the lid and a top hat on the back. Across the side the words:

FOR COUPLES WHO WANT A NEW PERSPECTIVE

Mark had laughed when Zach brought it home.

“You paid money for that?”

“Eight dollars,” Zach said. “And it’s not just a gag. It’s relationship enrichment.”

Mark gave him the look Zach had come to know over the past year: amused, dry, handsome in a way that made Zach feel both chosen and inspected. Mark was forty-six, fit, broad through the chest and shoulders, his body thick with dark hair that had begun to gray in places. His beard was short and salt-and-pepper, heavier around the jaw, silver at the chin and cheeks. His hair was cropped and mature, gray at the temples, and his face carried those lines Zach loved more than he admitted: forehead creases, faint crow’s feet, the settled confidence of a full-grown-ass man - something Zach wished he was.

Zach was twenty-seven and still felt like a kid, despite himself. He had moved into Mark’s house just three weeks earlier. Dating Mark had been one thing. Living among Mark’s furniture, Mark’s towels, Mark’s good knives, Mark’s framed photographs, and Mark’s calm routines was another. Zach’s sneakers looked too bright by the back door. His gym bag looked juvenile beside Mark’s leather work bag. Even his reflection in Mark’s bathroom mirror seemed younger than it had in his old apartment - maybe it was the lighting he often thought to himself.

That was where the latest fight started. Mark was shirtless at the sink, trimming the edge of his beard. Zach stood behind him, also shirtless, leaning against the doorframe. He had one hand on his own mustache, stroking it without realizing. He had grown it partially to make himself look older - to narrow the apparent gap in their "age gap" - a term he had gotten tired of hearing from friends and family - and because Mark had once said he thought it would suit him. Mark had meant it casually. Zach had taken it like an instruction.

In the mirror, the two of them looked almost theatrical together: Mark on the left, older and hairy and solid, gray beard catching the bathroom light; Zach on the right, younger, leaner, bright-eyed, his brown mustache making him look almost like he was auditioning for the kind of masculinity Mark wore naturally.

Mark caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“'Nothing' never means nothing."

Zach dropped his hand from his mustache. “I’m allowed to look at my hot boyfriend.”

Mark set down the trimmer. “You get this look sometimes that I can't really explain.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re not looking at me. Like you’re studying me, appraising me, it makes me feel uncomfortable sometimes.”

Zach laughed, too sharp and too quick. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

“It’s a true thing to say.”

The bathroom felt suddenly smaller. The gag box sat unopened on the counter between them.

Mark turned, towel in hand, beard freshly trimmed. He looked infuriatingly good. Mature. Certain. His chest hair curled thickly over his pecs and down the center of his torso, gray mixed through the dark like proof of time. Zach’s attraction to him had always had a charge of envy in it, a secret current he had never named, maybe never fully realized...yet.

“You moved into my house,” Mark said carefully. “And don't get me wrong, I love having you here. But sometimes I wonder if you want me, or if you want some fantasy of me that only you can see.”

Zach’s face warmed. “You mean because you’re older?"

“I mean because sometimes you talk about my age like it’s a costume, something that can be taken off and on at will - and not a fundamental part of my identity.”

Zach stepped closer and grinned. “Come on, you like having a younger boyfriend. You like that I still try to impress you. You like being the established one. The one that takes charge in bed and never lets me top.”

Mark’s expression changed. Not anger, exactly. Hurt.

“That’s not what this is.”

“No?” Zach said. “Because from where I’m standing, you get to be the older man with the house and the salt and pepper beard and the body and the authority, and I’m supposed to be some dumb kid that's grateful you picked me like some puppy at the pound.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “That’s not how I see you.”

“But it’s how I feel.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Mark said, quietly, “Sometimes I’m not sure whether you’re attracted to me or whether you want to become me.”

The words landed too cleanly. Zach looked away, embarrassed. On the counter, the little black box waited. Zach opened it to cut the tension in the room before he could stop himself. Inside was a cheap brass token, warm-looking, stamped with two male profiles facing opposite directions. Zach picked it up.

“Maybe I do know what kind of man I want to become” Zach said.

Mark reached for his wrist. “Zach, don’t be dramatic.”

Their fingers closed over the token at the same time. A jolt passed between them and Zach gasped.

For one impossible second, the mirror went pitch black. Black, like the glass had become a hole. The brass token burned between their hands, and Zach tried to drop it, but his fingers wouldn't open. Then his body began to change.

It started in his hands. His fingers thickened around the token, knuckles widening, tendons rising under the skin. The smooth youth of his hands roughened by degrees. A faint web of veins appeared. Hair spread across the backs of his fingers and wrists. His forearms grew heavier, the muscle no longer simply lean but dense, mature, practical.

Across from him, Mark made a frightened sound. Zach looked up and saw Mark’s shoulders narrowing. Mark’s broad chest narrowed, its heavy hair thinning and darkening as it receded. His salt-and-pepper beard pulled back along his jaw, gray vanishing first, then the density of it, until his face began to smooth into Zach’s younger shape - save the thick mustache under his nose. His hair lost the silver at the temples. His skin tightened across his cheeks. The settled lines at his eyes faded, leaving behind a face more open, more startled, more exposed.

Then Mark felt the changes spread down below his waist. His ass tightened and plumped into an exact replica of the bottom he had plowed almost nightly for the past year. His dick, a source of pride since he noticed he was above average in the middle school gym locker room, began to shrink - losing girth and length as it molded into Zach's more average 5" cut member. The same dick he'd seen flopping around as he fucked him from behind - or when he let Zach ride on top.

A flash of thoughts screamed through Mark's mind as his brain rewired itself physically to match Zach's - leaving Mark's memories in place but pulling Zach's insecurities, needs, and desires to the forefront. Blood rushed to his dick and his hole puckered as his mind circled around the idea of being fawned over by older men, of them using his hole for their pleasure, and of his insatiable desire to be filled, to be seen, to be older.

“No,” Mark whispered. But the voice was wrong. It was Zach’s voice.

Zach tried to answer, but his own throat had begun to shift. Pressure gathered deep in his neck. His Adam’s apple felt heavier. His voice dropped inside him like something settling into a lower floor. When he forced out Mark’s name, it came rough, older, unmistakably not his own.

“Mark?” Both of them froze. Then Zach’s torso changed.

His chest expanded slowly, powerfully, as if invisible hands were pushing him outward from the inside. His shoulders broadened until his posture had to adjust around them. His ribs widened. His waist thickened, not with softness, but with the solid mass of a man almost twenty years older. His muscles became less decorative, more lived-in, dense across the chest and arms. The flat, restless lightness of his younger body gave way to Mark’s grounded weight.

Hair prickled across his skin. At first it was only an itch over his sternum. Then it spread in a hot flash. Dark curls pushed across his chest, thickening over his pecs, gathering down the center of his stomach. Silver threaded through it in uneven strands, especially across the upper chest. Zach dragged his hand through it and shuddered.

It was Mark’s chest hair under his palm. Mark’s body. His body now.

Panic flared in him, bright and animal. But beneath it, horrifyingly, was pleasure. Recognition. The secret part of him that had stared too long at Mark’s beard, Mark’s chest, Mark’s gray hair, Mark’s calm authority, now rose with a hunger so intense it made him dizzy.

His face changed next. His jaw widened beneath his fingers. His chin strengthened. His cheeks hollowed slightly, then settled into mature planes. Lines carved gently but unmistakably across his forehead. Crow’s feet gathered at the corners of his eyes. His mustache thickened and spread, then connected into short beard growth along his jaw. The brown vanished into salt-and-pepper. Stubble roughened his cheeks, then became Mark’s close-trimmed beard: gray at the chin, dark along the jaw, dense enough to rasp under his touch.

His hair shifted too, hairline receding and thinning at the front, the cut sharpening, the temples graying, the whole shape of his head becoming Mark’s.

Last to change was Zach's cock and balls. In the reverse of Mark's transformation, Zach's dick writhed, lengthened, and thickened. His cock tingled as the foreskin regrew covering the bulbous head - the same head he had felt deep inside his former ass, filling his hole with hot mature seed. His balls swelled and dropped into a longer scrotum - he had felt those balls slapping against his ass when Mark fucked him, and now they were his. He felt his new dick slowly stiffen as he looked at himself in the mirror - he was undeniably hot - he was secretly what he always wished he were. Beads of pre-cum began to leak from his larger cock.

As he admired his face, his mind began reshaping itself to adjust to his new reality. Submissive thoughts and desires being replaced with the urge to control, to dominate, to conquer men - especially younger men.

When the lights steadied, Zach looked into the bathroom mirror and saw Mark staring back. Older. Fit. Hairy. Salt-and-pepper beard. Gray at the temples. Mature chest. Mark’s body exactly. Except the eyes were wide with Zach’s panic.

Beside him, Zach’s own body stood, now occupied by Mark. Younger, leaner, brown mustache, bare chest, blue eyes huge with shock. Mark lifted his younger hand to his new face and touched the mustache as if it were a foreign object.

“Oh my God,” Mark said from behind Zach's thick mustache and bright blue eyes.

Hearing his own voice come from Mark’s mouth did something to Zach. Mark looked vulnerable in a way Zach had never seen before. The older confidence was gone because the older body was gone. In Zach’s body, Mark looked suddenly uncertain, sought after and afraid of being found lacking, as if youth had stripped off all the armor age had given him.

Zach stepped closer. Mark stepped back until his lower back touched the sink. “Zach.”

“I know,” Zach said.

But he did not know. He only knew how Mark’s voice felt in his throat. How Mark’s beard scratched when his lips moved. How his own hand looked larger now, older, steadier. How the chest hair brushed his fingers.

Mark stared at him from uncertain deep blue eyes. “We need to switch back.”

Zach touched the beard along his jaw. Slowly. Then a small smirk formed on his face for a brief second.

Mark saw it. His face — Zach’s face — changed. “You like this...”

Zach did not answer.

“Zach.”

“I’m scared,” Zach said, voice low and rough. “But yes. Yes, we need to change back, and yes I like this.”

The honesty was worse than denial would have been. Mark looked down at himself, at Zach’s younger torso, Zach’s hands, Zach’s mustache. “I feel everything in here,” he said quietly. "Are you always this turned on? I feel your dick - err I guess my dick - throbbing." Mark swallowed. “And I keep wanting you to look at me. For you to see me. To be close to you."

“I am looking at you.”

“No,” Mark said. “You’re looking at my body on yourself.”

For a while, the only sound was their breathing. Then Mark reached out and touched Zach’s chest. His own chest. His hand pressed into the thick hair there, then froze. Zach covered it with his larger hand. The contact seemed to pass through both of them at once.

“That’s mine,” Mark said feeling the hair under his hands on his former chest.

“For now, it's mine...” Zach whispered...Then his eyes lit up at the realization of a secret desire. He paused a second and then continued. "Stuff like this doesn't happen. It would be a shame to not take advantage of the situation, don't you think?"

The words should have frightened them both - instead it turned them on. Mark felt a pull towards his former body, that he couldn't deny so when Zach drew him in for a kiss he didn't pull away. It was awkward at first. Of course it was. Familiar mouths in unfamiliar roles. Zach felt the scrape of Mark’s beard from the inside and the outside at once; Mark flinched at the strength of Zach’s older stronger hands on his waist. They broke apart laughing once, breathless and stunned, then came together again with less hesitation.

The panic did not vanish. It turned into heat, sweat, throbbing members pressed against tight underwear. They stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where Zach pulled off Mark's underwear - and Mark reciprocated. There were pauses, murmured nothings, moments where Mark touched his borrowed face and whispered, “This is insane,” and Zach answered him with Mark’s mouth, Mark’s voice, Mark’s steadiness. But each time Mark looked up at him from Zach’s younger body, waiting for reassurance, Zach felt something inside him sharpen.

Zach had wanted Mark from the moment they met at a bar downtown. There was something about the way he carried himself, something about the sharpness of his age. Now, for one impossible moment, he was Mark.

They fooled around slowly at first, uncertain, then with growing confidence, exploring the situation without needing to name every part of it. Mark reacted with a youthful rawness that embarrassed him. Zach found himself guiding, soothing, taking charge in a way that felt borrowed and natural at the same time. The older body seemed to know how to be certain. The younger body seemed to crave that certainty.

Eventually, Zach guided Mark towards the bed. Mark had never bottomed for Zach in their year-long relationship - it had been discussed, sure, but when the time came Zach never pressed the point and Mark never leaned into it.

This time was different, Mark climbed on the bed and slide to the edge, approaching Zach standing at the edge. He grabbed his former dick and put the entire thing in his mouth - gagging on the length and girth of it. "How do you manage to make this look so easy?" Mark said to Zach.

Zach gave a laugh in his older more confident voice "You get used to it. Just like you're going to get used to taking my entire dick up your tight young hole."

Mark felt both a rush of panic and a surge of desire - Zach's inclinations mixing with his own reservations. "I'm not sure if I can do this..." Mark replied.

"I don't recall asking what you thought." Zach said as he slapped his dick on Mark's face and then spun the younger man around and began eating his former ass out.

Mark's young body began to flood with electricity as Zach eagerly lapped at his asshole. His smaller bottom dick grew rigid and he moved a hand down to begin to jerk off but was stopped by Zach.

"I don't recall daddy saying you could touch yourself yet, son" Zach said to Mark in a deep gruff tone - leaning into the experience.

The two men had never roleplayed daddy/son before. Mark had always been too self-conscious about their age gap and Zach always insecure at being seen as some dumb kid.

When Mark heard this new command from Zach, in his broader older body all of his instincts told him to not go along with it. That nothing good would come of this change in dynamic...but with his ass being eaten out and his young perky dick throbbing underneath him he just relented with a "Sorry, daddy. I'll behave."

"That's my boy," Zach said and then proceeded continue to eat out his former ass before sliding his new cock along Mark's tight asshole, teasing it before inserting just the tip to test out Mark's reaction. Mark writhed underneath and let out a soft moan - a moan that Zach instantly recognized as his body saying it was enjoying itself.

"There you go," Zach said "just relax your hole and this will hurt less, trust me, son."

Mark nodded in agreement and replied with a soft "yes, daddy."

Zach then climbed onto the bed and spun Mark over into missionary position, lifting his legs and resting them on his broader shoulders so they could look at each other. "I want to see my son's reaction to his first time bottoming" Zach said.

He leaned in and kissed his former face while simultaneously reinserting his dick into Mark's asshole. He pushed harder this time and could see the grimace on his former face - the same grimace he had made a hundred times when Mark inserted his huge cock into his hole. "Don't worry, son, it'll pass soon" he reassured Mark.

As Mark loosened up, Zach started to pump into the younger man - keeping their faces close together so he could inspect Mark's reaction. Zach lifted one hand from the bed and began to pump his former smaller dick, now on Mark's body, knowing the exact pace and technique to get him off. Mark responded with more moaning - starting to feel overwhelmed by the stimulation in his ass and on his young dick. Zach could see the look of pleasure on his former face and felt a wave of satisfaction rush over him - an enjoyment of finally being on the giving end of the pleasure and not just the receiving, a satisfaction of taking charge of the situation in a more mature body.

Zach leaned into Mark's ear and whispered gently "You like this, don't you son? You like being the young piece of meat? You like daddy's thick cock in your ass and daddy's big strong hand on your small cock. Don't worry, you've been a good boy tonight and daddy is going to reward you with his seed deep up your hole."

With that, Mark was pushed over the edge and his smaller dick began to spasm, sending a torrent of cum across his chest all the way up to his face and mustache. Zach grinned leaned back to get more leverage and pumped hard and fast into Mark before cumming deep inside and collapsing on top of the younger man in a pile of his former body's cum - kissing his former face and tasting the cum on his mustache.

The two men lay there for a few minutes, Zach in Mark's older broader body on top of Mark in Zach's lean mustachioed young body.

Later, after the glow or orgasm faded, they laid in their bed under gray sheets, both still breathing hard, neither quite able to look away from the other. Zach still aglow with his fantasy encounter. Mark beginning to feel the post-sex ick after doing something that felt hot at the moment but decidedly less so in the light of day with a clearer mind.

Mark was the first to speak. “We need to switch back.”

Zach moved and sat on the edge of the bed, still in Mark’s body, one hand buried absently in the hair across his chest. “Not yet.”

Mark turned toward him. In Zach’s body, the hurt was painfully visible on his younger face. “What?”

“I said not yet. Soon.”

“Zach.”

“I need time.”

Mark sat up. “Time? In my body? For what?”

Zach stood, and the movement felt too good: the weight of Mark’s legs under him, the breadth of his shoulders, the mature pull of muscle across his chest. “You don’t understand what this feels like.”

Mark’s eyes flashed. “I understand exactly what it feels like. That's my body, remember? And now I’m in your body. So what do you think I don't understand?"

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No,” Mark said. “You mean you like mine better. So you're going to what? Just keep it?”

The sentence hung there. Zach could have denied it, but he didn’t.

Mark got out of bed, unsteady in Zach’s younger body. “That’s my life you’re standing in.”

“I know.”

“Then give it back. We had our fun, but we can't stay like this.”

Zach looked toward the bathroom, where the brass token lay in the sink. He should have walked to it. He should have taken Mark’s hand. He should have ended it before the want in him turned into something uglier. Instead, he dressed and packed a bag while Mark tried to convince him to stay.

Mark’s jeans fit him. Mark’s shirt fit him. Mark’s watch closed around his wrist. Every piece of clothing made the wrongness feel more complete.

Mark followed him down the hall. “Zach, stop, you can't do this!”

At the front door, Zach turned. He expected anger. He was ready for anger. What he saw was worse. Mark stood barefoot in Zach’s body, young and frightened and stripped of every defense Zach had always envied in Mark. He looked like someone waiting for the older man in the room to tell him he was safe.

For one second, guilt almost stopped Zach. Then he touched Mark’s beard on his own face. “I’ll come back,” he said.

Mark’s voice cracked behind him. “In my body?”

Zach did not answer, he closed the door behind himself and stepped into the cool night air.

---

Zach was gone for nineteen long days.

Long enough for Mark to learn the cruelty of youth when it was forced on you. He worked Zach's retail job, where people ignored his ideas and treated him like a kid. Men looked at him differently. Some wanted him. Some dismissed him. Some spoke to him like he had not earned seriousness yet. His rewired brain felt Zach’s quick hunger for approval, Zach’s restless energy, Zach’s ache to be seen and approved by older men.

Long enough for Zach to live as Mark. He drove Mark’s car. Wore Mark’s shirts. Worked at Mark's office job. Went to Mark’s gym and felt men nod at him with respect. He trimmed the salt-and-pepper beard with reverence. He stood shirtless in motel mirrors and watched the gray in his chest hair catch the light. He learned the pleasure of authority and the loneliness beneath it. He learned that becoming Mark was not the same as being loved by Mark.

On the twentieth day, Zach came home.

Mark heard the front door open from upstairs. For one wild second, hope moved through him before anger caught it by the throat. He stood in the bedroom wearing Zach’s body like a punishment: too young, too quick, too reactive. The face in the mirror was still handsome, still bright-eyed, still wearing that brown mustache that strangers smiled at too easily. But Mark had stopped seeing youth in it. He saw captivity.

Downstairs, the entryway floor creaked. Mark went still.

Then Zach called up, “Mark?”

The voice was wrong. Deep. Familiar. His own. Mark gripped the banister so hard his knuckles whitened. When he came downstairs, Zach was standing in the entryway in his older body.

He wore Mark’s dark button-up, Mark’s jeans, Mark’s watch. The shirt pulled exactly the way it always had across Mark’s chest and shoulders. The salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed. The gray at the temples had been combed back. He looked handsome, tired, and ashamed.

He also looked like a thief caught wearing what he had stolen.

Mark stopped halfway down the stairs. He had prepared for this moment every day since Zach left. He had prepared exactly what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do to the man that stole his life...

But for a moment neither of them spoke.

Zach lifted one hand. In his palm sat the brass token.

“I came back like I promised,” he said.

Mark’s mouth twisted. “That’s your opening?”

Zach flinched. “I didn’t know what else to say.”

“You could start by putting that on the table and stepping away from it.”

Zach looked down at the token.

“Now!” Mark said.

The sharpness in his own younger voice startled him. It did not have the weight he wanted. It sounded frightened even when he was furious. That made him angrier.

Zach placed the token on the entryway table and backed up two steps. Mark came the rest of the way down.

Seeing his own body up close hurt worse than he expected. He had spent nineteen days missing the ache in his shoulder, the scratch of his beard, the weight of his chest, the simple authority of being seen as himself. Now it stood in front of him with Zach’s guilt behind its eyes.

Mark reached for the token.

“I’m sorry” Zach said.

Mark’s hand froze. “No.”

Zach swallowed. “No?”

“You don’t get to make me listen while you’re still wearing what you stole from me!”

The sentence landed hard. Zach looked away. Mark picked up the token. It was cold now, ordinary-looking, absurdly small for the damage it had done.

“You are going to put your hand on this,” Mark said. “We are going to switch back. Then you are going to stand there and hear whatever I have to say. You don’t get to explain first. You don’t get to cry your way out of it. You don’t get to make me take care of you.”

Zach’s borrowed face tightened with pain. Mark hated that it was his face making that expression.

“Okay,” Zach said.

They stood on opposite sides of the entryway table. Zach reached out slowly. His hand shook. Mark noticed with a strange, bitter satisfaction that it was his hand shaking. Big, veined, familiar.

Their fingers touched the token. The light came back. It was not beautiful this time. It was violent.

Mark felt Zach’s body seize around him. Youth loosened its grip all at once: the restless pulse, the bright surface-level panic, the constant hunger to be looked at. His chest broadened with a painful pull. His skin roughened. His jaw filled out beneath a rush of returning beard. The brown mustache thickened, grayed, spread down his cheeks and chin until his own salt-and-pepper stubble rasped beneath his fingers.

His shoulders came back like a burden and a blessing. His chest grew heavier. Hair rushed over it, thick and dark and silvered, familiar as a name. Lines returned to his face. The gray at his temples flashed back into place. His voice dropped in his throat, settling where it belonged.

Across from him, Zach gasped as Mark’s body abandoned him. He became younger by degrees: shoulders narrowing, beard withdrawing into the brown mustache, chest hair thinning, gray vanishing from his hair. His face smoothed. His eyes widened. The older authority drained away, leaving behind the frightened twenty-seven-year-old who had started this.

When it was over, Mark staggered back into himself. He nearly cried from relief. Instead, he touched his beard. Then his chest. Then his arms. He closed one hand around his own wrist and felt the shape of himself return beneath his palm.

Zach stood across from him in his own body, smaller than he had seemed twenty days ago. “I’m sorry,” Zach said again.

This time, Mark let him say it. The apology hung in the entryway with nowhere to go.

Zach’s eyes were wet. “I thought I wanted to understand you. Then I thought I wanted to be you. And then I knew I’d done something unforgivable, but I still didn’t come back right away because part of me didn’t want to give it up.”

Mark stared at him. The honesty was not enough. That was the worst part. It was probably the most honest thing Zach had ever said to him, and it still did not repair anything.

“You stole my body,” Mark said.

Zach nodded.

“You left me in yours.”

“I know.”

“You made me live as you while you walked around in my life.”

Zach’s mouth trembled. “I know.”

“No,” Mark said. “I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understand what it was like to wake up every morning and feel your body under the sheets. To hear your voice come out when I was angry. To be constantly reminded of the person that stole everything from me every time I looked in the mirror.”

Zach looked stricken. Mark stepped closer, not tenderly. “And then I had to wonder whether you were coming back at all!”

“I was always going to.”

“You don’t get credit for eventually returning what you stole.”

Zach flinched like he had been struck. Mark turned away because some part of him still wanted to comfort him, and that part made him sick with himself.

For nearly a minute, the house was silent. Then Zach whispered, “Are we over?”

Mark laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t know what we are.”

Zach nodded, crying now, silently.

Mark picked up the brass token from the table. Zach watched him do it with visible fear.

“I should smash it,” Mark said.

“Maybe you should.”

Mark looked at him sharply. “Don’t perform remorse for me.”

Zach lowered his eyes.

Mark walked into the kitchen, opened the junk drawer, took out a hammer, and brought it back. He placed the token on the tile by the front door. For one second, both of them stared at it. Then Mark brought the hammer down. The token cracked on the first strike. On the second, it split. On the third, whatever faint warmth remained in the brass went out completely. Zach covered his mouth with one hand. Mark set the hammer down.

“There,” he said. “No more escape hatch.”

Zach nodded.

Mark looked at the man he had loved - still loved. The man who had betrayed him. The man who looked young and devastated and very much like someone Mark did not know how to trust anymore.

“You can pack a bag tonight,” Mark said.

Zach’s face crumpled. “Mark—”

“No.” Mark’s voice broke, but he held the line. “You don’t get to stay in my house tonight. Not after this.”

Zach wiped his face. “Okay.”

The word came out small. Mark looked away. That hurt too.

Zach went upstairs quietly. Mark stayed in the entryway, one hand pressed against his own chest, feeling the beat of his heart under his own skin.

He had his body back, his job, his confidence, his internal wiring. But not the life he’d had before the magic token.

When Zach came down twenty minutes later with a duffel bag, he paused by the door.

“I do love you,” Zach said.

Mark closed his eyes. “I believe you,” he said.

Zach’s breath caught.

Mark opened his eyes again. “But I don't trust you.”

Zach nodded once, brokenly. Then he left.

Mark locked the door behind him. For a long time, he stood there in the quiet foyer - older and solid and himself again, listening to Zach’s footsteps fade.

Only when they were gone did Mark let himself shake.

The next morning, Mark found the torn black box in the bathroom trash, half-hidden. The gold letters were bent and creased, bust still readable: FOR COUPLES WHO WANT A NEW PERSPECTIVE. He stood there for a long time, older face pale in the mirror, one hand resting against the body he had gotten back and the other holding the ruined promise of a joke neither of them had understood - not really.

The token had given them perspective, yes. It had shown Zach the man he thought he wanted to become, and it had shown Mark how easily love could be mistaken for possession. But perspective was not forgiveness. It was only distance with the lights turned on. And from that distance Mark could finally clearly see the shape of what they had been, what had been taken, and why some doors had to stay locked after they closed.

[immortalmrwavell]

What’s Ours Is Theirs

“I’m starting to grow used to this human vessel you know.” Veildorm admitted as he allowed his hands to glide down his torso as he had many times before. He could still feel the satisfying itch of body hair beneath his fingers despite the thin translucent fabric clinging to his form. It did very little to hide the masculine elegance of his new body. “I truly didn’t expect it to feel so… comfortable.”

“That is… great news sir.” A slender, blue skinned alien rattled from behind Veildorm. Standing by idly with his three spindly arms folded behind his back. Eyes fluttering and antenna twitching nervously in the presence of his commander. “If I’m not mistaken, the doctors made sure to give you the most ideal of the male humans we had in stock.”

Veildorm turned to his nervously jittering assistant who seemed clueless as ever. “I’m aware. I requested this human for that exact reason. Mature but still young. High levels of testosterone. Most ideal distribution of fat, muscle mass and body hair.” He paused for a moment as his gaze landed on the not so subtle bulge between his legs. “And impressive levels of virility.” He allowed a lazy hand to graze his crotch, his professional composure slipping for a fraction of a second before returning. “I’ve had my eye on him for some time. On earth he would be considered an ideal mate. Still, I did not expect it to feel this pleasant.”

———

Months Prior…

The Archosians were a very curious species known for sticking their noses where, quite honestly, they didn't belong. Originating from their home planet Archolm-Rem, they’ve spread themselves out across the galaxy thanks to their advanced space tech. They were far more technologically evolved than any other species in the known universe. It was all thanks to their insatiable appetite for both knowledge and advancement. A crusade in which their home world suffered the consequences of. It was stripped bare of all its natural resources until the Archosians were forced to leave in droves.

Nowadays fleets of Archosian ships wander the universe scouting out other planets. Most of these planets they attempted to colonise for the sake of creating new homes for themselves while some planets they used purely to strip resources from. But none of these planets they came across were as perfect as Archolm-Rem had once been in its prime. It’d been a gorgeous blue pearl of a planet rich with life before their species had ruined it. And since abandoning it, no other planet had come close to its natural beauty. All just hideous rocks and gas clouds good for nothing but temporary refuge and resources. That is until one fleet, led by commander Veildorm, discovered a quaint little world sat in the solar system that orbited YellowSun-68Y9.

It was beautiful. In many ways this world was the spitting image of Archolm-Rem. Vast shimmering oceans surrounding land that, upon inspection, was bustling with life. Such a mass variety of biomes such lush green forests, sandy deserts, snowy tundras and stunning mountain scapes. And it wasn’t just rich with plant life, but animal life as well. All serving to cultivate a balanced ecosystem that helped to sustain the natural order.

With one exception.

As Veildorm’s fleet spied on this little gem of a planet from the other side of the solar system, they very quickly deduced who the dominant species were. They were bipedal simion-like creatures that’d evolved to have what appeared to be high levels of intellect. Not as high as Archosians but still impressive nonetheless. Enough so that they managed to come out on top despite there being so many bigger and stronger predators on their world. Upon further surveillance Veildorm’s crew was able to deduce that these creatures called themselves Humans and that they’d named their planet ‘Earth’. And in many ways they seemed similar to the Archosians in their own much slower but still determined efforts to further themselves and their technology. As such it was clear they were making the same mistake the Archosians did. Slowly ruining their planet with little regard. All for the sake of what they likely deemed to be necessary progress.

Unlike Humans, The Archosians had learned from their mistakes. As such, when Commander Veildorm reported back to the council about their findings in regards to Planet Earth, a decision was soon made. They would continue to use the other planets they’d conquered as colonies and wells of resources but Earth would become their new Motherworld. And this time they plan to preserve and respect it the way they should’ve done with Archolm-Rem. The way Humans likely never will.

But they couldn’t just launch a full scale invasion. Something like that would defeat the point. The Archosians would surely win but there’s a high possibility they’d end up decimating a huge portion of the planet in the process. That simply wouldn’t do. So instead the high council ordered Commander Veildorm to stay covert for now and to continue monitoring Planet Earth so that they can learn as much as they can before deciding on their next move.

And so they did for many months. Always remaining a safe distance away from the planet to avoid detection. But from so far away, there was only so much they could do. Visuals weren’t always the best and any picking up radio waves from this far away only yielded crackling half conversations at best. At this rate getting any real intel would take forever and Veildorm was getting impatient. He’d been ordered by the high council to abstain from any kind of contact with earth until their say-so but he just couldn’t sit on his hands anymore. Not when he’d already come up with a plan to streamline the gathering of intel.

And so Veildorm took matters into his own hands when he ordered some of his crew to take a dozen small shuttles directly to Earth. It only took them a few days to reach the planet and once they closed in, the invaders deployed anti-detection fields around their ships to prevent them from being picked up by any earthly radars. It wouldn’t have worked for the bigger fleet ships but the shuttles were just small enough that they were able to enter Earth’s atmosphere undetected. Once they made it just above the clouds, the squad of twelve split up in different directions across the globe.

Their mission was a simple one. Abduct a variety of humans and bring them back to the fleet for testing and extraction of information. They were to complete this mission as swiftly and covertly as possible to avoid any and all detection. It was risky but the rewards would be significant. That’s why Veildorm assigned his best pilots to the job.

Each shuttle scouted out quiet and more remote areas in search of lone humans to snatch up and sedate. They all had enough space to carry ten humans on board making for a total of one hundred and twenty human subjects to be whisked away and shoved under an eager microscope by Veildorm and his crew. There were a few close calls but the mission was a success. An example being how one man had witnessed his older brother being taken and as such he was quickly abducted too. And similarly a big burly farmer had almost saved his wife from being vacuumed up only for them both to get taken instead. Despite that though, the team was in the clear. Soon enough they regrouped to begin the ascent back up into the stars and towards the hidden fleet across the solar system with ten dozen humans in tow.

When they returned a few days later, the humans were unloaded from the shuttles and onto the flagship where Commander Veildorm watched with a smirk. He was elated to finally see some humans up close after spying on them for so long. Each of them strapped into a hovering transport cart as they were split up into different groups. Each group was taken to different facilities around the ship so they could undergo different forms of testing.

Group A was made of eight humans, four of each sex. Groups B, C, D and E all had twenty five humans each. And finally Group F contained twelve humans of equal sex.

Group A were the unfortunate souls that were sent to be dissected for the purpose of learning about the human anatomy and the inner workings of both male and female bodies. Luckily they were only the smallest group. The rest of the humans suffered far less cruel fates by comparison. Not that they knew that.

Groups B and C for example were used for the purpose of extracting information. B was interrogated the traditional way. Being told to give up any and all information they had about Earth from the tiniest details about their personal lives to anything they knew about the wider world and the rest of the human race. Not much encouragement was needed beyond the promise that they’d be returned home safely if they cooperated. Of course that promise was completely hollow but the poor human subjects didn’t need to know that. On the other hand, Group C was taken for a much more unorthodox method of extracting information. It entailed getting hooked up to some very advanced technology that would scan their brains in an attempt to artificially pull information out of their memory banks. It wasn’t completely accurate and certainly couldn’t pull out everything but it was good at snatching little nuggets of information that ordinary interrogation methods might not have dug up.

Then there were the reactionary groups, D and E. Both were being monitored on their reactions to external stimuli to see how humans operate under different circumstances. One of those groups was subjected to things that were more abstract like sounds, images, smells and such like. Meanwhile the other group was given more direct and physical tasks to complete like puzzles or exercise. All these humans were fitted with devices to monitor their bodily activity to see what kinds of chemical reactions arose throughout each experience and interaction. They learned a lot about the inner workings of human brains from these groups.

Lastly there was Group F. This group was strapped down and surrounded by Archosian scientists who were more than eager to poke and prod curiously at their human forms. They went through just about everything that a conspiracy theorist might expect after being abducted by aliens. Having their body parts squeezed and pinched at. Having small hairs plucked and blood samples drawn for additional testing. Being injected with all kinds of compounds with antidotes on standby as they tested human immune responses. Making notes on all the major differences between the males and females. Namely their muscle and bone structure and how the males on average seemed to be hairier and ape-like whereas the females were typically smaller and capable of producing milk for their offspring. Not to mention their reproductive organs which were particularly interesting to the Archosians. After all they were a species of a singular sex, capable of reproducing asexually. Hence they couldn’t help finding the concept of differing sexual organs to be particularly intriguing. Especially with how those organs seemed to respond when stimulated. It was fascinating.

———

Commander Veildorm had overseen all of the experiments. He’d watch either from behind surveillance cameras or by venturing around each facility so he could inspect each group in person. The Humans were being sustained via nutrient and calorie dense fluids designed with each individual Human in mind. They were also given optimal exercise so they could maintain whatever physical condition they were in upon arrival, no matter how big or small they were.

It was fascinating getting to observe them. They looked so different with their soft skin and flat faces as opposed to the tough scales and longer snouts the Archosians possessed. All that hair. Only two arms and legs. They were built so unlike the aliens that’d abducted them and yet Veildorm couldn’t help seeing a certain elegance to the human form. It was so simple and symmetrical. So satisfying in its curves and ridges across various shapes. No matter whether they were Fit or Fat. Hairy or Not. Male or Female. Veildorm found beauty in them all that quite honestly matched the beauty of their home planet. And many of the Archosians aboard his fleet, scientists in particular, were also starting to share his views.

In truth though, Veildorm had taken a particular liking to the male humans. He was fond of their sharper features and bulkier forms in comparison to their female counterparts. There was something so raw about them that mixed rather curiously with their high intellect. It almost didn’t make sense for such intelligent creatures to have such a primal way about them. Whether it be in their looks or the way they conducted themselves in their society. “Fascinating…” Veildorm would mumble to himself quite frequently whenever he observed studies of or read through the finding in regards to the male humans. The females were interesting too in their own ways but the males just sparked something in the Commander that always seemed to hold his attention.

Cocks. They were such amusing things. Tantalising even. Just like the rest of the body, they could come in all shapes and sizes. Some long, some girthy. Some straight, some curved. But one thing they all shared was how the pleasure centres in the male brain all seemed to light up like burning stars whenever the cocks were stimulated. And no matter how much the males protested against it, if their cocks were stimulated enough they would start to grow. Rising from their usually soft state to stiff and sometimes intimidating length, bucking eagerly whether they wanted it or not. Veildorm soon discovered that the human term for this was an ‘erection’. He was enamoured by the concept. Human males being capable of growing their sex organs was unlike anything in Archosian biology. And if the stimulation continued while the cock was erect, they would inevitably be forced to ejaculate a milky white fluid. Yet another act they couldn’t control much like the erection itself and one that seemed to cause even more immense pleasure. So much so that most males would briefly devolve into deep groans and roars as they unwillingly unloaded their seed. Apparently this was called an orgasm. Something both sexes seemed to experience but in slightly different ways.

“P-please… stop. No more… no more…” One of the males had begged while Veildorm was in the room watching as he was being milked over and over. His cock had been stimulated endlessly for about twenty four hours in an experiment to see if there was any limit to the amount of semen a human male could produce. It was the burly farmer who’d tried to save his wife from abduction. He might’ve seemed intimidating had not been bound and reduced to a squirming mess begging for relief. It was amazing how sensitivity of the penis seemed to spike to an almost painful degree upon prolonged stimulation after the initial orgasm. And as the bearish man was forced to produce more of his seed, it was collected into containers alongside the other males for further research just like all the other various DNA samples.

“Sir. Upon examination it would appear that the unique gland male humans have inside their rectum can act as an alternative means of producing an orgasm. They call it a prostate. We believe that with enough stimulation, this gland can quickly cause an erection and make them produce semen without the need to touch their penis.” One of the scientists had explained to Veildorm after comparing notes from the scientists working with the other groups. “Do you want us to test the theory on a few of them?”

Veildorm’s three bright yellow eyes scanned the poor human men who looked oh so broken and defeated. Then eventually returning his gaze to the scientists. “You may proceed but on the condition that I decide which of them you are to test this experiment with.”

The scientists nodded. “Of course Commander.”

Of all the men that’d been abducted, there was one in particular that had caught Veildorm’s attention from the moment they arrived on the ship. He was a male in the prime of his life, mature but not yet burdened by the slow decay of aging. He seemed to have the most splendid muscle to fat ratio, granting him a large and powerful physique that was as aesthetically pleasing as it was impressive. He almost seemed like he was more evolved than all the other males with how he’d managed to increase his muscle mass far beyond the average. It gave him this air of superiority even if not intentional. And to add to that he had a very healthy amount of body and facial hair that seemed to decorate his form in a way that only exuded more dominance. The cherry on top being his well endowed penis which, according to research, was a highly valued attribute amongst males. That alongside his physical strength made him quite the alpha amongst his species.

“This one. 109. Kenneth Barnes.” Veildorm announced while running a finger down the hulking man’s fuzzy pecs and along his abs. “He’s strong. As such I’m very curious to see how he reacts under the probe.”

One of the scientists nodded again. “Subject 109 AKA Kenneth Barnes. He’ll be added to the list immediately sir.”

Veildorm bit his long snake-like tongue in anticipation. Kenneth Barnes. That earthly name had been seared into his memory. It was no wonder with how often he checked that hunk’s record to see any and all updates on him no matter how small. He’d already given explicit orders for his scientists to be extra attentive with Subject 109 for how luxurious of a human he was. Like gold amongst silver. As such Veildorm didn’t pay much mind to the other two men he chose for the experiment. At this point there was only one human he truly cared about.

———

“NO! DON'T YOU FUCKUNG DARE! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM MY ASS! DON’T YO-UUURRRAAHHHHHHGH!!” Kenneth wailed as a girthy, almost penile, probe was speared into his tight virgin ass. Bypassing his thick muscular glutes that’d been parted by the forceful spreading of his legs, making it easy for the well lubed device to plunge deep inside his hole. His entire body tensed up as he fought with all his strength against the restraints to no avail. All while a symphony of desperate pained howls escaped his bearded lips as the probe began pumping generously in and out of his hole.

At first Veildorm couldn’t help but find it puzzling as to why Kenneth and the other two selected men were so terrified by the probe. He didn’t think it was much different from having their cocks stimulated. And yet they were far more hysterical than ever before. However one of the scientists soon explained to the Commander that this strong aversion to anal stimulation was very much a cultural thing amongst heterosexual males. Most considered to be shameful and what they called ‘emasculating’ and was only something that homosexual males typically partook in. As such, having them undergo an experiment like that was likely an enormous blow to their pride and ego. Two things that human males took in high regard.

“G-GETUUH… IT-T… OUUUTTAAHUU…” Kenneth gasped through roars and wails of anguish. His hole being forcibly stretched as the probe pounded against his prostate. His face twisting with pained disgust as he tried his hardest to fight against his body’s natural response to it. But no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t stop his cock from stiffening to full length at the unwanted pleasure of his prostate being tapped over and over. It wasn’t long before he was leaking shamefully like a broken faucet. Pre-cum dripping in heavy globs from the tip of his penis and into a collection vat below. Just like the other two men beside him.

Before long all three of them were shooting load after load like helpless cum cows. Forced to endure some of the most powerful orgasms to have ever ripped through their bodies. And it was torture. All the other subjects from their group could only watch and listen in horror from the other end of the facility. All sympathetic towards the trio while simultaneously thankful that they themselves had escaped such a fate.

“How interesting that they would view something like this as shameful.” Veildorm had commented while keeping his eyes firmly planted on Kenneth. Watching at that broad hairy and now very sweaty chest rose and fell with every shaky breath. “On one hand the males view being able to produce lots of potent ejaculate as something to be proud of. And yet when faced with stimulation of the prostate to improve that production, they fight tooth and claw against it. Human psychology is so strange.”

Veildorm watched tentatively, going as far as to circle around Kenneth multiple times like a predator circling its prey. Watching the way the probe slid in between his colossal hairy cheeks. Observing how his penis jolted and swooned at each slam against his prostate. Scanning the way his thick muscles bulged and tightened with every unwanted orgasm seconds before another load of cum came flooding out. Ahhh cum. Just another human way of saying semen or ejaculate. Just like all the different words they had for penis. Veildorm found it amusing how humans had so many ways of saying the same thing.

“GAHHHUUHHHUUHH!” Kenneth howled through teary eyes as Veildorm personally increased the speed and aggression of his probe in particular. The wet sloshing sound of the lubricated device ravaging his hole only grew louder as Kenneth lost the ability to form words. Only being able to beg with his eyes. Eyes that’d once been so full of disobedience and a strong masculine will to fight back against his captors. But that fire had been extinguished, leaving behind a broken man.

And yet Veildorm remained fixated on Kenneth. So much so that even the scientists had begun to pick up on their Commander's special interest towards subject 109. There was just something so majestic about this alpha male form that Veildorm was becoming more and more obsessed with through every experiment. Even now as he watched a broken Kenneth wailing and groaning like an animal, he couldn’t help finding him rather beautiful to look at.

Veildorm had even begun to feel similarly towards most of the humans. Despite how different they were from Archosians in the physical appearance, he’d begun to develop an odd form of attraction towards them. The more he looked at them, the more he saw their elegance. Of course they weren’t flawless but those tiny imperfections each of them carried only made them more fascinating. And none of them were more elegant or fascinating than Kenneth. At least in Veildorm’s eyes. His attraction wasn’t sexual though. That wasn’t something Archosians experienced due to their asexual nature. It was more… aesthetic. He could see the appeal of it all. That combined with the intrigue he’d acquired for human psychology. Though he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t become incredibly curious as to what human sexuality must’ve felt like. Especially with how much pleasure those sexual organs seemed to bring…

“Keep them on the probes for a few more hours while you continue experiments with the others.” Veildorm had ordered. “After that, document all your findings on their changes in their mental and physical state.”

The scientists took heed of their Commander’s instructions as Veildorm turned to leave the Group F chamber. He still had to check up in person on the progress being made with the other Groups yet. Then he could return to his quarters where he’d continue to watch from the cameras. As he approached the door however, he turned and took one last look at Kenneth. Sprawled out. Huge hairy body on display. What a handsome creature that human was.

———

“We gave you a direct order NOT to engage with the planet or its inhabitants.” The voice of a member from the high council crackled over the monitor. “You were supposed to sit and observe. Nothing more. Why have you disobeyed us Commander?!”

Veildorm chewed the inside of his cheek. Somehow word of his operation had gotten back to the rest of the Archosians beyond his fleet. Someone aboard his ships must’ve snitched. He’d have to deal with that later.

“We were hardly gathering any kind of intel by observing. We would’ve been wasting so much time and resources had we continued to sit on our hands. So I made a professional call as the Commander of this fleet.” Veildorm explained while attempting to remain respectful of his superiors. “And it has paid off tremendously. Surely you must see that? My forces weren’t detected when gathering humans from the planet and now look at everything we’ve learned about them. The results speak for themselves!”

The council couldn’t deny Veildorm’s successes in this operation but they reprimanded him nonetheless. “Even so, the people of their world are bound to notice over a hundred of their kind going missing. That alone could put them on guard and make a takeover of their planet much more difficult. Have you even considered that factor?”

“I have.” Veildorm responded. Though in truth it was something he’d only considered after the fact but still. “And I have the perfect solution.”

“And what might that be Commander?” Another council member asked.

Veildorm smiled confidently. “My crew and I have been working tirelessly to perfect a procedure that’ll allow us to send the humans back to earth without any worries that they’ll tell the rest of their kind about us. And better yet, they’ll report to us.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“Because the Humans will be us. Archosian brains in Human bodies!”

It was a project that’d been in the works since the day after the abducted humans arrived on the fleet. Some of the greatest minds Veildorm had aboard his ship had been assigned to it as they gathered research from all the different groups. Accumulating all that knowledge into figuring out exactly how the Human brain worked to control the rest of the body. Then comparing it to how the Archosian brain worked in order to find some way of making Archosian brains compatible with Human bodies. It wasn’t an easy task in the slightest considering how different the two species were physically but the project had made some very encouraging progress. It required a lot of modifications needing to be made to the Archosian brain but it was most certainly possible.

“Fine.” Another council member had grunted after listening to Veildorm’s explanation of the project. “You may proceed. But if this plan costs us what could be our new home world, you will be held accountable Commander. Is that clear?”

Veildorm nodded slowly. “Yes. I understand. Thank you.”

And with that, the transmission ended.

———

It was only a few weeks later that the first real transplant had been a success. One brave crew member had volunteered to be put inside the body of a skinny but rather hairy human male who’d been abducted from his camping site in the woods. Subject 34 from Group C AKA Sam Beckket.

When the Volunteer woke up he struggled to adjust at first. Even though his own brain had been augmented to work inside the human body, it wouldn’t have made the experience any less disorienting. He clearly struggled with the reduced amount of limbs and a massively different centre of gravity. Walking wasn’t easy for him at first but he steadied himself eventually and was just about able to stand on his own.

Veildorm was in the room as he awoke. He wanted to witness this with his own eyes rather than through a camera lense. And needless to say he was impressed by the results.

“How does it feel to have the body of a human?” Veildorm would eventually ask once the alien inhabiting the body of Sam Beckket had some time to adjust.

“It feels… tingly. Somewhat feeble but also durable at the same time… somehow.” He was still getting used to the sound of his new voice too. “And also… fizzy? Like there’s this innate energy about it. I can hardly describe it. It’s like I’m sitting in limbo between being an intelligent creature and a primitive animal.” He flexed his fingers slightly before running them down the furry expanse of his flat male chest. “It feels nice. Very fluid and malleable. And sensitive…” He trailed off as his fingers started to slide southward towards his new genitals.

Veildorm watched with wonder as one of his crew began to experience human sexual pleasure for the very first time. Touching his new penis as it slowly began to grow stiff and large while explaining to the scientists around him the exact sensations he was experiencing as he stroked it. He was right. It seemed primitive for one of his own men to have so quickly succumbed to the urges of the Human body. But at the same time it seemed so freeing. The way he smiled and groaned as he touched himself. Not just his cock but his whole body. As if every nerve created some sense of wicked pleasure that only drew him closer to a level of ecstasy the Archosians had never known. No wonder he wasn’t able to stop himself before shooting a load of Human semen all over the floor in front of him.

“Safe to say there hasn’t been any complications then?” Veildorm asked one of the scientists as the man who was once Sam Beckket collapsed onto the chair behind him in euphoric exhaustion. Hands still roaming across his new Human face and experimenting with the sensitivity of his male nipples.

“Not that we can tell. We’ll need to monitor him closely for the next twenty four hours of course but I think it’s safe to say the project has been a success.” The scientists confirmed.

Veildorm nodded proudly. “Perfect. Let me know if anything comes up. Otherwise start making plans for the rest of the Humans and make sure their bodies are suitable for the procedure. Meanwhile I can start drafting in some crew members to become Humans like our friend Sam here.”

The new Sam only grinned dumbly, drunk on his human body. If a skinny male form like that could feel so wonderful, Veildorm could only imagine how divine a form like Kenneth’s might feel. The crew member who ended up with that body would be a lucky soul indeed he thought to himself. Yes. Lucky… very lucky indeed… hmmm…

———

“Suppose I’ve got no choice.” Veildorm muttered to himself in the solitude of his quarters. “I’ll have to add myself.

He’d been going over the plans for the next step in his scheme to take over Earth. Standing before a spread of plans and research as he buffed out the kinks in his operation based on the intel gathered from the humans. And just as he’d been finishing off his list of crew members to be placed inside each viable Human host, there was one slot he’d left blank. The slot for Subject 109. Kenneth.

Veildorm had written down a multitude of crew names next to Subject 109 but everything he found himself erasing the name. He told himself that he needed to find a crew member that was truly worthy of a deluxe human vessel. Reasoning that they’d need to have a particularly strong will and natural dominant streak to be able to handle such a body. He’d run through the names of everyone aboard his fleet but none of them seemed to make the cut for the imaginary standards Veildorm had created. Nobody except for one of course.

Himself.

Of course nobody was meeting the criteria he’d set for Subject 109 because the criteria was practically a self portrait. A leader. Intelligent, strong and capable. Has a strong spirit and sense of reason. Someone who commands respect and gives it in return. Perhaps it was a little pompous of him to believe he had all these traits and more in droves but then again… wouldn’t a Human alpha male also be a little pompous? It was a perfect fit right? And in which case, wouldn’t Veildorm be doing Kenneth a great disservice by putting someone less deserving in a body like his. Surely it was only right for Veildorm to take on that responsibility himself to make sure that glorious form ended up in the right hands. His.

Veildorm had to stop himself from salivating as he scribbled his name down next to Subject 109. Immediately after he took a long deep breath as he stared down at the completed list. For a brief moment he considered erasing his name like he had all the others next to Subject 109. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. How could he possibly let that body go to anyone but himself? Not after all the special attention he’d given to Kenneth across the time he and the other Humans had spent here. All those visits. All the times he’d run his three scaly hands over those hairy pecs. All the times he’d cupped that sharp and oddly alluring human face. No. It had to be Veildorm. It wouldn’t be right for anyone else to take that spot.

He tried to convince himself that the intense pounding in his chest was simply due to his anticipation. He wasn't being selfish. Not at all. He was sacrificing his Archosian body so that he could take on the burden of that gorgeous hunk of Human meat. All for the sake of his people. What could be more selfless than that?

Soon after Veildorm handed off the paperwork to his assistant Garlund who’d been standing just outside the room. He was a timid little thing who was usually good for nothing but running errands for the Commander. As such he didn’t waste any time rushing out of the room with said paperwork so it could be handed off to the team who was handling the transplant procedures.

And as he stood alone in his quarters knowing that his decision was now locked in, that pounding in his chest had evolved into a warm buzz that spread through his entire body. Archosians could not feel arousal the way Humans did but if they could, Veildorm had to imagine it wasn’t far from the excitement he was feeling now.

———

Another week passed since Veildorm signed himself up for the program. In that time many more successful transplants had been performed and there had yet to be a single failure. Both Male and Female humans had made for perfect hosts. Each having their original brains removed and replaced flawlessly with that of an Archosian. Only three of the Humans had been deemed incompatible due to chronic illnesses which made for a total of eleven when combined with the unfortunate Group A. Still that left one hundred and nine Humans who were perfectly eligible for takeover. And by now, fifty-five of those had already been converted as former Archosians acclimated to their new Human shells. Another five were currently in the process of being converted. That left only forty-nine humans who by now dreaded whatever their fate entailed. Not that they could do anything to stop it.

And amongst those forty nine sat Kenneth. Held in a suffocating suspense like the rest of the remaining Humans. Not currently strapped down to any testing tables or chairs but simply cuffed and left to sit in a desolate room until he was inevitably taken away for his ‘treatment’. Usually they were taken in batches of five and seemingly at random. The scientists came in the room one every day or two to collect the next set. They didn’t know exactly what was going to happen to them. All they did know was that all who were taken didn’t return. Except for one. The first man. The one who’d been taken all on his own. Sam Beckket.

Just over a week after poor Sam had been taken away for the first trial procedure. He was escorted back to the processing unit where the rest of the humans were still waiting. At first they were relieved to see Sam alive, believing there might be a chance they’ll survive whatever was going to happen to them. At first the only difference was that his head had been shaved. What was really odd however was the fact that he was no longer in cuffs or restraints.

It soon became clear that something had changed about Sam. They had no idea what at the time but he was acting weird. When he spoke it was like he was still trying to get all the syllables in each word correct. And the way he moved was almost uncanny. And during the hour he was left alone with the other humans, he asked them all kinds of strange questions with a look in his eyes that no longer seemed human. Almost like he was an offshoot of the Sam that a few of them had gotten to know over the time they’d been here. A doppelgänger. Something that only became more apparent when he’d started talking about how good it feels to be human while not elaborating on exactly what he meant.

“There is no need to worry my fellow Humans.” Sam would tell them. “We’ve all been chosen to be part of something so much greater.” He continued on. If the remaining humans didn’t know any better, they’d say Sam had been brainwashed. Especially with how he glorified the Archosians that stole them from their home as this all knowing race that’d come to save their planet. “Earth and Humanity will be so much better off in their hands.”

Once ‘Sam’s’ hour was up, some Archosians guards re-entered the room to collect him. No barking orders. No dragging or handcuffing. Simply treating Sam as if he was one of their own. Leaving the humans to only wonder what kind of fate had befallen him and soon them.

Only seconds after the one who called himself Sam had been escorted from the room. The door opened up again. Only this time it was the Commander of this fleet. Veildorm himself. He’d never actually proclaimed his rank before the Humans but most could tell that he was the one in charge simply by the unique uniform he wore and the way all the other Archosians seemed to bend around him.

Veildorm walked along the line of Humans. Eyeing each and every one of them while saying a single word. He paced back and forth a few times over, nice and slowly to really make them squirm. Only to finally stop on his seventh repetition right in front of his favourite subject. Dear old Kenneth.

Still silent, Veildorm kneeled down and stared closer at Kenneth. His three eyes locked with the Human’s two. Surprisingly enough however, Kenneth was the one to finally break the devastating silence that’d been sucking the oxygen from the air.

“What the hell do you want from us?” He asked sternly, trying to hold onto what little semblance of bravery he had left. Impressive considering all he’d been through. “What the hell do you want from me?” He specified.

Veildorm reached out and stroked a scaly six fingered hand against Kenneth’s bearded face. Flashing a toothy grin at the oh so handsome Human before him. “Everything.” Was all he said. A simple response that somehow managed to convey everything while explaining nothing. And with that response, Veildorm stood properly once again. He took one last look at Kenneth before turning on his heel towards the exit.

“Not long now.” Were the last words Veildorm muttered before leaving the Humans alone yet again.

———

It was only a few days after that when Veildorm found himself lying flat on an operating table. A needle plunged into one of his veins as the good doctors around him began to flood his system with a sedative. During which they reassured him they would take the utmost care with him and his selected Human vessel to assure no complications arose. Hearing that was enough to allow Veildorm to relax into the effects of the sedation as his eyes began to grow heavy.

Just before he slipped under, the last thing he thought about was Kenneth. His mind fogged up with the image of that oddly alluring Human form of his that Veildorm had been obsessed with. He pictured that heavy hairy chest and those broad thighs. Those powerful glutes and bulging arms. And that adorably handsome face. And to think that when he awoke… that would all belong to him. It almost didn’t seem real. But until reality could prove it, he’d slip away into blissful unconsciousness.

Once he was out, the scientists and doctors began their work. Carefully opening up Veildorm’s Archosian skull until his brain was exposed and ready for the taking. They gently removed it from its previous home, leaving Veildorm’s original body an empty husk while his Brain was transported across the OR.

Then came phase two. They couldn’t just cut out an Archosian brain and stuff it into a Human head. The two wouldn’t be compatible. Not naturally anyway. So some augmentation was in order. Some of the best surgical hands Veildorm had aboard his fleet worked tirelessly to remould certain parts of his disembodied brain matter. A few parts were even removed entirely while some new artificial pieces were added in. They had to be careful as to not damage anything along the way or it could risk leaving the Commander with an assortment of permanent mental injuries. Luckily they hadn’t made a mistake yet on any of their previous procedures and with all the practice, they were even less likely to do so now.

The modifications took the longest to complete because of how delicate of a process it was. Even when compared to safely removing a brain. But after a solid thirty seven hours of continuous surgery with doctors swapping in and out on shifts, Veildorm’s brain was finally ready and compatible with the Human body. As such it was left in a large preservative tube while the doctors moved onto phase three.

Inside the chamber where most of the remaining Humans were now being held, Kenneth thrashed about as three crew members tried to restrain him. They’d been sent to collect him at the request of the doctors. There was only so much of a fight he could put up while cuffed and naked. Thus, his efforts were in vain. The rest of the Humans could only watch in horror as the strongest of them was dragged away into the unknown, leaving them to sit knowing that sooner or later it would be their turn.

Kenneth was sedated soon after being strapped down to an operating table. As soon as he was out, they began by shaving his head completely bald. After which his skull was carefully cut open to reveal his Human brain sitting inside, pulsing gently. The doctors and scientists got to work surgically removing Kenneth’s brain from his body. Serving its connections to the body with great care. And once it was out, they placed it inside a jar of preservative fluid for safe keeping alongside all the other Human brains. And that’s where it would stay. After that his body was vacant with space for a new brain to move in.

Only after all the necessary preparations had been made did the fourth and final phase of the transplant get underway. It was the most important one of all. The tube-like canister containing Veildorm’s augmented brain was wheeled beside the operating table where Kenneth’s body lay. After one final check to make sure everything was in working order, tools, body and brain, they got to work one last time on former Subject 109.

Veildorm’s brain was lifted gently from its canister. The inside of Kenneth’s skull was ready to receive it. The surgeons lowered their Commander’s elegant brain inside and began connecting it to its new and equally elegant Human body. Reattaching nerve endings. Connecting blood flow. Wiring everything up nice and neat. And though it’s not as simple as it might sound, the skilled doctors were able to perform the final phase of the surgery with flawless accuracy. It wasn’t long before Veildorm’s brain was pulsing in rhythm with Kenneth’s Human heart. His Human heart.

Once they were sure everything was in working order, the surgery was concluded by reattaching the top of Kenneth’s skull to his head. The scar where it’d been opened healed over within an hour thanks to the advanced medical tech Archosians had developed. There was hardly any trace at all that his head had been cut into, nor that his brain had been replaced with a far superior one.

———

The first thing Veildorm saw when he regained consciousness was the bright overhead lights of the examination room. He struggled to open his eyes as they fought to adjust. And yet even as his vision began to acclimate to the light, a profound sense of vertigo washed over him. It was as though he was laid against a spinning turn table that caused the ceiling above him to twist in and out of focus. As such he found himself squeezing his eyes shut again with a low groan. But even that felt wrong as it felt like only two of his three eyes responded. Yet his vision still went black behind his eyelids. Had one of his eyes gone blind? Surely not. He would still feel it wouldn’t he?

“Try not to move too much sir.” A voice said, somewhere on his right. He recognised it as the voice of one of his lead Scientists. “Your waking mind is still acclimating. It’ll take a bit of time before you fully adjust.”

“H-huh? Wha-?” Veildorm grumbled, only half comprehending the words. “Adjust? I don’t…” He trailed off as his mind struggled to piece together what was happening. It was as though a thick haze had settled over his thoughts.

“You’re going to feel foggy for a few minutes but your memories will return shortly. Your brain is just figuring out how to reboot in its new state.” The voice said again.

Veildorm didn’t respond. He just made another whirring noise as he tried his utmost to gather his thoughts. He dug through the dense mist that’d settled over his mind in search of answers. Little pieces came slowly. He remembered the planet Earth. How it’d looked so similar to his homeworld Archolm-Rem. He remembered celebrating with his crew at having discovered such a gem. And then those celebrations turned to long distance spying of the planet as they learned of its inhabitants…

Humans.

Before he could dig any deeper, Veildorm began to gain a deeper sense of his own body. And right away he knew that something was off. Though it was hard to put his finger on it while his eyes were still squeezed shut, he knew something was different. For a start he could only feel the faint buzz of pins and needles in two arms rather than three. Just like with his eyes, it was as though one of his arms had vanished somehow. As if it’d been amputated. Yet at the same time he didn’t feel as though anything was missing even if all logic dictated the opposite. Same went for the legs. He could only sense two. And on top of it all, he felt so squishy? Fleshy? As if he’d somehow shed his tough scaly exterior to reveal something supple underneath. Not to mention the strange weight between his legs that he couldn’t even begin to explain…

After a few long moments, Veildorm slowly opened his eyes again in a squint. Still only two of them. The light didn’t seem as harsh this time around and the room had mostly ceased its nauseous spinning. He took that as a sign to cautiously open his eyes a little further before turning his head to one side. Even that small motion felt odd. And as he looked around, he saw what he would’ve expected to see in the examination room. A small team of crew members, mostly doctors and/or scientists. Various monitors and cameras dotted around the space. An emergency medical kit close by. He was familiar with the sight from all the times he and his crew had examined specimens from other planets in rooms just like this around the ship. But never before had he seen it from this angle as the one being examined.

“W-why… am I here?” Veildorm croaked. He was starting to notice the stark difference in his voice now as well.

“Your operation was a success sir. Resoundingly so.” One of the many crew members around him said, though he couldn’t decipher which. “You were stable enough that we moved you out of the medical bay and into the examination room just a few hours ago. Scaring to the skull is minimal and best of all there have been no signs of rejection from your new body. We’ll need to monitor you closely for a few days to be certain but at this point it’s safe to say you’re in the clear.” The voice continued on gleefully.

“Operation? New body?” Veildorm’s train of thought from before was slowly beginning to move again. The Humans. He remembered now. He’d gotten tired of watching and decided to take matters into his own hands. Sending some elite troops to abduct and bring some of them back. They’d gotten so much juicy information out of them. And amongst them there was one in particular. Subject… 109? Yes 109. That was him. Veildorm had obsessed over that Human. So much so that when they commenced the project to replace all the Human’s brains with Archosian ones, Veildorm signed himself up to-

It hit him.

Veildorm’s eyes shot wide open as the fog finally began to lift. His heart felt as though it was about to hammer its way out of his chest as the realisation of what had happened dawned on him. A wave of pure adrenaline mixed with cautious excitement washed over him as he finally lifted his head to look down at himself. What he saw was nothing short of mind boggling.

Suddenly all the weird sensations made sense. The missing appendages. The lack of a third eye. The bewildering feel of his skin. All the things that made him uniquely Archosian seemingly stripped away. Because he wasn’t an Archosian anymore. Veildorm was a Human. Or rather he had the body of one. And just from this angle alone he knew exactly which Human he was inside. He could tell purely by the curvature of his pectorals and the modest hair that coated them. Not to mention the densely muscled arms that laid either side of him, now twitching as he tried moving them for the first time. There was no doubt. Kenneth. Subject 109. The most alluring of them all.

“Careful sitting up Commander.” Another doctor told him as they watched him already attempting to do so.

Veildorm groaned again slightly as his back and abs flexed for the first time. His vision dulled for a moment at the brief drop in blood pressure due to the sudden action. It didn’t help that he was still adjusting to seeing with just two eyes. Even as his blood pressure returned to normal seconds later, he struggled to keep his vision in focus properly. But that didn’t stop him from getting at least a somewhat decent look at his new body.

As his memories began returning in full, Veildorm of course remembered that he’d requested Kenneth’s body specifically. However that didn’t make it feel any less surreal to actually have it in his possession. Knowing it would soon be his and actually owning it were two very different things. And now he finally got to reap the rewards of the risks he’d taken since discovering Earth.

He lifted up his arms slowly. Just the two of them. Yet again feeling the subtle flex of Human muscle beneath his softer skin. Despite the fleshy exterior of the human body, it still managed to feel powerful. Even in the smallest of movements he could feel the potential for strength behind them. Not to mention the weight. His arms previously had been long and slender. These arms however were thick, bulky and heavy yet satisfying all the same. And as he moved his arms around he little, he noted how their size didn’t particularly seem to limit their range of motion beyond. A fact he already knew from all the human studies that’d been conducted but he tested nonetheless.

He reached around with one meaty human hand and used it to squeeze one of his biceps. At first the muscle yielded under his touch which was a strangely satisfying feeling. The moment he tensed the bicep however, it felt hard as steel. So fascinating. His curiosity only continued along that arm as he felt up the triceps next before moving along to his wide boulder-like shoulders. And finally his chest. The shivering that touching those hairy pecs sent up his human spine was unlike anything Veildorm had ever experienced. The way they were both firm and soft at the same time as he cupped them, using both hands now. It was euphoric. And the nipples that tipped them. They seemed pointless on the male body and yet they brought so much gratification just by grazing his fingers across them. His breathing stammered a little as he held his muscled human chest for a long moment. It was everything he’d imagined it would be.

“This… this is…” He struggled to stitch his thoughts into a full sentence as he finally pulled his hands away from his pecs so that he could examine them properly. Only five fingers instead of six. But they were meatier and less skeletal than his former hands had been. His palms were like calloused mitts where the soft human skin seemed to be at its roughest and toughest. As simple as it was, he couldn’t help clenching these new hands over and over in wonder. “This is… really something else.” He finished with a hitch of delight in his tone.

The Commander took a long deep breath and felt as the air passed through his new body before exiting again gracefully. With that he finally looked further south. Past his new abdominal muscles and towards his groin where an entirely new appendage hung. A Human penis and testicles, both sitting so heavy and elegant between his legs. Of course Veildorm had never before had reproductive organs like this which of course only made them more intriguing. Hypnotic even in the sense that he could hardly pull his attention away. He’d always found the Human male sex organs to be particularly fascinating to look at but not that appreciation had bloomed ten fold as he saw it through Human eyes. Especially knowing that he owned them.

His curious hands slowly made their way down towards the thick shaft. It’d grown to a half erection in the time he’d been awake due to his bubbling excitement and was now throbbing dutifully against his right thigh. A small gasp escaped his mouth when he finally clasped a palm around the girthy length. He knew from all the experiments that the Penis was an incredibly sensitive appendage but even still nothing could’ve prepared him for how wonderful it felt to encapsulate it. To really feel all those sensitive nerves spring to life, sending pleasure signals shooting up towards his augmented brain that caused his eyes to flutter. He only got as far as a few glorious pumps before he remembered that he was surrounded by his crew.

He pulled his hand back just as his cock had begun to blossom into a full on erection. “Wow. This thing is… alluring.” He muttered softly. “But I can hardly control it.” He continued on as he found himself unable to stop it from stiffening until it felt like a perpetually flexed muscle. No matter how much he tried to will it to return to a relaxed flaccid state, his new hefty cock stayed pointing straight up towards the ceiling.

“It’s not a simple appendage to control. It’s controlled more by subconscious bodily reactions and emotions than direct signals from the brain. It’s normal for human males to struggle to control it when aroused or stimulated.” One doctor said, maintaining professionalism. “As I’m sure you remembered from our many physical experiments.”

Veildorm nodded slowly. As he did however, his attention shifted towards his head. He noticed it briefly before but the small motion had called awareness to it yet again. The shape and weight of it, just like the rest of the Human form, was so unlike what he was used to. Enough so that his hands found their way up towards it so they could inspect its form.

The first thing that shocked him was the lack of any kind of snout like Archosians have. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it sooner but the flatness of his face was jarring. No longer did his jaw and nose stuck out but rather they sat level with the rest of his features. His fingers roamed over the shape of his skull. Tracing over the ridges under skin as he examined each and every ridge. Everything was so much more compact.

And of course this meant that his hands found themselves running through his new facial hair. Between pressing his fingers to those Human lips and curling them around the ears, he allowed them to brush through the thick beard Kenneth had kept. Admiring its fullness with every little prickle the individual hairs made against his skin. It felt surprisingly satisfying to just scratch his nails through it and really admire how dense it was. Hair was such an interesting thing.

On the opposite side of the coin, Veildorm was equally bewildered by the lack of hair on his head. Especially when the Kenneth he knew had quite a nice head of it. Of course he was aware that the doctors had needed to shave it off. He thought he’d be more disappointed but honestly he didn’t hate the rough scratchy feeling of a shaved scalp. It was certainly a lot more pleasant to touch than he would’ve imagined but at this point the same went for every part of this new body.

Eventually Veildorm found himself attempting to swing his legs over the side of the bed he’d been sitting on. The movement was difficult at first and a little disorienting as the doctors persuaded him to be careful. Despite that, his new sizable Human feet soon touched the cold floor. Toes wriggling slightly as he geared himself up to stand. The doctors around him remained in standby, ready to catch him if ended up simply throwing himself on the floor. Thankfully they didn’t need to as Veildorm was able to stand himself up in one smooth motion. Powerful glutes flexed momentarily as he rose to his newfound full height before relaxing again. He wobbled slightly as he stood in place for a moment but he remained on his feet. Triumphant.

“There’s really no need to rush Commander. You should really give yourself a little longer to-” But before the doctor could finish, he had to watch as Veildorm took his first shaky step away from the bed.

“W-whoa. Okay…” Veildorm managed to maintain his balance despite stumbling just a little bit. Those strong meaty trunks he now called legs were doing a good enough job at keeping this body upright so far. So he didn’t waste much time taking another step. However he got a little too hasty that time and would’ve undoubtedly faceplanted into the floor had one of his crew members not caught his moments beforehand.

“Sir really. You should lie down for a bit longer. Give yourself some time to adjust. You’ve only just woken up.” They told him, almost begging now.

Veildorm glanced at the crew member holding him and then at the mirror across the room. “Fine. But only if you help me get a good look at my new reflection first. I need to see this.” He bargained.

The scientists and doctors shrugged and nodded, knowing full well the Commander wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And so the one holding Veildorm helped him take step after step across the room, cock still hard and bouncing with each one. Until finally, Veildorm was face to face with the reflective surface that showed him his new identity. Clear as crystal.

“I’m… a Human.” Veildorm whispered softly into the mirror. It was big enough to show not only his head but his torso too all the way down to his upper thighs. His mind struggled to process it initially. It wanted to interpret the sight as him looking into a monitor showing subject 109 because how could that possibly be him. But as the man in the mirror moved in sync with every tiny movement Veildorm made, it became impossible for his subconscious to deny. And as wonderful as that reality was, it was still hard to swallow. So much so that weird sense of vertigo from earlier began to return in small waves. For a moment leaving him a little faint as he leaned harder against the crew member trying to keep him steady.

He closed his eyes briefly and took a few deep breaths before opening them again. It was just enough to keep him afloat for now. With that he reached up to touch his new human face again. It was more intense now that he could see it reflected back at him. His human hand roaming over the pinkish skin and admiring the details. Then slowly slipping down his body again and touching each muscle, this time with even more care and wonder than before.

The sight of himself, both in the mirror and when he looked down, ignited a fire in his belly unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was like a needy desire for himself. Something so deep and primal that was urging him for some kind of release. A type of sensation Archosians had never known. Lust. Raw, unfiltered lust. For himself. For this body. It was hard to comprehend how his new human instincts could desire his own body so badly. It made him want to grab and dominate himself somehow. But also to worship himself? It was difficult for his waking mind to interpret. All he knew was that his cock was now throbbing harder than ever as he found himself subconsciously bucking his hips in the mirror. A small bead of precum even welling up at the tip.

“This is… overwhelming. So intense. I feel like an animal but-” He stopped short as his hand finally reached his cock again, pumping it a few times. He couldn’t help himself. Until another wave of faintness washed over him. He would’ve collapsed on the spot had he not still been supported.

“Alright that's enough sir. Let’s get you back in bed to rest.” They told him. “The extra blood flow being conducted to your penis certainty isn’t helping right now.”

As Veildorm was helped back onto the medical bed, he couldn’t help but grin. This body was already showering him with so many delights he had yet to fully explore. He could hardly wait to have some time alone in the coming days to finally get to know Kenneth on a much deeper level than ever before…

———

“I’m starting to grow used to this human vessel you know.” Veildorm admitted as he allowed his hands to glide down his torso as he had many times before. He could still feel the satisfying itch of body hair beneath his fingers despite the thin translucent fabric clinging to his form. It did very little to hide the masculine elegance of his new body. “I truly didn’t expect it to feel so… comfortable.”

Two weeks had passed since Veildorm’s surgery had been a resounding success. In that time he’d gained much greater control over his new form. Within days he was able to move about completely unassisted. He’d gained better control over smaller functions like focusing his eyesight. He’d adapted to only having two arms and two legs. Even this new skin started to feel normal to him. Veildorm didn’t expect to be able to adapt this quickly but when you fall as deeply in love with your vessel as he did, it makes sense.

In that time his hair had started to grow back. No longer was his head shaved bald. Instead he rocked a short but neat looking cut that’d been trimmed slightly around the sides upon request. Not quite the elegant full hair Kenneth had maintained previously but it looked good nonetheless. Over time it was sure to regrow to its former glory. Unless he wanted to return to the bald look of course. He’d actually enjoyed that more than he thought he would. It was something to think about.

However one thing he knew he wasn’t ever going to shave was all this body hair. It was just delightful. The satisfaction he got from running his fingers through his chest hair was unlike anything else. It always seemed to trigger a response from his cock, no matter how mild. The same went for everywhere else on his body. His stomach. His face. His arms and legs. And of course he couldn’t forget his fuzzy new Human bubble butt.

Veildorm had only gotten to appreciate his new backside in the days following his procedure when he finally got some time to himself. The doctors had been reluctant to leave his side at first just in case something went wrong. But eventually Veildorm had convinced them to give him some privacy. That was when the real fun began.

The first thing he did was get up and stand before the mirror once again. Admiring his reflection in a way he hadn’t been able to with all those prying eyes on him. Groping at his muscle tits. Flexing his arms. Growling like an animal as he let the heightened testosterone of a human male in its prime take over his decision making. One of those decisions had been to turn around and get a good look at his new ass. Initially he wasn’t sure why he felt so compelled to look at it but as soon as he saw his new muscle ass in the reflection, he understood. A pair of large and powerful glutes covered in a modest dusting of hair. It was a brilliant sight, one that caused his altered brain to light up with an unbridled hunger. And despite it being an impossible task, he’d wished to plunge his own cock into those cheeks and into the hole they hid between them. And right on cue, his cock was hard as steel.

In hindsight it made sense as to why he’d felt that way. Thinking back to how Human males had a sensitive prostate that could be sufficiently stimulated via anal penetration, it only made sense for them to have an urge to do so. Whether it be to themselves or other males. And in that moment, Veildorm wasn’t sure which side of that coin he was more curious about. But instead he resigned to simply groping and kneading at the bubbly flesh of his ass while truly jerking his thick human cock for the first time.

Needless to say, Veildorm had experienced many human orgasms over the last two weeks. It was a pleasure that he couldn’t help indulging in whenever he had the privacy to do so. And what was the harm? There was no downside to it. He always felt refreshed afterwards. The act itself brought levels of pleasure he’d never before known. And getting to see such a heavy flow of virile cum spilling from his cock caused his chest to swell with such pride for his new vessel. He was well aware of how odd that pride was for simply knowing how highly capable he was of reproduction but it was a natural human response. Likely to encourage males to have offspring. Regardless he enjoyed the feeling enough that he found himself experiencing it again and again and again. Every time covering his hairy abs in a white glaze.

And now here he was. Fully adjusted. Standing in nothing but a tight plain uniform that hugged his muscled form,

“That is… great news sir.” A slender, blue skinned alien rattled from behind Veildorm. Standing by idly with his three spindly arms folded behind his back. Eyes fluttering and antenna twitching nervously in the presence of his commander. Garlund. “If I’m not mistaken, the doctors made sure to give you the most ideal of the male humans we had in stock.”

Veildorm turned to his nervously jittering assistant who seemed clueless as ever. “I’m aware. I requested this human for that exact reason. Mature but still young. High levels of testosterone. Most ideal distribution of fat, muscle mass and body hair.” He paused for a moment as his gaze landed on the not so subtle bulge between his legs. “And impressive levels of virility.” He allowed a lazy hand to graze his crotch, his professional composure slipping for a fraction of a second before returning. “I’ve had my eye on him for some time. On earth he would be considered an ideal mate. Still, I did not expect it to feel this pleasant.”

“Well I… I couldn’t be happier for you sir.” Garlund praised, finding it hard to look his Commander in the eyes as he spoke. “H-Have you spoken to the high council yet about our progress on your scheme?”

Veildorm shook his head. “Not yet but I plan to fill them in soon. We’re waiting on the last couple of Archosian to Human brain transplants to be completed. If they all go well I can report a one hundred percent success rate. With how skeptical they seemed last I spoke to them, that should help reassure them. Even if just a little.” He reasoned as he placed his hands behind his back in a very commanding sort of stance.

“And after that will we be proceeding to the next step?” Garlund asked, rubbing two of his hands together. “What we’ve done already was such a leap beyond protocol. But to take it even further by dropping you and the others on Earth??”

“We will.” Veildorm confirmed with certainty. “Infiltrating Human society is necessary for taking their planet from them and making it our own. We can deepen our understanding of them. Learn their strengths and weaknesses as a population. Then plan accordingly.” He glanced down at himself. Watching the way his broad chest rose and fell with every breath. Such a sight to behold. “I will take on the name of Kenneth Barnes and use this identity to help make Earth our new utopia.”

Garlund sniffled. “Wow sir. You’re such an inspiration. To sacrifice your true body to become one of them out of pure dedication to our cause. You are something else.” He said, laying it on a little thick. “It’s a shame you’ll be stuck like this though. The doctors say there’s no way to reverse the augmentations to the brain.”

“I’m aware of that too.” Veildorm hummed. “It’s no matter. I’ve resigned myself to this Human fate and I’m more than content to see it through.” He glanced across the room at a small mirror that sat on his desk. In it he saw his new bearded face. Handsome but so far from what he once knew. “Like I said, it’s comfortable. And oddly… liberating in many ways. Not to mention humans seem to have a similar life span to us and Kenneth here was a good ten years younger than I was. So if anything I’ve given myself more time in this life. That I’m grateful for.”

“Liberating… I can only imagine what it must feel like.” Garlund croaked. “Humans do seem very graceful.” He continued on with morbid curiosity flooding his tone.

Veildorm smirked. “If you’re that curious maybe we’ll have to bring back another batch of humans in the near future. Sign you up for a transplant.” He said half jokingly.

“O-oh I’m not so-o sure I cou-uld.” Garlund stumbled through his words clumsily at the offer.

“Think about it. Who knows? You could join me someday. I’m sure we could find you a human vessel befitting an assistant for my new self.” Veildorm teased before tuning on his heel and walking over towards his desk. “Anyway, I have some work to attend to. I need to make sure everything is in order for my second in command when I leave this fleet in his hands. Some privacy would be appreciated.”

Garlund nodded, still a little flushed from the Commander’s prior offer. “Of course sir. I won’t be far if you need anything.” He said before slinking away out the door and into the vast hallway, leaving Veildorm alone.

He sighed as he sat and leaned back in his seat, legs spread as most humans males did. It was true that he still had lots to prepare but he had more than enough time to get it all done. In the meantime there was no reason he couldn’t have a little more fun and relax a little. He’d earned it after all the risks he’d taken. At least that’s what he told himself the last dozen times he whipped out his cock and blew a huge load all over himself in creamy ecstasy.

He pawed at his bulge a little as reached down and opened one of his desk drawers. Inside rolled the shaft of one of the many probes that’d been used on the males during the experiments. Bulbous and phallic. Next to it rolled a small canister of lubricant.

“About time I take this backside for a real test drive before heading to Earth.” He told himself as he pulled both out of the draw and started lubing up the probe. Shortly after he stood and placed it down on his chair before removing the thin uniform that kept his body hardly concealed. After that he didn’t waste any time lowering himself onto the cock-like substitute with a deep moan that could no doubt be heard from outside his quarters.

Veildorm was going to make the absolute most of this new body and he couldn’t be more excited to mingle with the rest of the humans on Earth.

To be continued…?

[hairy-bothered]

Will found the cane wrapped in an old wool coat at the back of the attic, beneath a collapsed cardboard box labeled CHRISTMAS — 1998.

He had only meant to look for a set of folding chairs. His mother was hosting the family that weekend, and Will, home from college for a week, had been sent upstairs with a flashlight and strict instructions not to “start digging through memories.” Which, naturally, meant he started digging through memories almost immediately.

The attic smelled like mold and dust. Every step made the floorboards groan under him. He found yellowed photo albums, cracked picture frames, a box of his father’s old baseball trophies, and finally an old coat he recognized as his late grandfather’s.

When he picked up the coat an old cane slid out from underneath. It hit the floor with a sharp wooden tap. Will froze.

He knew it at once, though he hadn’t seen it in years. His grandfather’s cane. Dark polished wood, curved silver handle, the shaft worn smooth where a hand had held it for decades. His grandfather had leaned on it at weddings, funerals, birthdays, every family gathering Will could remember from childhood. He had always seemed impossibly old to Will: broad-shouldered but stooped, white-bearded, watchful, smelling faintly of shaving cream and tobacco.

Will picked it up. The silver handle was cold. For a moment he saw his grandfather’s hand instead of his own: thick fingers, pale knuckles, age spots, the tremor he used to hide by gripping the cane harder. Will smiled despite himself and planted the tip against the attic floor.

“Still solid,” he murmured. The cane pulsed. Not vibrated. Not shifted. Pulsed, like something alive waking up in his palm.

Will tried to let go, but his fingers had already tightened around the handle. The attic dimmed and his breath caught. A strange heaviness entered his arm and moved upward, slow and certain, as though invisible water were filling him from the inside.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Nope. Not dealing with this today!” as he tried to drop the cane but still couldn’t.

His wrist ached first. Then his elbow. Then both shoulders. The flashlight slipped from his other hand and rolled across the floor, sending a beam of light spinning over boxes and rafters. Will staggered after it, but his knees buckled strangely, not with weakness exactly, but with unfamiliar weight. His body seemed to fold into a new alignment: spine compressing, hips stiffening, balance shifting forward.

He gasped and caught himself on the cane. The moment he leaned on it, the change quickened. His jeans tightened at the waist, then loosened oddly as his body reshaped beneath them. His flat young stomach softened, then settled lower, heavier. His chest broadened but lost its smoothness, skin slackening over muscle that felt dense and used rather than young. Pale hair pushed across his chest in wiry curls. His forearms thickened, veins rising beneath thinning skin.

Will stared down in horror as his hands changed on the silver handle. The long fingers he recognized shortened and widened. The skin dried, creased, spotted. His nails dulled. Fine lines opened across his knuckles, then deepened into wrinkles, as if time were writing itself into him with invisible ink.

“No, no, no—” His voice cracked. Then dropped. Then roughened into something older, lower, and hoarse around the edges. He reached a hand to his head and felt clumps of hair began to fall out leaving his scalp mostly bare and cold in the damp attic. He clapped one aged hand over his mouth in panic and felt the first prickling along his jaw. Stubble burst through. Not dark stubble. White.

The hair on his face spread rapidly, thickening from his chin up his cheeks, filling under his jaw, climbing toward his ears. His upper lip tingled fiercely as a heavy white mustache grew in, bristling over his mouth. Will stumbled toward an old standing mirror half-covered by a sheet.

He yanked the sheet away. An old man - his grandfather Carl - stared back.

Will cried out, but the sound that came from him was a ragged bark. The young face he knew was gone. His cheeks had hollowed. His brow had deepened. Lines carved themselves beside his eyes and across his forehead. His hair finished retreating in a cool rush, vanishing from the top of his head while white hair remained around the sides and back. His neck thickened, then sagged slightly beneath the jaw.

He lifted one trembling hand to his face. The man in the mirror did the same. His grandfather’s cane rested in his other hand. For several minutes, Will could only breathe.

The attic was silent except for the dry creak of the house and the faint ticking of pipes in the walls. He expected panic to keep rising until it swallowed him. Instead, after the first terror passed, something stranger settled over him. Memory.

Not images exactly. Impressions. The weight of birthdays attended from a chair in the corner. The ache of knees before rain. The habit of pausing before standing. The knowledge of where every light switch in the house was. His grandfather’s voice saying, “A man ought to know when to hold on and when to let go.”

Will looked at the cane. His grip had become natural. Too natural. He tried to stand straight without it and immediately felt the pull of age through his back and hips. He grimaced, then planted the cane again. The old body accepted the support with humiliating relief.

From below, his mother called, “Will? Did you find the chairs?”

He opened his mouth to answer. For one wild second, he imagined going downstairs like this. His mother seeing him. The screaming. The impossible explanations.

Then his reflection caught his eye again. The old man in the mirror looked frightened, yes—but also steady. Familiar in a way Will did not want to understand. He swallowed. The beard shifted against his chest.

“Not yet,” he called back. The voice that answered was deep, weathered, and unmistakably not his own.

His mother went quiet. Will tightened both hands around the cane. Downstairs, footsteps began moving toward the attic door. Then, on instinct more than courage, he let go.

The cane struck the attic floor with a hard wooden clatter. The sound cracked through the room like a spell breaking. Will staggered backward, suddenly unsupported, expecting his old knees to give out beneath him. Instead, a sharp heat rushed up through his legs. His hips loosened. His spine stretched. The heavy ache in his back peeled away all at once, so quickly it made him gasp. His hands flew to his face as the beard withdrew beneath his palms, white bristles sinking back into smooth skin. His scalp prickled as dark hair returned in damp curls. The wrinkles around his eyes softened, the weight in his belly pulled tight and flat, and his voice—when he breathed out—was his own again.

By the time the attic door swung open, Will was on his knees beside the fallen cane, panting, young and shaking in his hoodie and jeans. His mother appeared at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing, already frowning. “Will, what are you doing up here? I asked you to find the folding chairs, not unpack the entire attic.” She stepped carefully over a box, glanced at the cane on the floor, and shook her head. “Honestly. Your grandfather’s things have been sitting here for years. Leave them alone and help me.” Will swallowed, still feeling the ghost of the cane in his palm, then reached for the nearest stack of chairs without looking back at it.

[hairy-bothered]

The Architect of Desire - Pt 2

Continued from Pt1 here.

Jake lasted in his old body for one whole day.

On Tuesday night, after pretending not to think about it through two seminars, one studio work session, and an entire miserable dinner of cold leftover lo mein, he opened the box again. The blue vial waited.

BRO

“It’s just a test,” Jake said and he drank it while removing his shirt and walking into his bathroom - eager to see how BRO would change him - hoping he wouldn't regret giving up being a cowboy.

This one hit faster. His body did not age upward. It snapped younger and larger at the same time, like a rubber band released. His skin brightened even as his chest expanded. His shoulders widened, but differently from Cowboy Jake’s. Less weathered, more gym-built. His arms thickened with an easy athletic fullness. His stomach firmed. His waist stayed trim. His thighs pressed into his athletic shorts, filling them until the fabric was taut, exposing the bulge of his changing dick.

Hair burst across him in a dark rush. Jake gasped as his chest filled, thicker than the cowboy version, darker and denser, a real pelt spreading across his pecs and down the center of his stomach. His arms grew hairier. Shoulders, upper arms, forearms — all of it came in heavy, masculine, almost shocking against his younger skin. His beard started to push out full and dark along his jaw, swallowing the careful uncertainty of his old face.

Jake’s face shifted into a version that looked slightly younger - undergrad age - twenty-three: handsome, fratty, broad-cheeked, approachable. His eyes looked a little brighter. His grin arrived before he decided to smile. When it ended, Frat Boy Jake stared back from the mirror.

He was ridiculous. He was so hot. Jake laughed. The sound came out louder than expected, an easy bark of disbelief. He ran to his bedroom and grabbed a baseball cap. He returned to the bathroom and put it backwards on his head. He flexed one arm and immediately laughed again because he looked like the kind of guy who flexed as a joke and knew everyone would still look. His chest hair moved with his breathing. His beard made his face feel heavier, his jaw framed in dark confidence. The backward cap should have looked stupid. Instead it looked like a part of his persona.

He messaged Hairy-Bothered.

Jake: Okay. This one is insane.

hairy-bothered: There he is.

Jake: I look like every guy I hated wanting.

hairy-bothered: You look like a good pup.

Jake’s thumb hovered.

Jake: Don’t call me that.

hairy-bothered: You sure?

Jake read it once. Then again. Then he locked his phone and told himself the heat in his face and the twitch in his pants was only embarrassment.

“My dick!” he shouted. “I haven’t even looked at what this new body is packing!” Just like when he changed to his cowboy persona, frat boy Jake slowly lifted the elastic of his pants to see what changes awaited him. At the base of a thick set of curly black pubes sat a stubby girthy uncut dick. Not as long as cowboy Jake’s, but much thicker with a large mushroom head and two perky testicles sitting tight underneath.

Jake reached a smooth hairy hand down and slid open the foreskin exposing the head. He ran two fingers along it wiping a bead of precum that pooled at the tip from all the excitement. He looked at his new hairy chest and thick beard in the mirror while starting to stroke his thick new monster cock. This was his favorite part of the change - discovering his new modified body, it's new needs and moods.

Jake started thinking about the same frat boy in his studio with thick stubble and a tight body that he masturbated thinking about as cowboy Jake. But whereas cowboy Jake’s thoughts had floated towards dominating men - frat boy Jake instantly thought about being used and fucked by his classmate. Regardless, he came too quickly for the thought to overstay its welcome - overstimulated in this younger, hairier, quicker version of himself. He chalked up the brief sub fantasy to the quick flood of hormones while he cleaned up the flood of cum on his vanity - putting his cock back into his pants with an unknowing grin.

Frat boy Jake fit campus immediately. That was what scared him, though not at first. People treated him like he had always been this version of Jake: louder, friendlier, more physical. A guy from studio slapped his shoulder and asked if he was coming out Friday. A girl in his seminar borrowed a pencil and said, “Thanks, bro,” like it was a shared joke. The ex-frat guy invited him to lift.

Jake went. Of course he went. His body wanted movement. It wanted noise, sweat, contact, protein shakes, laundry left in the dryer too long, men laughing too loud in locker rooms. He still liked painting. He still loved architecture. But his attention kept sliding sideways. He doodled elevations beside cartoonish Greek letters. He showed up to studio in gym shorts. He said “bro” once, ironically, then twice without thinking.

His work changed, too. It got messier but bolder. His models lost some of Cowboy Jake’s practical severity and gained strange, aggressive forms — cantilevers, open courtyards, social spaces meant for bodies instead of quiet observation.

His professor looked at one and said, “This is less refined, but more alive.”

Jake grinned. “Hell yeah.” Then he heard himself and winced.

Hairy-Bothered messaged every night. At first it was teasing.

hairy-bothered: How’s pledge life?

Jake: Not a pledge.

hairy-bothered: Backward cap says otherwise.

Then it got warmer.

hairy-bothered: Hitting your protein goals, bro?

Jake: Weirdly yes.

hairy-bothered: Good. Big boys need fuel for their daddies.

Jake liked that too much. That was the thing about this new iteration of himself: he liked things too easily. Cowboy Jake had wanted. Cowboy Jake had chosen. Cowboy Jake had looked at men and decided whether to approach.

Frat boy Jake wanted to be chosen. It took Jake a few days to understand the difference. He first noticed at the gym. An older man with a thick neck and graying beard corrected his form on a lift. Nothing overtly flirtatious. Nothing dramatic. Just a hand hovering near Jake’s elbow and a calm, “Slow down. Control it.”

Jake’s body obeyed before his brain decided to. The man nodded. “Better, son.”

Jake felt the praise hit him so hard he nearly dropped his dumbbell. The weight of the word "son" at the end, in the older man’s deep bass voice caused his dick to spring to life. His voice cracked as he replied with a shaky soft “Thanks.”

“No problem, son” the older man said as he gave Jake a little wink and began to walk off. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

Jake kept an eye on the man throughout his workout. Eventually, he saw him gather his items and head towards the locker room. Jake paused before his new impulses got the best of him and he followed the man back - which was not unnoticed.

In the locker room Jake found a flimsy excuse to approach asking about a technique he saw the man use. The older man laughed, briefly explained, and then touched Jake on the elbow to demonstrate. Jake leaned back into it and met his gaze with soft eyes.

“You’re very handsome” the older man whispered to Jake while still holding his elbow. “I bet you like a hard cock in your ass.”

Jake briefly paused. Cowboy Jake would have revolted at the inclination. Normal Jake would have been curious but too cautious and awkward, but this iteration of Jake could not resist. He replied with a simple “Yes, sir” behind bedroom eyes.

“That’s a good boy.” Let’s take this somewhere quieter. After a few more gentle touches and soft compliments Jake found himself lead by the man into a family use bathroom stall.

The older man pulled down his pants, releasing a half-hard 7” cut dick and two pendulous balls from their sweaty confines. As if on autopilot, Jake moved forward got on his knees and took the man’s dick in his mouth.

The man’s bush and dick smelt of sweat and musk - and Jake loved it. He loved the feeling of the man’s cock slowly engorging in his mouth. He loved the way the older man pet his hair and called him a “good boy” as he eagerly sucked his cock. He loved the sounds of pleasure he heard when he hit just the right spot with his tongue.

Jake pulled down his own pants and began rubbing his cock as the older man was growing closer. After a couple minutes the older man pulled his cock out of Jake’s mouth and slapped him in the face with it.

“Do you like that, pup?” he said.

Pup….there was that word again. “Yes, sir…”was all he could spit out before his mouth was filled with dick again.

“Good boy. I’m getting close. Are you ready?”

Jake deep throated the man's dick and mumbled a soft “uh-huh” just before the man pulled out again and sprayed cum all over his thick beard. This pushed Jake over the top - the feeling of being dominated, being used for another man’s pleasure - which he could now feel cool and damp on his face and beard. Jake came with a loud deep moan into his hand, cum splattering on the tile of the bathroom floor and on the older man's shoes. Then, as if by instinct, Jake leaned forward and licked his cum off the top of the man's shoes.

"Kinky" was all he heard from the older man while lapping at his cum. "You are a good pup, I see."

Later, he sat in his car gripping the steering wheel, horrified. “I wanted to be more dominant,” he told his reflection in the dark windshield.

His reflection looked back almost laughing at him - with a huge beard, dense chest hair visible at the collar of his tank, and eyes that seemed less horrified than eager. This body was everything he hoped for, but it came with a price - was he willing to pay it?

The next message from Hairy-Bothered arrived as if he had been watching.

hairy-bothered: Figured it out yet?

Jake did not answer.

hairy-bothered: Cowboy wanted to take charge.

Still Jake did not answer.

hairy-bothered: Bro wants a man who knows what to do with him. He wants to please.

Jake threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

Then picked it up again thirty seconds later.

Jake: It’s just the vial. It’s not really me.

hairy-bothered: Of course not, Jake.

Jake: I can go back.

hairy-bothered: You have one return left - do you want to live your life as you were?

That sentence settled in Jake’s stomach. One return. He could go back. He should go back. He had tested it. He had learned the difference. The cowboy body had been a fantasy of control. The bro body was becoming something else, something that made his thoughts warm and stupid around certain men, something that made the word daddy feel less like a joke every time Hairy-Bothered typed it. Something alien enough from who he thought he was in his core that the perks of his new hairy body maybe - just maybe - didn’t outweigh it.

Friday night, he put the final RETURN vial on the bathroom sink. He stared at it for ten full minutes.

Frat Boy Jake stared back from the mirror, shirtless in the same homely bathroom where this had started. But the room looked different now. There were gym clothes on the floor, a cap on the towel rack, a fraternity rush flyer tucked into the mirror frame like it belonged there. His old sketchbooks were still visible on a shelf, but they looked like artifacts from a quieter roommate.

Jake uncorked the vial. His hand was bigger than it used to be. Hair darkened his wrist and climbed the back of his fingers. His grip felt strong but strangely careless, as if the body trusted force more than precision.

“Just drink it,” he whispered.

His phone buzzed on the counter. He should not have looked. He looked.

hairy-bothered: Nervous, bro?

Jake’s stomach tightened.

Jake: I’m going back.

hairy-bothered: If that’s what you want, pup.

Jake hesitated at the sight of that word again. Feeling a twitch in his dick at the thought of being dominated - of being led around on a leash for the pleasure of another more important man. He shook his head and typed.

Jake: It is.

hairy-bothered: Good boys can make their own choices.

Jake’s breath caught on the words "good boys." He hated that. He loved that. For one clear second, old Jake rose inside him — the observant Jake, the careful Jake, the one who understood rooms and traps and thresholds. He saw the whole shape of it. The first vial had not been the trap. The cowboy had been bait. Hairy-Bothered had let him taste dominance so he would trust the magic, then let his own insecurity push him younger, louder, easier.

Jake felt manipulated. How could he be so stupid? He grabbed the vial tighter. Too tight. It slipped. Glass hit porcelain. The sound was small and final. The clear liquid splashed across the sink and vanished down the drain before Jake could move.

He stared at the broken pieces.

“No,” he said.

His voice sounded wrong. Too deep with the beard, too young with the panic.

“No, no, no.”

His phone buzzed. He looked down.

hairy-bothered: Clumsy boy.

Jake’s eyes burned with anger, fear, and something he did not want to name.

Jake: Send another.

hairy-bothered: I don’t think so.

Jake: This isn’t funny.

hairy-bothered: A little funny, pup.

Jake gripped the sink. His chest rose and fell, heavy hair shifting with each breath. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to find the original version of himself. He could see traces: the eyes, maybe, the mouth when he stopped grinning, the shape under the beard. But the rest of him was pledge-bro bulk and thick hair and a body that reacted to panic by wanting direction. Reacted to desire by wanting a dick in his ass and cum on his face.

Another message appeared.

hairy-bothered: Pack a bag.

Jake laughed once, sharp and disbelieving.

Jake: No.

hairy-bothered: Are you sure, son?

Jake put the phone face down. A few minutes later, he picked it back up. An address was waiting. For a while Jake did not move. He stood in the bathroom, both hands on the counter, broken glass glittering in the sink, his reflection trapped between the yellow light and the mirror’s dark edges.

Then he went to his room. He did not pack much. Gym shorts. Jeans. A few shirts that accentuated his muscles and showed off his chest hair. Toothbrush. Charger. Sketchbook, after a pause. The black vial box sat near his bag, empty now except for foam impressions shaped like choices he had been naive enough to make.

He looked around his rewritten room. SEC flag. Protein tub. Paints still stacked by the window. A controller on the bed. Architecture drawings pinned beside a photo that now showed frat boy Jake with his arm around men he did not remember meeting.

He caught himself smiling at the photo. “Stop,” he said softly. The smile faded. Then came back, smaller. His phone buzzed.

hairy-bothered: Good pup.

Jake closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked in the mirror one last time. The man staring back was twenty-three, bearded, broad, hairy, and bright-eyed under a backward cap. He looked friendly. He looked eager. He looked like every guy Jake had once watched from across campus with a complicated ache in his chest.

He looked nothing like the anxious grad student who had opened the package. Or maybe, Jake thought, he looked exactly like what that grad student had been circling all along.

He zipped the duffel. On the way out, he paused at the door, keys in hand, trying to summon the part of himself that would turn around.

Instead, his thumb opened the message thread.

Jake: I'm coming, but not coming because you told me to.

The reply came almost immediately.

hairy-bothered: Sure, Jake. Good boys can pretend.

Jake stared at the words until they blurred into something warm and impossible to resist. By the time he locked the apartment door behind him, he had almost stopped thinking of it as being trapped.

He had a hungry eager young hole that needed to be filled and he was just going to meet Daddy for Father’s Day.

[hairy-bothered]

The Architect of Desire - Pt 1

Jake had always been better at imagining rooms than entering them. That was what architecture school had taught him, or maybe what it had exposed about him.

He could spend hours thinking about how a hallway narrowed before opening into light, how a ceiling height changed the feeling of a room, how brick looked different at dusk than it did at noon.

For fun he liked to paint. He could paint until three in the morning with a podcast playing and a half-finished video game paused beside him. He could present a model and explain, carefully, why a wall bent the way it did.

But walking into a bar alone? Holding eye contact with a man with a thick beard and cowboy boots? Taking up space around the kinds of guys who seemed born knowing how to lean, laugh, lift, flirt, and fill a room? That was harder.

Texas was full of them. Frat boys in athletic shorts and backward caps crowding the coffee shop near campus. Fitness bros with damp hair and enormous gym bags crossing the street like traffic had agreed to wait for them just to see them cross in short shorts and tank tops. Cowboys who were mostly just men with good genes, expensive jeans and undeserved confidence, but who all seemed to possess the same relaxed certainty in their bodies.

Jake watched them more than he meant to. He watched their shoulders. Their forearms. The way chest hair curled out of an unbuttoned flannel. The way a mustache could make a man look older, rougher, more decisive. He watched the men who approached other men without the nervous pause Jake always felt in his stomach.

He wanted them - that part was obvious and easy to admit. The harder part was admitting he wanted to be them. Not literally them - but rather a version of himself more like them. And not forever - at least this is what he told himself. Just for long enough to know what it felt like to walk through the world with that kind of weight. Enough to know what it felt like for other men to look at him first. Enough to stop feeling like the thoughtful, slim, average grad student standing just outside the fantasy, with his sketchbook pressed to his chest, like a lost Disney princess before the inevitable glow-up and the arrival of the romantic prince.

Late one Thursday night, after a studio critique that had gone badly enough to make him skip dinner, Jake ended up on Tumblr. He had been following hairy-bothered for months.

The blog was exactly what the name promised: hairy men, transformations, captions about masculinity, frat boys, gym daddies, “before and after” edits that were just plausible enough to make Jake stare too long. The blog posted in a voice that felt teasing and patient at the same time. Daddy-ish, Jake thought once, then closed the app as if someone could see the word in his head.

That night, exhausted and irritated, he opened a message box to the author of the blog.

Jake: Weird question. Do you ever feel like you’re attracted to a type of guy because you wish you were that type of guy?

The answer came back fast enough to make him sit up.

hairy-bothered: Not weird, pup. That’s usually where it starts.

Jake stared at the word pup for a while before replying.

Jake: I’m not a pup.

hairy-bothered: Sure, if you say so. ;)

Jake laughed despite himself, embarrassed alone in his apartment. The conversation stretched past midnight. Jake told him more than he meant to. That he was twenty-five. That he studied architecture. That he painted, gamed, worked too much, hooked up too little, and lived mostly inside his own head. That he was single and tired of being nervous. That he liked frat boys and cowboys and men who looked like they knew what they wanted. Then, finally, after a long pause, he typed the thing he had not said out loud.

Jake: I wish I were hairier. Bigger, too, I guess. More masculine. More dominant. Like I could walk into a bar and actually do something instead of just hoping someone notices me and makes the first move.

There was no answer for almost a minute. Then:

hairy-bothered: Careful, Jake. Some boys get what they ask for and realize they were thinking too small.

Jake’s face warmed.

Jake: That sounds like a caption for one of your stories.

hairy-bothered: Maybe it was, maybe it will be, or maybe - just maybe - it’s advice you should listen to.

Three days later, the package arrived. It was small, plain, and addressed to Jake in blocky black handwriting. No return address. Jake opened it at his kitchen counter with his backpack still on one shoulder.

Inside was a padded black box and a folded note. The box held four glass vials, each nestled in dark foam. Two were filled with clear liquid and labeled RETURN. One held amber liquid and was labeled YEEHAW. The last one was cloudy pale blue and labeled BRO. Jake actually laughed out loud.

The note read:

Try one when you’re tired of imagining.

Return when you’re done pretending.

But don’t waste the version of yourself that finally fits.

He took a picture and sent it to Hairy-Bothered.

Jake: Okay, very funny.

hairy-bothered: You got them, I see.

Jake: Are these colored vodka shots? Am I supposed to drink mystery Tumblr alcohol from a stranger?

hairy-bothered: You wanted to know how it felt.

Jake: To be poisoned?

hairy-bothered: Drink the cowboy first. You’ve been staring at boots too long. Wouldn’t you like to fit into a pair of your own?

Jake put down his phone and closed the box.

For two days, he left it on his desk beside a stack of trace paper and pretended he was not looking at it every time he entered the room.

Then came Monday. His studio professor hated his revised concept. One of his basswood models snapped in his hands five minutes before review. A guy in his cohort, the kind of square-jawed ex-frat guy who called everyone “man” and somehow made it sound natural, offered help in a tone that made Jake feel twelve.

By the time Jake got home, he was hot with humiliation. He stood in his bathroom under the flat light, shirtless in loose shorts, staring at himself. Slim. Lightly cut. A little chest hair. A beard that was…fine, maybe even good, but not enough to change the shape of his face. He looked young in a way that irritated him.

On his phone, a message waited.

hairy-bothered: Bad day, cowboy?

Jake exhaled through his nose. He went to the desk, opened the black box, and picked up the amber vial.

“Not real,” he said to the room so that when nothing happened he’d feel less foolish. “Bottoms up…” he muttered to himself.

Then he drank YEEHAW.

It tasted smokey, with hints of honey, and lavender. For ten seconds, nothing happened. Jake sighed and let out a frustrated “of course not…”

Then heat gathered under his skin. Jake gripped the edge of the desk. “Oh,” he said, because it was the only word available.

The heat moved outward in waves. His shoulders ached first, a deep pressure pushing from inside the joints. The bones did not crack so much as settle into a wider arrangement, as if his body had been waiting for permission to take up more room. Muscle packed itself across his upper back and chest, not inflated or cartoonish, but dense and practical. His torso thickened. His waist stayed firm but sturdier, built less like a grad student who forgot meals and workouts and more like a man who carried heavy things because he could.

His shorts tightened at the hips. His thighs pressed against the fabric. His hands clenched on the desk, and Jake stared as they changed: broader palms, thicker fingers, veins rising, skin roughening faintly across the knuckles. They looked like hands that knew rope, tools, steering wheels, the feel of other men’s collars.

The thought made him swallow. The pain subsided enough for him to move to the bathroom - eager to see the changes he felt rippling through his body.

Hair spread next. It started as prickling across his sternum, then became an almost unbearable tickle. His light chest hair darkened and multiplied, filling outward across his pecs in a dense, natural mat. A thick line ran down the center of his torso where the hair was most dense, darker and heavier, pulling toward his navel and below.

Hair climbed his shoulders, dusted his upper arms, thickened on his forearms. He twisted toward the mirror and saw it wrapping around the tops of his shoulders, hinting at a back that was no longer smooth or boyish.

His skin deepened, taking on a sun-touched tan as if he had spent years outside instead of under fluorescent studio lights. His posture changed without his permission. His shoulders eased back. His stance widened. He stopped hovering over himself.

Then his face shifted. Jake felt it in the jaw first: a heavier set, a firmer line. His cheeks matured. The soft uncertainty around his eyes sharpened into something calmer. Lines etched lightly at the corners, crow’s feet that did not make him old so much as experienced. Laugh lines bracketed his mouth. His beard pulled back into rough stubble along his jaw while his mustache thickened, darkened, and settled heavily over his upper lip. His hair receded slightly at the front, sides tidying, top remaining short.

When it was done, Jake stood frozen in front of the mirror. The man staring back was him - sorta. That was the terrifying part.

He was still Jake in the softness around his eyes, still Jake in the angle of the mouth, still Jake somewhere under the stronger jaw and weathered skin. But he was Jake at thirty-five, maybe thirty-six. Jake after sun, work, confidence, years of being heard and seen. Shirtless, hairy, tanned, broad, with a thick mustache and hands that looked dangerous even resting at his sides.

“Cowboy Jake” he whispered in a deeper voice with a Texas drawl - flexing a swollen bicep.

He should have panicked. He did panic, technically. His heart hammered. His mouth went dry. He backed away from the mirror, then stepped forward again because he could not stop looking.

His phone buzzed.

hairy-bothered: Well?

Jake picked it up with his new massive hairy hand. The phone looked smaller.

Jake: What did you do to me?

hairy-bothered: I mailed you a choice. You drank it.

Jake: You didn’t say it would change my age! I look thirty-five!

hairy-bothered: You look like a man who doesn’t stand in the corner of bars watching the world dance by.

Jake looked back at the mirror. His mustache moved when he smiled.

He put down his phone and took a deep breath. “Moment of truth” he thought as he stretched the elastic of his grey shorts to see what had changed below his belt - hoping hairy-bothered had worked some magic on his average 5” cut dick. Jake peaked over his new pecs to see a massive bush of pubes and nestled within, like a snake in the grass, was an 8” semi-hard cock in his shorts. “Whoa…” was all he could mutter.

He picked up his phone.

Jake: BTW - thanks for the new 🍆

hairy-bothered: Don’t mention it. ;) Have fun! 🍆💦💦

Jake put down his phone, and as he pulled his shorts over his hairy bush his dick, slowly becoming visible, flopped out. “Yes…” Jake thought at the sight of his new member on full display. He reached a thick hairy hand down and gave his new dick a little tug, which coaxed his dick into a full erection at 9", thick, veiny with dense hair on the base.

He inspected how the weight of his new rod shifted, the way it responded. He reached behind and felt two golf ball sized nuts in a long dangling sack. He thought about how his new nuts were perfectly situated to slap against another man’s ass as he fucked them.

Jake grabbed his cock with one hand and started to pump his shaft. Softly, at first, but before long his pace shifted into a higher gear and he moved up to the head - sliding his new foreskin over his glans. It felt sensitive in a way his cut cock never did.

He looked at himself in the mirror. At his new muscles, at the hair coating his body, at the thick mustache above his lip that tickled when he pursed his lips. Gradually his pace quickened and he started thrusting into his hand.

He started visualizing the type of men he could dominate in this upgraded body. How they would worship his hairy pecs, dwell a moment longer sniffing his hairy pits, moan under the pressure of his new cock deep inside them.

After a couple of minutes visualizing himself fucking a twenty three year old frat boy from his design studio with a tight body and thick stubble, Jake felt the heat build up across his body and release in an instant with a deep moan as he ejaculated ropes of thick creamy cum on the bathroom mirror. “Whoa…” he muttered again before cleaning up. 

For the next few days, nobody noticed anything was wrong. That was almost worse than if they had screamed at the sight of him. Jake’s classmates greeted him like always. His professor called on him without hesitation. The barista wrote Jake on his coffee cup and did not blink at the fact that Jake’s wrist looked twice as thick and his mustache could have belonged on a rancher in a beer commercial. The world had edited itself around him.

His driver’s license and student ID showed his new face - and birthdate - July 12, 1990 putting him at nearly 36 years old. Photos on his phone had changed, too. There he was at a gallery opening with the mustache. There he was in a group project photo, broad-shouldered in a denim shirt. There he was on his couch holding a controller, looking like somebody’s hot older brother who had wandered into grad school by mistake.

Only Jake - and hairy-bothered - remembered him being smaller. Only they knew who Jake was in his core.

In studio, this new version of Jake was a problem. He did not fit at the narrow desks the same way - his knees bumped the underside. His fingers were thicker around the delicate knife he used to cut chipboard. His classmates looked briefly confused when he leaned over their models, not because they remembered him differently, but because the shirt stretched over his chest and forearms made him impossible not to notice.

Despite the litany of physical changes, the real change was Jake's voice - and not just his new drawl. He stopped apologizing for himself. He spoke with intention and confidence. He took space and started going after what he wanted.

When his professor questioned his structural logic for a project, Jake heard himself say, “No, that’s not the point of the load path,” and then calmly walked the room through it. His voice came out lower, slower, with no upward nervousness at the end. People listened. The ex-frat guy in his cohort nodded. His professor paused, then said, “That’s stronger.”

Jake should have been horrified. Instead, he wanted to laugh. He nailed the review. That night to celebrate he went to a bar. He told himself it was research. He told himself he needed to know how his new body moved in public, how people responded, whether the change held under pressure. Whether this was worth it. He put on jeans, boots, a white undershirt under an open plaid shirt, then stared at himself so long he forgot the excuse.

The shirt did not hide him. Muscles bulged. Hair showed at the collar. The mustache changed the weight and gravity of every expression. The jeans fit his hairy thighs in a way that made him understand why men leaned against bar counters.

At the bar - a gay western themed affair called the Rainbow Pony - he did not wait. He saw a man near the jukebox looking at him. Not glancing. Looking. Old Jake would have looked away and built an entire alternate life in his head. Cowboy Jake walked over.

“Evening,” Jake said.

The man smiled before answering. “Hi, I’m Dan.”

“Good to meet you, Dan. You here alone?”

“Yes,” he spit out before Jake even finished his thought, “Well...no. I’m here with some friends” he said pointing to a group of men at the other side of the bar.

“Ahh,” Jake replied. “Maybe I’ll catch you later his evening then?” And he made his way through the crowd.

That was new. Everything about the night felt new. Men moved around him differently. Some gave him space. Some stepped closer. He flirted without rehearsing. He made choices. He let his gaze linger and watched men react to being seen by him. His body seemed to know the timing of a slow smile, the weight of silence, the exact angle to lean so the hair at his open collar showed just enough to have men’s eyes linger.

The man from the jukebox had stayed close all night, laughing into his beer, glancing at Jake’s mouth whenever the mustache shifted with a smile. Old Jake would have spent the entire ride home wondering whether he was reading the signals correctly. This Jake did not wonder. When the Uber pulled up, he opened the door, gave the man one slow look, and said, “Get in, we're going to your place.”

The back seat was dark except for the passing streetlights. The second the door shut, the man turned toward him, still wearing that amused, challenging expression. Jake caught him by the front of his shirt and pulled him in. The kiss was not careful. It was warm, rough, confident — the kind of kiss Jake used to imagine other men giving. Now it came out of him naturally, like the new body had brought its own instructions.

The man made a small surprised sound against his mouth, then kissed him back harder. That was all the permission Jake needed. He shifted closer, one broad hand firm at the man’s jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his beard while the other settled against his waist, holding him there like Jake had already decided where the night was going. The man’s hat bumped the car window. Jake smiled into the kiss, not apologizing.

For a moment, the old Jake flickered somewhere under the heat of it — shocked by his own certainty, by the weight of his hands, by how easily he took control. Then the man’s fingers tightened in his open plaid shirt, pulling at the white undershirt beneath, and the cowboy in him pushed forward again. Jake broke the kiss only long enough to murmur, low and close, “You’ve been looking at me all night.”

The man swallowed, eyes bright in the passing neon. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re hard to miss.” Jake’s mustache lifted with a slow grin of self-satisfaction.

“Good,” he said, and kissed him again before the car had made it three blocks.

Dan lived on the third floor of an older apartment building above a quiet street, the kind with narrow stairs, fluorescent hallway light, and doors that looked like they had been painted too many times over the years. Jake followed him up without saying much. He didn’t need to. The whole way, Dan kept glancing back over his shoulder, smiling like he was daring Jake to do something before they even made it inside.

Jake waited until the apartment door shut. Then he moved. Dan barely had time to set his keys on the table before Jake crowded him back against the wall, one hand braced beside his head, the other catching him firmly at the waist. He kissed him again, deeper this time, slower but no less certain.

The old Jake might have asked if this was okay in a nervous voice that made the question smaller than it needed to be. Cowboy Jake asked differently. He paused just long enough to look Dan in the eyes - seeing them screaming for attention and the touch of Jake’s hands.

The apartment was dim except for a lamp near the couch. Jake walked him backward through it, kissing him between steps, making Dan laugh once when he bumped into the edge of a chair. The laugh died quickly when Jake’s hands settled on him again, confident and possessive, guiding instead of asking. He liked the way Dan responded to that — the way the teasing smile slipped, the way his breath changed, the way he stopped performing and started following.

Dan reached to pull off Jake’s plaid shirt, but Jake caught his wrist and pinned it gently against the wall. Dan’s eyes lifted.

Jake smiled under the mustache. “Not yet, cowboy.”

The words should have embarrassed him. Instead, they came out low and natural, like he had always been the kind of man who could say them and be obeyed.

Dan swallowed, then nodded.

Jake let go of his wrist and took his time with the shirt himself, sliding his outer shirt off leaving his white undershirt for Dan to see the dark hair at the collar, the new breadth of his chest and shoulders. Dan stared, and Jake felt that look move through him like confirmation. This was what he had wanted in the bar. This was what he had wanted on campus, in the mirror, in every late-night fantasy he had pretended was only attraction…to be the man someone else could not stop looking at.

He stepped closer again and kissed Dan until the back of Dan’s head touched the wall. Then he leaned near his ear and said, “Bedroom, now.”

Dan laughed once, breathless. “You always this bossy?”

Jake pulled back just enough for Dan to see his grin. “No,” he said honestly. Then, after a beat, he added, “But I’m learning fast.”

Dan took his hand and led him down the short hallway. Jake followed, but only because he chose to. At the bedroom door, he turned Dan around, kissed him again, and shut the door behind them with one broad hand.

Dan’s bedroom was tidy and organized, with a queen sized bed pushed against the window, two nightstand and some photos on the wall. Jake removed Dan’s cowboy hat and put it on his head. “Mind if I borrow this tonight, partner?” he grinned.

He then proceeded to unbutton Dan’s shirt. While Dan returned the favor by pulling off Jake’s undershirt - leaving him in jeans and the borrowed cowboy hat.

Dan gave Jake a good look and said “Wow, I love how hairy you are. It’s so hot.”

Old Jake was beaming on the inside. Cowboy Jake took the compliment in stride by simply pulling Dan towards him and whispering “I know you do” in his ear while simultaneously unbuttoning Dan's jeans and pushing him onto the bed.

Jake unbuttoned his own pants and climbed on top of Dan - grinding their eager cocks against their thigh-tight denim. They kissed heavily while dry humping before Dan reached into his nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube.

“I want you to fuck me, cowboy” he whispered to Jake between heavy kisses with tongues intertwined.

“I was waiting for you to say that.”

Jake then pulled down his jeans and underwear releasing his dick, while Dan reciprocated by removing his pants and underwear.

“Hairy and hung” my favorite combination, Dan said.

Jake gave a little chuckle - remembering his former smaller dick and less hirsute body. He then lifted Dan’s legs and spit on his asshole before going in with his tongue - prepping him to take his 9" thick dick. Dan began to moan and writhe at the feeling of Jake lapping in and around his asshole - the bristles of his mustache teasing him.

Jake took the bottle of lube and rubbed some into Dan’s yearning hole with two then three fingers before smearing some over his own dick. He then pressed his cock again Dan’s asshole and slowly pushed in, the two men interlocked in missionary style, face-to-face.

“Mmm…” Dan moaned as Jake’s dick slide in further, stretching him out. "It's been a while since I've taken such a big dick."

"That's a boy, you're taking it like a champ" Jake whispered as he slide his dick further with each slow thrust.

Dan reached up and felt Jake’s hairy chest, kissed his mustached face, and then dug his hands into Jake’s hairy back - pulling him deeper into his ass. The attention drove Jake wild as he began to pump hungrily into Dan’s tight hole.

Jake began to lose himself in thought - here he was doing something old Jake would never have dared - fucking a stranger he met in a bar, being worshiped for his hairy body, stern broad face, and massive new cock.

Jake snapped back into the moment when he heard the tone of Dan’s moans shift. He felt Dan's tight hole begin to spasm around his cock as he came from the intensity of Jake's dick in his ass - cum splattering up on Jake’s hairy chest. Jake pulled his dick out, and pulled Dan to the edge of the bed - rising to his feet and reinserting his dick to get a deeper angle. He then rubbed his hand through cum-soaked chest and lifted it to his mouth - tasting it while increasing his pace.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he whispered to Dan.

“On me” Dan replied, still reeling from his orgasm and the feeling of Jake's dick still inside him.

Jake pumped a few more times into Dan then pulled out and jerked his rock-hard dick until he exploded all over Dan’s chest - with ropes of cum splattering all the way up to the man's face. Jake then collapsed onto Dan, his dick softening pressed against Dan’s cum-coated chest.

After wiping up the cum, Jake snuggled up next to Dan waiting for him to fall asleep so he could slip out before dawn. He did not become cruel. He did not become a caricature. He simply stopped asking permission to exist. He loved it - and that was the problem.

He loved the body. He loved the heft of it, the roughness, the way desire seemed to travel outward from him instead of trapping itself under his ribs. He loved how his own reflection every time he passed a mirror startled him and then satisfied him. He loved the mustache. He loved the hairy chest and shoulders. He loved being the man who approached what he wanted and took it.

But by the ninth day, unease crept in. At school, a first-year student called him “sir” and then flushed. Jake laughed it off, but it stuck. In the grocery store, a cashier guessed he was married. A guy at the gym asked if he had “been this built since he was a young man,” and Jake almost answered honestly.

At night, alone, he studied his face. Thirty-five looked good on him. Too good. But he was twenty-five. He had not earned those lines. He had not lived that decade. Somewhere under the tan, chest hair and steady gaze, the original Jake felt like he had borrowed a truck he did not know how to park.

He messaged Hairy-Bothered.

Jake: I like it.

hairy-bothered: I know, cowboy.

Jake: But it’s weird being this much older.

hairy-bothered: Older bothers you?

Jake: A little.

hairy-bothered: You wanted masculine. You didn’t say young. How many young men do you think are really that masculine? How many exude the confidence you now possess?

Jake looked at the black box. Two return vials. One blue vial.

Jake: The bro one makes me younger?

hairy-bothered: Younger. Louder. Fratty. Hairier than ever. Easier.

Jake: Easier - in what way?

The reply took longer this time.

hairy-bothered: Easier to stop overthinking.

Jake should have noticed the wording.

Instead, he thought about being younger, hairier and built. "Hairier than ever" - whatever that meant exactly. Hot in the way frat boys were hot: careless, physical, energetic, wanted. Maybe he could have the body and the confidence without feeling like he had jumped ahead ten years.

On Sunday morning, Jake drank one RETURN vial. The cowboy left him in reverse. His shoulders narrowed. His hands smoothed. The tan faded. The hair thinned and retreated from his shoulders, his arms, his stomach, his chest, leaving him with the familiar lighter pattern of pre-change Jake. His mustache softened back into his regular beard. The lines at his eyes vanished. His face became twenty-five again.

When it finished, Jake stood in the bathroom mirror looking exactly like himself. He should have felt saved. Instead, he felt reduced.

The bathroom looked bigger. His shorts hung looser. His hands looked delicate around the sink. Even his thoughts seemed quieter, less confident, less rooted in his body. Normal fit, but not comfortably.

His phone buzzed.

hairy-bothered: How’s normal feel?

Jake stared at himself then thought for a moment before replying:

Jake: Smaller.

A minute later:

hairy-bothered: Then maybe normal was never the goal.

To be continued ...

[immortalmrwavell]

Daddy Issues

Jay watched as the mature man who’d just destroyed his ass sauntered off into the bathroom to grab a towel for them both to clean up with. He could still feel the cum drooling from his hole and down one of his thighs as he laid atop the bed sheets. Just feeling that warm nut inside of him was like heaven on earth. There was no other feeling in the world that could top it. And it was always the best when it came from an older daddy like Dale.

Dale was about 58 years of age, making him just over 30 years Jay’s senior. Yet despite that he’d still fucked Jay’s soft youthful ass like his life depended on it. Thrusting his dad dick as deep as it would go for what felt like an eternity before he finally emptied his fat nuts right down to the last drop. All the while telling Jay what a good boy he was for taking it so damn well. Right up until he dislodged his thick cock with a wet pop

It was impressive for a man his age to still be capable of dominating and breeding a younger guy like Jay. His greying chest hair, silver beard and lack of head hair might lead one to believe his days of fucking like a stallion were behind him but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Dale kept himself in good shape and still hooked up with a wide variety of men on the regular.

“Having sex with cute younger guys like you helps keep my cock young.” Dale had claimed earlier in the evening between kisses. And after having been railed by it, Jay began to wonder if there might’ve been some truth to that with how rock hard that vintage cock had managed to get. Of all the older men Jay had been with, he could say without a doubt that Dale was most virile. It was no wonder he kept coming back for more.

Sure there were other men Jay saw. All older than him with varying amounts of grey in their hair. Some were lean and in shape. Others were thick and fat. Some of them were hairy from head to toe while others were smooth and clean. Plenty of them were conventionally attractive while some were more on an acquired taste. But the one thing they all had in common was that they were daddies. As long as they fit that label in some way or another, Jay would be all over them. Pining for their love and affection in any way that he could. Eager to do anything to please them.

Daddy issues. Though at this point it was more of a daddy addiction. There were many sources he could point for an explanation as to where his love for older men stemmed from. His lack of a consistent father figure growing up. His strained relationship with his mother. The abundance of older male teachers that made up the staff of his old high school growing up. But whatever the reason may be, Jay honestly didn’t care. All he knew was that there was no better feeling than having a sexy daddy lovingly thrust inside of his ass while holding him tight. And nobody did that better than Dale.

Jay had long since lost count of just how many times he and Dale had fucked. They’d been casually sleeping together for just less than a year now. They both hooked up with a ton of other men in between but they always came back to one another. Usually within a week. It only became clearer with every night they spent together that they were each other's drug of choice, no matter how many other men came and went from their individual sex lives.

Once the two of them had gotten cleaned up, they found themselves snuggled up in Dale’s bed as they so often did. Jay’s head resting on Dale’s furry chest as they basked in the afterglow of it all. Legs tangled together as Dale rubbed a weathered hand along Jay’s back.

“I hope that in twenty or thirty years I’ll grow to be a hot daddy like you.” Jay hummed against Dale’s chest. It was something he’d envisioned for years. Hoping that one day he’d get to become one the very same kinds of men he fawned over. It was a long way away yet. He still had the rest of twenties ahead of him. But it certainly gave him something to look forward to as he got older.

Dale glanced down at Jay. “You do huh?” He questioned with a tone that seemed oddly measured.

Jay turned his head up slightly to meet Dale’s gaze. “Yeah. Why is that weird?”

Dale shook his head. “No, not at all. It’s just…” he paused as if he was unsure whether he wanted to continue.

“It’s just… what?” Jay raised a slight eyebrow.

The older man pursed his lips slightly before furrowing his brow, clearly having an internal debate with himself about something. In the end he didn’t say anything. At least not before getting up from the bed and marching over towards the dressing table on the other side of the room.

Jay could only watch with curiosity as Dale pulled open the middle draw before reaching all the way to the back. Moments later Dale pulled out what appeared to be a tiny black box. And an ornate one at that.

“What’s in there?” Jay asked innocently.

“Something very special.” Dale claimed with the beginnings of a smirk forming on his face. “I’ve been waiting for just the right person to share it with and I think that person might be you.” He continued while making his way back over towards Jay. Dale shuffled back onto the bed beside the younger man, glancing up at him briefly before looking back down at the box in his hand. Without a second thought, he flipped open the lid to reveal what was inside.

A pair of rings. They weren’t too fancy, displaying a smooth and simple look. No gem stones. No swanky patterns. There did seem to be something engraved around the orbit of each ring but it didn’t appear to be English. They looked almost like wedding bands. What did make them stand out however was their unique colour. Instead of gold or silver, one of the rings was a bright glimmering blue while the other was deep crimson red.

Jay’s expression twisted with confusion and slight concern. “Dale? What is this? You’re not proposing to me… are you?” He asked hesitantly. He wasn’t against the idea of getting married someday but he and Dale weren’t even in an official relationship!? He’d thought about asking Dale out on a proper date for quite some time now but this definitely seemed like it was skipping a few steps.

Thankfully Dale shook his head with a small chuckle. “No these aren’t wedding rings. They’re so much better than that.” He reached inside and pulled out the red ring before giving it to Jay. He then took the blue ring out for himself before setting the empty box down on the bedside table.

“Better how?” Jay felt as though he was just asking an endless slew of questions at this point as he examined the crimson red ring. It was large, as if made for a man with much meatier hands than either of them. The only way he could see himself wearing it was via a necklace because there was no way it’d stay on any of Jay’s scrawny fingers. “Are they really expensive or something?”

Dale shrugged. “I suppose but that’s not what makes them special. It’s their unique properties.” Dale rolled the blue around his palm a little, watching as it so elegantly caught the light. “They have the power to do something truly wonderful that I think you’d enjoy just as much as me.” Dale explained rather cryptically, his gravelly voice dipping lower in a way sent a small shiver up Jay’s spine. Dale moved closer before continuing. Closing the space between them until his bearded lips sat right next to the younger man’s ear. “They can swap our bodies.”

Jay’s eyes widened. “Swap our bodies?!” He repeated as he pulled away from Dale slightly, wondering if maybe he’d misheard the hairy daddy.

Dale nodded. “You got it boy. Full on freaky Friday. We put these rings on and poof. You’re me and I’m you for as long as we want.”

Jay couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re joking right?” He said. But as he chortled, Dale’s face didn’t change. Only holding that same smirk. So much so that Jay’s laughter soon began to die down. “Wait. You’re actually not joking.”

“Nope. Dead serious.” Dale stated. “You want to know what it’s like to be a daddy right? Why wait decades when you could experience it right now.” He reasoned while gesturing down at himself. Even going as far as to tease Jay by running a single hand through the thick body hair he knew the younger man loved so much. “All this could be yours.”

“I uhhh… I don’t…” Jay couldn’t think of what to say. Any sane person wouldn’t believe a word Dale was saying. Yet he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have the body of his favourite daddy. To have the mature cock that’d bred him so well and deep time after time. To feel those silver bristles on his face. Perhaps Jay wasn’t as sane as he thought he was because he quickly found himself desperate to believe in the power of these rings.

“You don’t have to say anything. I can tell you want this just as badly as I do.” Dale said as he reached out and placed a rough hand on Jay’s shoulder. His eyes scanned Jay’s body as he tried not to salivate at the thought of being so young and full of life again. “Just put on the ring and I can prove it’s real.” After a small moment, Dale pulled his hand back before slipping the blue ring onto his right index finger. Even on Dale’s larger hands, the blue ring still hung loose. His eyes then flickered back to Jay, wordlessly urging him to trust.

Jay gulped. He looked down at the red ring sitting in his palm. He was expecting Dale to laugh at any moment and tease him for being so gullible but the older man stayed stoic. And so after a long pause, Jay finally did it. He slipped the ring onto the exact same finger Dale had. He had to keep his hand upright for it not to slip right off. Or at least… this is until it started to glow.

Both the red and blue rings began to shimmer in unison. It was too bright to be a trick of the light. But before Jay had a chance to question it, his eyes widened in disbelief as the red ring resized itself to fit his finger perfectly. The same happened to Dale’s ring, now fitting snug on the silver fox’s weathered index.

“Oh-hoo w-what the hell…” Jay stuttered.

Dale seemed unfazed. “This is perfect. That means they’re ready to be activated. Now all we have to do is kiss. The magic should take care of the rest.”

“You say that like you’ve done this before.” Jay said, voice shaky with uncertainty.

Dale shook his head. “Nope. But I’ve seen it happen. The person who gave them to me showed me how they worked by swapping with his partner. I wouldn’t have believed it myself otherwise.” He shuffled closer to Jay, closing what little distance there was between them on the bed. He reached out his hands and cupped Jay’s face. “Now. Are you ready?”

Jay didn’t speak. He only nodded his head slowly.

With that Dale leaned forwards and pressed his bearded lips against Jay’s. For the first second or so it seemed normal. And then, a spark! A surge of magical energy flooded through their bodies and mind, filling them both up to the brim. The kiss didn’t. Their bodies continued to make out on autopilot as their souls were dragged out from the core of their beings. Tethered to the magic and pulled upwards. Their throats bulged slightly as their souls came up and out of their mouths, pushing past each other via the kiss. Jay’s soul entered Dale’s mouth and vice versa before forcing their way down the opposite man’s throat and into each other’s bodies. Eventually settling deep inside their new hosts.

As soon as the magic dissipated the two men broke their kiss. They opened their eyes at the exact same time and what they saw was almost impossible for their minds to process. They were looking at each other's faces. It was like staring into a mirror only so much trippier.

Dale watched as his former wrinkled face twisted with disbelief. He couldn’t believe how much older he looked from the outside. He knew he was getting to a ripe age, the bathroom mirror had reminded him of such everyday, but seeing someone else wear those features he used to own put a new light on it. Perhaps it was these young eyes. He could see so much clearer with them. Every crease, every wrinkle and every grey hair on his old body was suddenly in high definition.

And then there was Jay. His thoughts were going a mile a minute as he tried to comprehend what’d just happened. Of course as he looked over at his own youthful face, he knew that the magic in those rings must’ve been real. But still. It was so hard for him to believe in those first few moments. Yet with every second that passed, he would notice something that would only serve to confirm what he already knew. The way his vision was blurrier than normal. His hearing wasn’t as clear. There was a tired ache that pulsed through his muscles. And there was the subtle itch of body hair far more dense than he was used to.

“Ohhh wow.” Dale said, already enjoying the youthful sound of his new voice. “I’d forgotten what it was like to feel so young. It’s invigorating!” He boasted as he rolled his shoulders a little.

Jay could only stare in disbelief as his former body began checking itself out with Dale now firmly behind the wheel. Hands roaming up and down his torso before coming up to admire his face. Talking about how smooth his skin felt and how sharp all of his senses were. He was practically in a world of his own. Even as he shamelessly reached down to grab at his cock. Jay’s cock.

“You’re…” Jay was barely able to finish a word without reaching up to touch his throat. His voice was so much raspier than before. And as he touched his neck, he couldn’t help but notice the thick bristles of facial hair that extended down towards his Adam’s apple. The feeling of which caused his new larger hands to rise up his neck and towards his face, a chill running up his spine as his fingers brushed through the dense facial fur. It wasn’t his but he recognised it immediately. So thick and full. It was Dale’s. A fact that was only further confirmed as his hands continued to explore his face. Feeling the roughness of his skin and the smile lines above his mustache. The broadness of his nose, the wrinkles around his eyes, the thickness of his eyebrows. Most jarring of all, the sudden lack of hair on his head as a result of Dale’s receded hairline. He still had some around the sides and back but there were only a few wisps on top.

They locked eyes again.

“So? How do you feel?” Dale asked with a gleeful smile.

Jay could hardly speak. He was so overwhelmed by the sudden shift in how he experienced the world around him that his mind was struggling to keep up. Even just the way his chest rose and felt with every breath was throwing him off. For a moment he thought he was going to faint when a wave of light headedness washed over him. He blinked a few times and waited for it to pass. It was only as his former hand reached out for his shoulder to comfort him that he was finally able to find the words to express himself.

“I feel… I feel… old.” Simple but true.

Dale smiled at him reassuringly. “That’s because you are. You’re a total daddy now.” He said, not being able to help biting his lip a little as he drank in the sight of his former body. He had to admit, it looked so much hotter from the outside. Dale never quite realised just how much of a daddy he’d been until this very moment. No wonder so many younger men like Jay threw themselves at him. He wanted to do it right now!

Jay finally plucked up the courage to look down at himself and the sight took his breath away. The forest of hair covering his torso was impossible to miss. The same hair he’d been burying his face into less than half an hour ago. It was grey around his upper chest and shoulders but got darker as it went down. The fur was so mesmerising that he almost didn’t notice the difference in his shape. Instead of the tight lean frame, he now had a touch more muscle. It was finely aged muscle though, evident by the slight sag of his pecs. Still though, he felt surprisingly sturdy and strong.

He lifted a hand up towards his chest and began to massage one of his hairy pecs. He’d worshipped them on Dale so many times before but now he actually owned them. They were his to touch and grope as he pleased. Even these nipples. Jay’s former nipples had never given him much pleasure so when Dale had explained how sensitive his ones were, it’d been hard for Jay to truly understand. They were puffier than Jay’s ever were. The kinds of nipples you could regularly see through a shirt, especially if it was cold. He’d suck on them for Dale a lot of the time and watch as the older man’s face twisted with glee while deep groans escaped his mouth. That thick dad cock growing hard as steel under the stimulation. And now, owning them for himself, Jay could finally understand why. They were like goddam lightning rods! Just brushing his fingers over them sent jolts of pleasure through his body and towards his dick in a way that made his eyes roll.

“Am I really… you?” Jay asked hesitantly, glancing up at Dale while continuing to rub his hands across his torso.

“Mhm.” Dale nodded. “And I’m you.”

Jay’s expression flickered between bewilderment, disbelief and at last a hint of joy that was beginning to shine through as he processed it all. The tiniest smirk broke from his lips as he inspected himself further. Flexing his muscles slightly and feeling the size of his new arms. Dale had always kept in such good shape and it showed. His biceps were still nice and thick, giving him that old man strength which had always made it easy for him to pin down younger guys. And now Jay could sense that power with every flex. It was invigorating.

Slowly he pushed himself off the bed, wobbling a little as he stood up straight in this body for the first time. It took a moment to adjust but once he did he couldn’t help but admire his new hairy legs a little before reaching back to grab at his ass. Dale’s ass. Jay had eaten it out so many times before, eagerly stuffing his face between those soft furry cheeks. He’d even been lucky enough to fuck it a handful of times when Dale was in the mood to bottom. But now it was all his to own and flaunt. His to slap and show off whenever he pleased. He couldn’t stop himself from digging a finger towards that tight sensitive dad hole and feeling the way it clenched automatically.

But of course what stole his attention the most was Dale’s cock. How could it not? Having another man’s dick between your legs was an experience like no other. You spend your whole life getting to know the dick you were born with, never expecting to know any different. So to actually experience a different length and girth was beyond imagination. Even down to the tiny details like the way it curved or the difference in size between the head and the shaft. It was all so wonderful and confusing at the same time as Jay held it gently in his hand, already at half mast. Though of course he wasn’t totally unfamiliar with it. He’d sucked it more times than he could count, happily gulping down its load each and every time. He’d felt it slamming against his prostate in a way that made him see heaven until he bred nice and deep. But never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d get to see it from this angle. To feel it as a part of his body rather than simply inside of it. Even the hefty dad nuts that’d marked him with their seed time and time again now swung pendulously between his legs.

“I can’t believe this is real.” Jay while giving his new cock a few experimental tugs, noticing all the slight differences in sensation.

“You better believe it Daddy.” Dale teased. “But you could already use the mirror to confirm but checking out that sexy face of yours” He added while nodding towards the bathroom. All the while trying not to lick his lips at the sight of his old mature body probing and prodding at itself with Jay behind the wheel.

Jay looked over at the bathroom door, then back at Dale and finally back down at himself. He wasn’t sure if he was ready. All of this was so much to take in. Almost too much. He could feel his heart pounding rapidly in his chest as the ration part of his mind wanted to freak the hell out at having been tossing into a body that was over 30 years older than he was supposed to be. But holy hell if all the other parts of him didn’t think this was the hottest thing that’d ever happened to him in his entire life. It was just so difficult to wrap his head around it.

Dale soon jumped up from the bed with a bounce in his step before prancing over the Jay and slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Go onnnn.” He urged while guiding Jay towards the bathroom. “Just have a look. Trust me, I think you’re gonna love seeing how much of a sexy daddy you are now. My old body looks so fucking good on you.” Dale insisted before planting a kiss on one of his former bearded cheeks. “That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Jay nodded.

“Then go check yourself out daddy-o!” Dale gave his former hairy dad butt a cheeky slap as he all but shoved Jay into the bathroom.

Once inside, it took Jay a moment to finally turn his head towards the glass. But when he did, his entire sense of reality came crashing down in the most mind bending way imaginable. There had still been a large part of his mind that expected to see the same 25 year old face he’d always known staring back at him despite the fact that Dale was now wearing it. It must’ve been his mind’s way of coping with something so impossible. But now even that flimsy illusion had been broken. The visage staring back at him was none other than the face of the man who'd been the one constant in his life for the past year. The man who turned him on in ways nobody else ever could. The man who fulfilled his daddy kink in every way. Dale.

If he hadn’t felt so disoriented at the sight, he might’ve nutted on the spot. Evidenced by how his cock had sprung from a hesitant half erection to hard as a rock in seconds. But he was able to ignore it for now as he found himself entranced by his new reflection.

At first he simply looked into his new eyes as he remembered all the times Dale had peered lovingly at him with them. They were always so bright and blue as if they were somehow younger than the rest of him. Only now he could see that the soul behind them was different. But that didn’t stop them dilating with uncontrollable desire as he took in every last feature. He’d already felt them but getting to actually see it all as he touched those finely aged features was a whole different level. He couldn’t help dragging his fingers along his rough facial hair yet again, grunting with satisfaction at the scratching sound it made against his skin. Running them over his mustache before moving upwards to his nose and upper cheeks. Relishing in the looseness of his skin as it yielded in a way that younger skin wouldn’t. Even something as simple as touching his ears somehow felt erotic when every tiny difference served to make him hornier.

“I look amazing…” He breathed while slowly running a hand along the top of his head yet again, savouring the fine work of male pattern baldness. It was something most men feared and would do anything to avoid but to Jay it only made Dale’s body look even hotter. To him it felt like a stamp of both wisdom and masculinity that could only be awarded with age as a symbol of daddiness. Seeing it only made his cock throb harder before spluttering enough precum to finally catch his attention.

He reached a hand down to grab at the pulsing shaft. He bit back a low moan as he began stroking it helplessly. It was practically begging for it at this point. How could he ignore such an insistent dad dick? Especially when it belonged to him. As such he guided his hand back and forth at a steady pace. All the while he found himself admiring the rest of his body again. His free hand sliding up and through the mat of chest hair, squeezing his pecs and teasing his sensitive nipples. Rubbing up and down his fuzzy stomach before reaching around his waist and sliding back up to admire his lats and back. In truth he wasn’t that much bigger now than he was in his old body, but everything still seemed so wildly different from what he’d known. Even just the way his shoulders seemed to curve or how the veins coiled along his biceps. He just couldn’t get enough!

Though amongst exploring the vastness of his hairy new being, his hand eventually found itself drifting towards one of his armpits. He’d been so distracted by everything else that he hadn’t thought to lift his arms and check them out yet. It was a wonder considering how much Jay had always loved shoving his nose into Dale’s pits and getting drunk off that manly scent. Especially if Dale had just come from the gym. Jay would eagerly run his tongue along those furry pits and lap up every last drop of sweat as he lost himself in the mind numbing smell. Most of the time he wouldn’t even have to ask. Dale could just sense when Jay was craving it. As such he would simply lift an arm before grabbing Jay by the back of his head and pressing his face into one of those pungent pits. Half the time, that alone would be enough to get Jay to nut in his underwear.

And now those pits were his. So hairy and dripping with that masculine aroma he adored. How could he possibly stop himself?

Before he knew it, Jay had lifted his free arm behind his head purely so could nuzzle his new nose into one of those gorgeous armpits. The scent hit him immediately as it filled his nostrils like a drug. That first little sniff was all it took to have him huffing on it like a maniac. It smelt just as incredible as ever, if not better knowing that it was coming from his body now. It was his gorgeous scent. He owned it.

“Ohhhhhh… god yes!” He groaned into his pit as he lapped up the scent like a mad dog. “Mine… all mine….” He continued on, referring not only to his new scent but this ravishing body as a whole. He loved every inch of it. No matter where he looked or touched, it drove him crazy with lust. It was like a never ending buffet.

“Mmmmmphmm fuuuuuuckkk!” He roared louder now as he alternated between sniffing his pits and pinching at his nipples aggressively. All the while jerking his new cock with increasing desperation. His brain was practically lit up like a Christmas tree under all the stimulation. Eyes rolling while his mouth hung a little slack. “I’m such a hot daddy… oh god I’m such a hot fuckin daddy…” He chanted to himself. There was no stopping him now.

Jay continued to worship himself to no end. Touching both his body and face. Sticking his fingers in his mouth to suck on while he jerked. Flexing and posing while moaning to no end just so he could hear the sound of his borrowed voice echoing off the walls and reverberating through his chest. And of course he couldn’t help grabbing his ass again. Reaching his hand back and grabbing at the furry cheeks, loving how pliable they were. He’d always loved to watch Dale walk away from him in the nude just so he could watch his dad butt jiggle with every step. Now it was all his to jiggle.

He couldn’t hold out any longer. His balls began to tighten as they churned a heavy load. He could already feel the cum rising alongside the sensitivity of his dick. Before long he passed the point of no return. The last thing he did was simply stare at himself again. Locking eyes with his reflection in one final bout to drink it in before he finally erupted.

“GGRROOUHHHHHHhhhhhhoohhh…” Jay bellowed uncontrollably, still grabbing at his ass while his girthy dick launched what felt like an endless stream of creamy dad cum. Covering the sink, the mirror, his hand and even the floor as some of the last few drops landed on his feet. It was an intense high, the likes of which he didn’t think he’d ever experienced before. Perhaps it was just the thrill of being inside the body of his dreams but that was easily one of the best orgasms he’d ever had!

Once Jay had finally managed to cool off, he started to clean up a little. Mainly washing his hand after licking some of the cum off it and wiping the floor. Finishing by giving the mirror a quick wipe as well and taking in his reflection one last time in the process. It wasn’t long after that he stepped back into the bedroom only to find Dale sprawled out on the bed with a fresh load coating his youthful stomach. Seems like Jay wasn’t the only one having fun.

“Sounds like you enjoyed yourself.” Dale said bluntly with a grin.

Jay reciprocated with a grin of his own. “Still am.” He claimed. However his face softened a little soon after. “Though, you never explained how we go about swapping back. Not that I want too yet. I’m loving this. I just don’t like not knowing the facts.”

Dale grabbed the same towel Jay had used to towel off earlier after they’d had sex. “Well like I said before, we can stay this way for as long as we want. It can be days, weeks, months. Even years. It all comes down to the rings.” Dale held up his right hand, still wearing the crimson red ring Jay had put on. “As long as we’re both wearing them, we stay swapped. The moment one of us takes our ring off however, our souls get sent back to our proper bodies.”

Jay glanced down at the blue ring he now wore. Knowing he could choose to end the swap whenever he pleased definitely gave him that little piece of mind he needed to really enjoy this experience to the max. “That’s good to know. But will we be able to use them again once we go back? Is this like a one time deal or…?”

Dale shook his head. “Nope. We can do it as often as we like. All we have to do is put the rings on again and kiss like before. Then presto, we’re back in each other's bodies.”

“Well.” Jay began. “In that case I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun from now on. Don’t you?” His grin returned, even cheekier than before as waltzed over and climbed back onto the bed.

“I should hope so.” Dale replied, eyes glued onto his former mature body as Jay laid himself down beside Dale.

“Now how’s about you be a good boy and snuggle up to daddy.” Jay said while patting his chest.

Dale practically jumped at the offer. “Yes sir!” He responded before shuffling closer until their bodies were intertwined and Dale's head was nestled firmly against the hairy chest he no longer owned.

———

A year passed since that night. In that time Dale and Jay had become exclusive. They both stopped seeing other men just a few months after their first swap. Before long they only craved one another and the feeling of being inside each other's bodies. So much so that they found themselves swapping almost every time they met up.

Sometimes they would swap almost immediately after meeting up. They’d slip on their rings and greet one another with a kiss that would swap them on the spot, staying that way until it was time for them to get back to their separate lives again. Other times they’d wait until they were having sex. Dale would have his thick dad cock buried deep inside Jay’s ass when they would slip on the rings and kiss. Next thing they knew, Jay was the one on top fucking while Dale was getting his hole drilled by his former dick. They never got tired of doing it that way.

It got to the point where they spent almost all of their time together swapped. Dale loved being young and Jay loved being a daddy. It was the perfect arrangement really. And it only got worse when after six months of swapping, they finally decided to move in together. Once that happened they must’ve spent pretty much all their free time in one another’s bodies to the point where it started to feel normal. As if that was the way it was supposed to be.

Now after an entire year, they’d taken it a step further. After a lot of preparation, they’d started taking shifts at each other’s jobs! Naturally it’s been a little awkward trying to adjust and fit in but overall they’ve got scarily good at playing their roles. So much so that before long they might not have to swap back at all if they don’t feel like it. They could just live life in the other’s body.

Regardless though, they’d decided to make things official. After a lot of dancing around it, Dale and Jay were finally a couple. Their significant age gap had already been raising eyebrows from the moment they started living together and even more so now they are actually boyfriends but neither of them cared. They knew this was what they wanted more than anything else.

Jay especially. It’d gotten to the point where he didn’t feel like himself anymore when he wasn’t inside Dale’s mature hairy body. The only problem was that if they decided to make this permanent someday, Jay would effectively lose 33 years of his life. As much as he adored being a daddy, he wasn’t sure if that’s what he wanted to sign up for long term. As such, he and Dale have been hard at work trying to track down another magical artefact. It was an amulet capable of slowing down the aging of whoever wears it by around 75%. All they had to do now was find it and they could both live long and happy lives in the bodies of their dreams.

Until that day however, they would just have to enjoy the present. And enjoy it they did as they fucked almost endlessly in their swapped bodies. A daddy and his boy.

[verus-veritas]

The Black Hole

(AI Assisted - Finally got around to finishing the next story from the poll, and this one is inspired by the short film "THE BLACK HOLE" from 2008. I recommend watching the short film first to get a sense of its concept!

Also, a fair bit of warning, this story focuses a lot on the humiliation kink and being trapped in someone much bigger, heavier, and hairier. Which I'm sure some of you might really enjoy! /Verus)

The chemistry lab at Westview College felt like a forgotten corner of the world during lunch break. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their cold glow casting long, harsh shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor. The air hung heavy with the acrid bite of sulfur mixed with the sharp sting of ethanol, scents that seeped into my clothes and lingered on my skin. I sat hunched over our cluttered workstation, my fingers tinted a deep blue from the chemical compounds I had been carefully mixing for our science assignment. It was due in Mr. Clarke's class later that afternoon, and the pressure weighed on me like an invisible hand.

Across from me, Dan lounged in his chair with that effortless slouch of his, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. He swirled a beaker with a lazy flick of his wrist, his face scrunched up in clear annoyance. 

"Man, Clarke's such an asshole!" Dan muttered, his voice low and edged with frustration. "He piles on these assignments just because we don't kiss his ass in class like the other kids do. Thinks he's some big shot, strutting around with that hairy broad chest straining against his shirt, barely squeezing through the doorways without turning sideways."

He snorted, leaning back and mimicking Mr. Clarke's stiff, wide posture, puffing out his own chest in exaggeration. "You ever hear that poor office chair creak every time he plants his big ass down? It's gonna snap one day, I swear. I can picture it now, him tumbling to the floor in front of the whole class and everyone laughing at his dumb face."

I nodded absently, my gaze locked on the bubbling mixture in my own beaker, watching the colors swirl and shift. But my mind wandered far from the experiment. Dan's rants about our science professor, Bruce Clarke, had become a familiar soundtrack to our lab sessions. It was always the same litany of complaints about his strict rules, his uptight personality, his biting criticism that could cut like a knife. Around town, Mr. Clarke was famously known as "The Cruel Giant," a man who barely let his students scrape by with passing grades and demanded nothing short of perfection from everyone. Stories circulated about how he would chew out cashiers for hours if they shortchanged him by a penny, or chase after elderly folks on the street to lecture them about public decency just for coughing too loudly in his presence.

To Dan, Mr. Clarke was nothing more than an uptight mean old man, a tall, burly middle-aged man whose khaki pants and tight dress shirts always seemed on the verge of bursting over his massive frame. But I stayed quiet, my agreement only half-hearted at best, because admitting the truth to Dan or even to myself felt utterly mortifying. Over the past few months, I had developed a secret crush on Mr. Clarke, a shameful attraction that I buried deep inside, praying it would fade away by the time graduation rolled around and I could escape this small town.

His huge body strangely captivated me in ways I could barely understand myself. And Mr. Clarke wasn't the slob Dan painted him to be. Sure, he carried a slight soft layer around his midsection, a gentle curve that pressed outward against his shirts, and I often imagined he could easily crush a watermelon just by sitting on it with that large, plump ass of his. But there was a commanding solidity to him that made my pulse quicken. He stood at 6'8", one of the tallest and largest men in our small town, with broad, wide shoulders that seemed to fill any room he entered, and thick, powerful arms that bent the space around them. During class, I would steal glances, my eyes tracing the vast expanse of his broad back as he wrote equations on the board, or lingering on the way his khaki pants clung to his rounded, muscular ass when he bent down to collect our tests.

His brown beard, often flecked with crumbs from a hurried lunch or faint stains from his morning coffee, framed a ruggedly handsome face that could make me blush even when he was yelling at the class for being late. I remembered the times his coffee-scented breath had washed over me during those scoldings, warm and authoritative, leaving me flustered. In my private fantasies, I imagined pressing my face into the hairy massive chest that peeked through his open collar, feeling the warmth of his bulk envelop me completely. I envied his genetics, how he was so effortlessly tall, hairy, and thick without ever needing to lift a weight or step foot in a gym. It was as if his body was a natural force, untamed and powerful.

I told myself it was just a phase, a silly teenage crush that would dissolve once college was behind me. I was just a scrawny senior, barely noticeable among the sea of students in Mr. Clarke's classes, and the very idea of confessing my feelings to anyone, especially Dan, made my stomach twist into knots. So I locked those thoughts away, letting them simmer quietly as I stirred my chemicals, my mind drifting into a hazy fantasy of running my hands over Mr. Clarke's broad, hairy chest, feeling the coarse hairs tickle my palms, the heat of his skin seeping into mine.

"Yo, Noah, you even listening to me?" Dan's voice snapped me back to reality, sharp and insistent.

I blinked, realizing I had been staring blankly at the beaker for far too long, the mixture now frothing a bit too vigorously.

"Huh? Yeah, sorry," I mumbled, shaking my head to clear the fog.

But before I could say more, my elbow caught the edge of a glass container filled with unknown chemicals, sending it toppling over into Dan's mixture. The liquids collided with a violent hiss, merging in a chaotic fizz that sent sparks flying. Dan yelped, jumping back from the table, his gloves and shirt miraculously untouched.

"Shit, Noah, watch it!" he shouted, his eyes wide as we both retreated a few meters away. 

We stood there frozen, hearts pounding, as acrid smoke billowed upward from the workstation, the table sizzling in a way that sounded almost alive.

"What the hell was that?" Dan hissed, his voice laced with panic, glancing at me accusingly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," I stammered, my heart racing as the smoke thickened, obscuring the mess we had made.

But as the haze slowly cleared, the sizzling faded, revealing something impossible on the table's surface: a perfectly round black hole, its edges shimmering faintly like heat waves on asphalt. It was wide enough for a small person to fit through, a void that seemed to devour the light around it, pulling at the air with an eerie silence.

We stared at it, speechless, the lab suddenly feeling colder despite the lingering chemical warmth.

"What is that thing?" I whispered, my voice barely audible, stepping closer but not daring to touch it.

Dan shook his head, his bravado completely evaporated. "No clue, man. But we're totally screwed if Clarke sees this. We just destroyed school property, and you know how he gets about that."

With lunch break nearly over, panic surged through us like electricity. We scrambled to clean up the spill, me sweeping up the shattered glass shards from the floor while Dan wiped down the table with frantic swipes. As he brushed near the hole, his hand accidentally nudged its rim, and the anomaly shifted, folding slightly like a piece of flexible fabric.

"Noah, get over here quick!" Dan called, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

I hurried over, my jaw dropping as he gripped the edge of the hole and lifted it effortlessly off the table, holding it like a sheet of black paper, weightless and rippling faintly in the air.

"What the fuck?" I breathed, stepping even closer, my eyes wide. Dan, now grinning despite the shock, placed the hole back on the table and tentatively reached into it, his arm vanishing up to the elbow into the void. His face lit up with astonishment as he pulled his hand back, completely unharmed.

"Dude, this is freaky!" he exclaimed, his voice shaking with glee. 

He grabbed the hole again, striding over to a locked cabinet across the room, and slapped it against the door. Reaching through, he pulled out a beaker from inside the cabinet, holding it up triumphantly. "Holy shit, Noah! We made a freaking portal! This thing lets you reach into anything!"

We marveled at the anomaly we had accidentally created, a defiance of every law of physics we had learned in class. Dan's eyes gleamed with endless possibilities, his mind already racing ahead.

"We've got something way better than a boring assignment for Clarke now," he said, carefully rolling the hole up like a poster and stuffing it into his backpack. "And I've got an idea to test this thing out later. You in?"

I nodded, unsure but intrigued, my mind still reeling from the impossibility of it all. "Yeah, I guess. But we have to be careful, Dan. This could be dangerous..."

—

Two classes dragged by in a blur, and during the break before chemistry, Dan pulled me aside with a mischievous grin. He led me down the echoing hallways to the gym locker rooms, the distant shouts from jocks in the gymnasium grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"What are we doing here, Dan?" I asked, glancing around nervously at the rows of metal lockers, the air thick with the smell of sweat and old sneakers.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with that reckless spark I knew all too well. "Just trust me. Keep watch for a second."

He scanned the lockers until he stopped at one labeled "Austin," our school's star athlete and the resident bully who had made our lives hell more than once.

I hissed a protest, my voice low. "Dan, no way. That's Austin's locker. We can't just..."

But he ignored me, pressing the black hole against the locker door with a soft thud. Reaching through the void, he rummaged around inside and pulled out a sweaty jockstrap, its fabric damp and musky from recent use.

"Dude!" I exclaimed, horrified, my cheeks burning as I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was coming.

Dan laughed, holding it up like a trophy before pressing it to his face and inhaling deeply. "Smells pretty good for a douchebag like Austin," he said, grinning wickedly. "Come on, Noah, lighten up. It's just a prank."

I rolled my eyes, my face flushing even hotter. "That's gross, man. Put it back."

He chuckled, rolling up the hole and tucking it, along with the jockstrap, into his backpack. "Imagine what else we can do with this thing. Vending machines, locked doors, even ATMs. It's not really stealing if it's just sitting there, right? We could take whatever we want without anyone knowing."

I frowned, unease twisting in my gut. "It's still stealing, Dan. And what if we get caught? This isn't a game."

Before we could argue further, Coach's voice boomed from the gymnasium entrance, demanding to know what we were doing in the locker room. "Hey! You two! What are you up to in there?"

Panic hit us like a wave, and we bolted, our sneakers squeaking against the tile floor as we fled down the hall, hearts pounding.

—

Fifteen minutes later, we were back in the chemistry lab, seated at our workstation as our classmates tricked in, chatting and laughing. Dan bounced in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning, barely containing his excitement about showing off the black hole. My stomach churned with nerves, both from the upcoming presentation and the looming presence of Mr. Clarke himself.

When he finally entered the room, his broad shoulders barely clearing the doorway, I felt my breath catch. His khaki pants hugged his thick calves, and his dress shirt clung to his hairy chest, the top button undone just enough to tease the coarse hairs beneath.

Our eyes met briefly as he scanned the room, and I saw a flicker of disappointment, perhaps even disgust, in his gaze before he turned away. 

"Settle down, everyone," he barked, his deep voice rumbling through the lab like thunder. "We've got presentations today, and I expect you all to take this seriously. No excuses, no half-baked efforts."

Class dragged on with Mr. Clarke's usual loud and demeaning criticism, his beard twitching with every sharp word he directed at struggling students.

"That's incorrect, Miss Thompson. Do you even read the textbook, or do you just guess?" he snapped at one girl, making her shrink in her seat.

Finally, it was time for presentations. Dan shot up from his chair, waving his hand eagerly. "Mr. Clarke, can we go first? We've got something amazing."

Mr. Clarke eyed him skeptically, adjusting the square reading glasses that framed his piercing eyes. "Fine, but make it quick. And it better not be another one of your jokes, Daniel."

We stood at the front, explaining how we had mixed the chemicals accidentally, creating a black hole that defied all known physics. Dan's voice was infectious, building up the drama. "It's like a portal, sir. You can reach through anything with it."

But before we could pull out the anomaly to demonstrate, Mr. Clarke cut us off sharply. "That's enough of this nonsense," he snapped, his face reddening with anger. "You're slandering the very foundations of science in my classroom, and I won't tolerate it. Sit down, both of you."

Dan protested, his voice rising. "But sir, we can prove it! Just let us show you!"

"I said sit down!" Mr. Clarke shouted, his voice shaking the room, making the beakers rattle on the shelves.

Humiliated, we slunk back to our seats amid the laughter of the class. The jocks in the back called out, "Losers!" and the girls whispered "freaks" under their breath. I felt Mr. Clarke's glare burning into us, his stoic face flushed with irritation.

Dan muttered spitefully under his breath as we sat. "They don't deserve to see it anyway. I'll show them later, when it matters."

The rest of class passed in a miserable haze, with other students presenting their projects while I replayed Mr. Clarke's words over and over in my mind, my crush twisting into a knot of embarrassment. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the day, Dan and I joined the rush to leave, eager to escape. But a heavy hand suddenly gripped my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

"You two, stay behind," Mr. Clarke's gruff voice ordered, his fingers like steel.

My heart sank as we sat at the front desks, facing his massive wooden desk. I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering to the chest hair peeking from his shirt, my crush flaring up despite the tension in the air.

Mr. Clarke's eyes narrowed as he caught my gaze lingering. "Noah," he began, his tone icy and measured, "I've noticed you staring at me these past months. It's inappropriate, and I don't appreciate it one bit. You need to focus on your studies, not whatever perverse fantasies you're indulging in during my class."

My face burned with shame, heat flooding my cheeks. I hadn't realized he had noticed, and the accusation left me speechless, my mouth dry. "I... I'm sorry, sir," I managed to whisper, staring at the floor.

Dan spoke up, his voice sharp and defensive. "That's not cool, Mr. Clarke. You can't just accuse him like that."

But the professor ignored him, turning his attention to Dan. "And you, with your ridiculous stunt today. If you keep this up, you'll fail my class and amount to nothing in life. Is that what you want?"

Dan's jaw tightened, anger flashing in his eyes. "We weren't lying, sir. We really created something incredible."

Mr. Clarke's scowl deepened. "Enough. I don't have time for your games."

Fed up, Dan reached into his backpack and pulled out the rolled-up black hole. "See for yourself then."

Mr. Clarke dismissed it with a wave. "That's just a piece of black paper. Put it away."

Dan, his patience snapping, strode to the locked cabinet in the corner. "Watch this," he said, slapping the hole onto the door. He reached through and pulled out beakers, tools, and supplies, dumping them onto Mr. Clarke's desk with a clatter.

The professor's expression shifted from annoyance to shock, his eyes widening. "What are you doing? How did you...?"

Dan grinned, placing the hole flat on the desk. "Try it yourself, sir. Reach in and grab something from under your desk."

Hesitantly, Mr. Clarke reached into the void, his thick fingers disappearing. He pulled out pens, paperclips, and notebooks from beneath his desk, his shock turning to fascination as his fingers trembled.

"This... this is impossible," he murmured, his voice softening for the first time.

But Dan snatched the hole away, rolling it up quickly. "Told you we weren't lying," he said, smirking as he stood to leave. "Come on, Noah."

As Dan headed for the door, I fumbled with my bag, noticing a dark glint in Mr. Clarke's eyes, something like greed or ambition flickering there. The air in the room grew thick with tension, and suddenly, he lunged forward with surprising speed for a man of his size. His meaty hand closed around Dan's wrist, fingers like iron clamps, pinning Dan's arm in place.

Dan yelped, his voice sharp with panic. "What the hell, man? Let go!"

"You boys have no idea what you're holding," Mr. Clarke growled, his voice low and laced with a hunger that made my skin crawl. His massive frame loomed over Dan, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that swallowed my friend whole. Sweat beaded on Mr. Clarke's forehead, glistening under the lights, his dress shirt growing damp under the armpits, clinging to the curve of his massive chest and broad back. "Leave such things to responsible adults like me."

Dan struggled, his face turning red, both hands clutching the rolled-up black hole, his knuckles white. "Get off me! This isn't yours!"

Mr. Clarke's other hand reached for it, his thick fingers brushing the anomaly, his breath coming in heavy pants from the exertion. The room felt stifling, the air thick with the scent of his sweat, a musky blend of coffee and raw masculinity that hit me like a wave, stirring my shameful crush even as fear gripped my chest.

Dan's eyes met mine, wide with desperation. "Noah, help! Do something!"

I dropped my bag and rushed over, my heart pounding wildly. "Let him go, sir!" I shouted, grabbing at the black hole, my fingers brushing against Dan's and Mr. Clarke's in the chaos. The three of us were locked in a frantic tug-of-war, pulling and yanking.

Mr. Clarke's strength was staggering, his arm like a steel cable, pulling with a force that made my muscles burn. "Let go, you fools!" he roared, his voice booming through the room, his face flushed red, small beads of sweat dripping down his temples.

Dan and I pulled together, our combined effort barely budging the anomaly from his grasp. "We can't let him have it!" Dan gasped, his face contorted with effort.

My hands slipped on the smooth, otherworldly surface, my palms slick with nervous sweat. "He's too strong," I panted, feeling insignificant next to his towering bulk, my slim arms trembling against his power. His dress shirt strained further, the seams creaking, his neck muscles shifting with each heave, his khaki pants tight around his thick thighs.

We tugged one last time, a desperate heave that sent us all stumbling. The black hole slipped from our fingers, but Mr. Clarke's sweaty palm fumbled it, the slick roll escaping his grip. It unfolded mid-air, a dark, rippling sheet, and sailed toward his chest. Time seemed to slow as it adhered with a soft, wet slap, the void pulsing against his shirt, centered over his broad chest.

His eyes widened in horror, a gasp escaping his lips.

"What... no!" he stammered, his hands clawing at the hole, trying to rip it free. Then his massive body suddenly shuddered, his pupils rolling back, and he collapsed, his heavy frame crashing to the hardwood floor with a thunderous thud that shook the entire room.

Dan and I stood panting, staring at the black hole pulsing on Mr. Clarke's chest, his unconscious body still, his bearded face slack.

"Oh god, we killed him," I whispered, my voice trembling, my legs feeling like jelly.

Dan knelt beside him, pressing fingers to his neck. "No, he's alive… just out cold," he said, his voice unsteady. He poked at the hole, his fingers disappearing inside. "Woah... he's hollow now. Like he's completely empty inside."

He reached deeper, his expression shifting to confusion. "Weird, I feel crevices inside, it’s like paths leading to his arms or neck. He's like a big hollow tree stump..."

I paced the room, panic clawing at my chest, my mind racing with the implications. "We never thought about using it on a person... What have we done?"

A few minutes passed of me restlessly pacing around while Dan stared curiously at the hole on Clarke's chest, his mind seemingly thinking hard about how to get us out of this mess. Then suddenly Dan's eyes lit up with a reckless idea. "What if one of us climbs inside? Maybe we can move him, sort of like a big meatsuit. We could access his office, fix our grades and make him give us A's, then get out before he wakes up."

"That's insane, Dan," I said, but the idea took hold, fueled by fear of failing yet another course and a bizarre curiosity about climbing inside Mr. Clarke's big body, the man I had secretly admired for so long. "You really think that would work?"

He nodded eagerly. "Think about it, Noah. You're smaller than me, scrawny frame and all. You'd fit easily through the hole. Come on, it's our only shot right now."

After a heated debate, with me protesting, "This could go so wrong," and Dan countering, "But what if it goes right? We could turn this around," I swallowed hard, gazing at Mr. Clarke's unconscious giant form. His bearded face looked almost serene, his massive hairy chest rising and falling despite the gaping hole. My crush twisted into something darker, a fascination with the impossible intimacy of it all.

Dan locked the classroom door with a click. "Okay, let's do this. I'll keep watch."

I stood over Mr. Clarke, my pulse racing like a drum. His body was a mountain compared to mine, his shoulders twice as wide as my own, his chest a broad expanse of power, his gut a soft curve that spoke of both strength and years of indulgence. I kicked off my shoes, a strange gesture of respect, and hesitated, my breath shallow. The black hole pulsed invitingly, its edges shimmering, beckoning me forward.

"Be careful," Dan whispered, his voice tense.

I nodded, stepping forward, one foot hovering over the void. "Here goes nothing."

I lowered myself in slowly, the sensation immediate and overwhelming, a warm, squishy embrace that enveloped my foot like sinking into a heated waterbed, but alive, pulsating gently. The inside of Mr. Clarke's body was soft and yielding, yet unnervingly organic, the walls slick and warm against my skin, almost caressing me as I descended.

My foot sank into a crevice, what I assumed was the path to his thick leg, and I felt a gentle resistance, as if the space was molding itself to me, adapting to my shape. I was scrawny, barely 5'6" and 130 pounds, but Mr. Clarke was a giant, well over 6'8" and easily 250 pounds, his bulk dwarfing me entirely. Yet the hole seemed to adjust seamlessly, my leg sliding into his thigh, stopping abruptly as if fitted perfectly, despite the vast size difference.

"How does it feel?" Dan asked, his voice hushed, watching intently.

"It's... warm," I replied, my voice shaky. "Like it's hugging me, tightly yet firmly." 

I lowered myself further, my other leg finding its place, the sensation of his massive thighs enveloping my own, heavy and warm, like pulling on a suit far too large yet impossibly snug. My hips settled into his, my slim frame sinking into the broad expanse of his pelvis, the weight of his ass pressing down beneath me, a dense, plump mass that felt alien and grounding all at once.

I pushed my arms through next, feeling the crevices widen for his thick biceps and forearms, my hands slipping into his, the fingers blunt and calloused, so unlike my own slender ones.

"My arms... they're in his now," I murmured, flexing experimentally, yet straining under the heavy weight of them.

The inside of his chest stretched tight as I pushed myself further down, the flesh straining with a soft creak, and I felt the dampness of his simmering sweat enveloping me, a musky scent that filled my senses, both repellent and intoxicating in its rawness.

"Keep going," Dan encouraged, his eyes wide. "You're almost there."

I pulled myself deeper, my chest sinking into his, the soft flesh brushing against my skin inside, a sensation so intimate it made my face burn with heat. The black hole's warmth enveloped my torso completely, and I bent my neck forward, sliding my head down into the darkness and then through a tight, slick passage that must have been his throat.

"It's so tight here," I gasped, darkness closing in, warm and suffocating, as I aligned my body with his.

For a moment, I panicked, blind and breathless, but then vision flickered to life, and I saw through Mr. Clarke's eye sockets, the world sharper, larger, as if my eyes now perceived everything as he did. Air rushed through his nostrils and into my lungs, filling me with a strange vitality. I pushed myself up slowly, his bulk around me loose and heavy, a staggering weight that made my movements slow and uncoordinated.

"God, he's so fucking heavy," I said, Mr. Clarke's deep timbre somehow resonated through me, a bizarre mixture of his voice and mine that boomed in the room.

I gripped the desk for support, my thick fingers leaving sweaty prints on the wood, and stood, feeling the floor creak beneath his mass. My legs, inside his now, felt like heavy pillars, each step a lumbering effort, his thighs rubbing together with a soft friction, khaki pants wrapped snugly around them. His hairy chest rose and fell with each breath I took inside, and his broad shoulders strained the dress shirt, the seams taut against the power beneath.

Dan gaped at me, his mouth open in awe. "Holy shit, Noah. You're wearing him! You look just like Clarke, but... it's you in there controlling him!"

"Yeah," I replied, my voice still that strange mixture of ours combined. "It's me. But god it feels strange being in here, like everything too big and heavy..."

Dan stepped closer, peering at my new bearded face. "How are you breathing? Seeing? It looks completely normal from out here."

"It feels like looking through a one-way mask," I explained, touching my cheek experimentally, and somehow feeling the scratchy beard poking me from the inside. "Like my eyes are hidden behind his, invisible from outside. And I'm breathing through his nostrils, the air flowing right to me. Sounds vibrate from his eardrums and fill this space I'm in. And my mouth, my tongue... they've slipped into his like a thick, larger sleeve. It's so freaky how this actually worked..."

"Damn," Dan said, reaching out to poke my arm, squeezing the thick flesh. "Can you feel that?"

"Barely," I admitted, the sensation dulled by the layer of Mr. Clarke's heavy flesh encasing me. "It's really like I'm wearing a big heavy skinsuit..."

But then he tried to reach into the hole on Mr. Clarke’s chest, his fingers brushed my real chest inside, tickling me lightly. "Hey, stop that!" I laughed, swatting him away, my voice booming louder than intended.

He grinned, then slapped my ass playfully, the thick flesh bouncing slightly, sending a jolt through me, a mix of embarrassment and a strange thrill at feeling this body respond under my control. "Damn... guess you're the one with the thick massive ass now, huh? How's it feel to have all that junk in the trunk?"

"Shut up, Dan," I said, but I couldn't help a small chuckle, shifting my weight and feeling the dense anchor pull me down. "It's weird. Heavy, but... powerful."

Then, noticing the clock on the wall, Dan's expression turned serious. "We need to hurry. The hall might fill up soon. I’ll unlock the door and check if it's clear. Remember, our plan is to get to the professor's office, change our grades on his computer, and then we’ll come back and I’ll help you climb back out."

I nodded before shuffling toward the door, each step slow and unfamiliar, but stopped when I reached the nearby cabinet.

Catching Mr. Clarke's reflection in the glass, I froze. His handsome, bearded face stared back, but the sternness was gone, replaced by my own shock and fascination in his eyes. His body was a colossus, shoulders a broad wall, chest heaving with each breath, and his ass a soft curve that shifted sensually with every movement. But then I saw the gaping black hole on the chest, a glaring void that would draw immediate questions from other students and faculty members.

"Wait," I said, my deep voice echoing. "I can't walk out like this. The hole's too obvious. The other professors would freak out seeing Mr. Clarke like this. Maybe I can just take it off for a while…"

Dan seemed preoccupied with checking the hallway outside. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Just hurry up. The coast is clear now."

Without thinking of the implications or consequences, my hands, now inside Mr. Clarke's thick, rugged hands, gripped the rim of the black hole. The surface was smooth, almost liquid under my fingers, and I pulled gently, peeling it away from the damp dress shirt. The moment it detached, a searing heat erupted around me, a burning wave that consumed every nerve, every fiber.

"Noah? What did you do?!" Dan asked, his voice rising in alarm as he turned his attention back to me.

I realized too late my mistake. The warm squishy walls inside of Mr. Clarke's body tightened suddenly, compressing around me like a vice, as if his flesh was collapsing inward, crushing my scrawny frame.

"No... it- it hurts!!" I gasped, my skin burning, my bones aching under the pressure. I felt my body, my real body inside, being crushed, warped, and dissolved into the vastness of Mr. Clarke's thick flesh, and then as if I was being wrung and dispersed throughout every pore and cell that was Mr. Clarke. The room spun wildly, Dan's scream echoing in my ears as my vision darkened. "Dan... help..." 

My last thought was a desperate wish for Mr. Clarke to forgive me for what we had done to him…

—

–

-

"Hey! Wake up! Noah, wake up!" Dan's voice pierced through the fog, his hands shaking my shoulders with desperate force.

I groaned, my body feeling like it had been crushed under a boulder, heavy and unresponsive. My eyes fluttered open, vision swimming as the chemistry lab's fluorescent lights stabbed into my skull like knives. I pushed myself up slowly, sitting on the cold hardwood floor, every muscle screaming in protest. My limbs felt sluggish, foreign, like they belonged to someone else entirely.

Dan knelt before me, his face pale, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. "Is it you, Noah? Or is it Clarke? Say something, please."

I frowned, my head throbbing with a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes. "What do you mean?" I croaked, but the sound stopped me cold.

The voice was no longer a strange mixture; my original reedy tone of a college senior was completely gone without a trace. It was now deep, gruff, resonant, the voice I had heard barking orders in class, laced with coffee and unyielding authority. Mr. Clarke's fully complete voice.

My hand shot to my throat, fingers brushing a thick, muscular neck, the skin rough with coarse stubble that trailed downward. I froze, my breath catching as I felt the unfamiliar texture, the sheer bulk of it. "Dan... why does my voice sound like this?"

"Noah, is it really you?" Dan urged, his voice cracking with tension. "Please tell me it's you."

"It's me, dude. Noah," I said, but hearing that booming timbre again made my stomach drop.

I opened my mouth to speak more, but my gaze dropped to my hands, and the realization finally hit me. They felt massive now, rugged with blunt fingers and knuckles dusted with dark hair. I turned them over, palms up, staring at the calloused skin, the deep lines etched from years of grading papers and handling lab equipment.

"What the fuck?" I whispered, Mr. Clarke's voice booming out, alien and wrong coming from my thoughts. Somehow it no longer felt like I was wearing an oversized suit of flesh, but instead every breath, every sensation, every movement felt like it was my own flesh and blood.

I touched my face, fingers trembling as they encountered a scratchy beard, a strong jaw, thinning hair atop a broad skull. My other hand pressed against my chest, feeling the solid mass, the faint give of flesh, a heartbeat that thrummed powerfully but wasn't mine. I shifted, the floor creaking beneath my weight, my hips and thighs spreading wider than I had ever known, the sensation of bulk overwhelming and inescapable.

"Dan, what happened? Where's the hole, and why am I still inside Mr. Clarke?" I asked, my voice shaking despite its depth, each word a reminder of the flesh I now controlled completely.

Dan swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the black hole lying crumpled on the floor, its edges still faintly shimmering. "When you pulled the hole off, you screamed and collapsed. I rushed over and reattached it to your chest, hoping I could pull you out like before. But when I reached inside... there was nothing. Just emptiness, like it was before you climbed in. Your real body, Noah... I think it's gone. Like completely gone."

I stared at him, my mind refusing to process the words. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?" I demanded, my voice rising, filling the room with Mr. Clarke's commanding timbre.

Dan flinched slightly, raising his hands to calm me. "I think when you took the hole off, something triggered. Your real body was still inside Clarke's, and without the hole to keep you two separate… I think you fused with him. You became his flesh, his organs, his nerves, and maybe even his brain now. For all intents and purposes, Noah... I think you're Bruce Clarke now. Permanently."

The words shattered my reality like fragile glass.

"No..." I whispered, shaking my head slowly, the motion feeling heavy and unfamiliar as the coarse beard scratched against the collar of my damp dress shirt.

I grabbed at my thick arms, tugging desperately at the muscled flesh beneath the fabric as if I could somehow peel it away and reveal my old scrawny self hiding underneath. But the skin was undeniably real, warm and alive, every pinch sending sharp jolts through nerves that now belonged entirely to this body. I pressed both hands firmly against my broad chest, feeling the dense thickness of it, the coarse hairs curling under my palms, the heavy weight shifting with each ragged breath I took.

"I’m stuck…?" I murmured, the deep gruff voice choking in my throat. "I’m… Professor Clarke now?"

I was no longer a senior, just months away from graduation, with a future full of freedom stretching out before me like an open road. Instead, I had become a man in his late forties, a college science professor infamous for his unrelenting sternness and biting criticism. And, as Dan had always joked in the lab, the man with the thickest ass in town, a massive rounded backside that strained every pair of khaki pants he owned. The thought of my secret crush on Mr. Clarke, now twisted into my permanent reality, made my stomach churn with a sickening mix of horror and disbelief. I had admired this body from afar for months, stealing glances and fantasizing about its power and presence. But living in it, trapped forever inside its overwhelming bulk, was nothing I could ever have prepared myself for. It felt like a cruel joke, the object of my desire turned into an inescapable prison of flesh and weight.

"Come on, Noah. Sit down for a second. You look like you're about to pass out again." Dan stepped closer, his expression a blend of pity and lingering shock.

He guided me toward Mr. Clarke's office chair behind the desk, the one we had mocked so many times in our whispers. I lowered myself carefully, the wooden frame groaning immediately under the sudden load of my new mass. The chair creaked loudly, a long, protesting sound that seemed to mock me as I settled into it, my thick thighs spreading wide, my heavy gut pressing forward against the edge of the desk.

I ran my rugged hands over my face, fingers tracing the scratchy texture of the full beard, the deep-set eyes that now held my panicked gaze, the thinning hair on top that felt slick with fresh sweat. The sensations were all so alien, so rugged and scratchy, nothing like the old skin I had known just hours ago. My broad shoulders slumped as the reality sank deeper, the dress shirt pulling tight across my back.

"Dan, please," I pleaded, my voice cracking despite its depth, coming out as a quiet, desperate whimper from Mr. Clarke's lips. It felt so strange, so wrong, to hear that authoritative rumble reduced to begging. "You have to help me... I can’t be stuck like this forever... I can't live as him..."

Dan opened his mouth to respond, his eyes soft with sympathy. "We'll figure it out, I swear. We'll—"

Right as the words left his mouth, I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to find a position that didn't feel so foreign and constricting. My massive frame didn't move lightly; the simple adjustment sent my weight rocking backward, my thick ass pressing down harder into the seat. There was a sharp, ominous crack, like wood splitting under too much strain, followed immediately by a loud pop as one of the supports gave way completely.

The chair collapsed beneath me in an instant. The back legs buckled, the seat tilted violently, and I tumbled backward with absolutely no grace. My heavy body hit the hardwood floor with a thunderous thud that echoed through the empty classroom, the impact jarring every bone in this giant frame. My broad back slammed down first, followed by the dense weight of my ass and thighs, sending a shockwave through me. Papers scattered from the desk, a beaker wobbled precariously on a nearby shelf, and the air rushed out of my lungs in a deep, involuntary grunt from Mr. Clarke's chest.

For a moment, I just lay there sprawled on the floor, stunned and breathless, staring up at the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. My khaki pants had ridden up slightly from the fall, exposing thick, hairy calves. My dress shirt had untucked in places, revealing a strip of soft gut and the dark trail of hair leading downward. My bearded face burned hot with flush, sweat beading anew on my forehead as humiliation flooded through me like fire.

We had always joked about this exact thing in the lab. Dan and I had whispered about how Mr. Clarke's poor office chair creaked every time he sat down, how one day surely his big heavy ass would finally snap it in half and send him crashing to the floor in front of everyone. We had laughed about imagining the scene, the uptight professor reduced to an embarrassing heap in front of the class. But I never, in my worst nightmares, imagined I would be the one inside his body when it actually happened. I never thought I would feel the sheer mortifying weight of it all from the inside. The way his massive frame made every movement so consequential, the way this thick, powerful ass that I had secretly admired was now the very thing that had caused my downfall.

"Shit, Mr. Clarke... I mean, Noah... are you okay?" Dan asked, rushing around the desk, his voice caught between concern and barely suppressed laughter as he looked down at me.

I groaned, trying to push myself up on my elbows, but the impact stung and made it awkward and slow. My thick arms strained, my gut shifted heavily, and I felt every pound of this body resisting the effort. Looking up at Dan from the floor with my flushed bearded face tilted upward in helpless vulnerability, only deepened the humiliation. The man who commanded fear and respect from the entire school was now sprawled helplessly like a toppled statue, and I was the one living it.

"Don't... don't laugh," I muttered, my deep voice rumbling with embarrassment as I finally rolled to my side and heaved myself upright, the floor creaking again under my rising weight. But even as I said it, I could feel the heat in my cheeks, the way this body's natural authority clashed with the ridiculous position I had landed in. It was so wrong, so utterly humiliating, and yet buried somewhere beneath the shame was that perverse flicker of sensation, the raw physicality of it all, the undeniable presence of this massive, hairy form that was now mine.

Dan offered a hand to help steady me as I stood, brushing off my rumpled shirt. "Sorry, man. But... we really did always say that chair wouldn't last much longer."

"Yeah," I replied quietly, adjusting my pants and feeling the dense curve of my ass settle back into place. "Just never thought I'd be the one to break it."

The words hung heavy, a stark reminder that every joke we had made about Mr. Clarke's body was now my reality, every flaw and excess now mine to carry, to feel, to live with from today on.

—

The next hour was a nightmare, a desperate scramble to reverse the impossible. We stayed late in the school lab, the black hole's shimmering void mocking me from the floor as it lay there like a discarded shadow, its edges rippling faintly under the fluorescent lights. Dan paced back and forth, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, while I stood there in Mr. Clarke's towering body, feeling every inch of its heavy presence pulling me down.

"Okay, Noah, let's think this through," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe we can have you climb into another body. Like one of the jocks or another student. At least you wouldn't be stuck as this old lumbering giant forever."

I nodded eagerly, a spark of hope flickering in my chest, making my thick beard twitch as I spoke. "Yes, please. Let's try that. Anything but this. I can't stay like him, Dan. His body feels so... overwhelming. So heavy and thick everywhere." My deep voice rumbled with desperation, and I glanced down at my broad frame, the dress shirt still clinging damply to my hairy chest from the earlier sweat.

Dan picked up the black hole carefully, unrolling it like a fragile map. "Alright, hold still. I'll place it on the floor, and you try to squeeze through. Imagine slipping into one of the jock's bodies or another student. We could grab one of them after practice or something."

He laid it flat, the void pulsing invitingly, and I lowered myself awkwardly, my massive knees creaking as they hit the ground. I positioned my large callused hand at the rim first, feeling the warm, squishy pull of the anomaly, but as I tried to push my arm in deeper, the resistance built immediately. 

"It's tight already," I grunted, my rugged face flushing with effort. My broad shoulders caught painfully against the edge, the void stretching slightly but refusing to yield to my width. I twisted, sweat beading on my forehead and dripping into my beard, my thick chest heaving as I pushed harder.

"Keep going, Noah. You can do it," Dan encouraged, kneeling beside me, his voice tense. "Suck in your chest or something."

I tried, inhaling deeply, feeling the firm curve of my chest compress slightly, but it was no use. My thick chest, matted with coarse hair under the shirt, refused to squeeze through the narrow rim, the fabric straining as I wedged myself further. Pain shot through my shoulders, and I gasped, pulling back with a frustrated roar. "Damn it, it's not working. Clarke’s shoulders are too wide. This body is built like a wall."

We tried again, Dan suggesting I go feet first this time. "Maybe start with your legs. Your thighs are huge, but the hole might stretch."

I lay on my back, the floor cool against my broad shoulders, and slid one thick, hairy leg toward the void. The sensation was strange, the anomaly enveloping my calf with that familiar warm embrace, but as my massive backside approached, it jammed, the dense muscle and fat bunching up against the rim.

"Push harder," Dan said, grabbing my other leg to help guide me. "Come on, Noah, you're almost there."

I groaned, my deep voice echoing in the empty lab, sweat now soaking through the back of my shirt as I strained. "It hurts, Dan. These thighs and this ass are too damn big! It's like trying to force a tree trunk through a keyhole." After minutes of grunting and twisting, I yanked my leg free, panting heavily, my beard damp and itchy from the exertion.

We made a third attempt, this time with me on my side, but each try left me more exhausted, my beard dripping beads of sweat onto the floor as I gasped for air.

"Enough," I finally said, slumping against the desk, my thick frame trembling. "It's not working. I'm too fucking big now. Clarke's body is never going to fit that small hole..."

Dan shook his head in defeat, his face pale. "Damn it. Okay, plan B. What about recreating the chemical reaction? Maybe make another bigger hole or find a way to reverse the fusion somehow."

I nodded wearily, my rugged hands trembling as I stood up, feeling the weight of my ass shift with the movement. "Let's try. Anything to get me out of this."

For the next hour and a half we gathered beakers and compounds from the shelves, Dan reading off measurements while I poured with my blunt fingers, the liquids hissing as they mixed.

"Add more sulfur this time," Dan instructed, peering into the beaker. "That might be what triggered it before."

I complied, but the mixture just bubbled harmlessly, no void forming, no anomaly appearing. We tried variation after variation, frantically adjusting ratios, but without the exact accidental formula, it was futile. 

"This isn't the right combination," I said after the tenth failed batch, my hands shaking as I set down the beaker, the reality sinking in deeper like a stone in my thick chest. Each failure cemented my fate deeper, the reality sinking in that I was stuck as Bruce Clarke for the unforeseeable future.

"Shit, Noah," Dan whispered, leaning against the table. "I don't know what else to do right now…"

"I can't go home like this," I said finally, my voice exhausted and defeated after hours of trying. "My parents would freak out if I showed up looking like our science professor. What do I do now, Dan?"

Dan thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. "We leave it for today and try again tomorrow when we're fresh. I heard Clarke lives alone, in an apartment a town over. Maybe… you could go there, and just pretend to be him until we fix this. It's not ideal, but it's something, I guess…"

The words felt like a death sentence, the idea of stepping fully into Mr. Clarke's life making my hairy chest tighten. "Pretend to be him? Dan, I am him now. But... fine," I agreed reluctantly, my deep voice heavy with resignation. "I don't have a choice. Just promise you'll help me tomorrow. We meet back here first thing?"

"I promise," Dan said, clapping me on the shoulder, though his hand barely made an impact on my thick frame. "We'll figure this out, Noah. You're still my buddy."

We shared an awkward hug, my massive arms enveloping him easily, the powerful scent of Mr. Clarke's sweat and cologne filling the air between us. "Thanks, Dan. See you tomorrow," I murmured, pulling away.

"Take care... Mr. Clarke," he joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood, but it only made my bearded face flush deeper as I nodded and headed out.

—

After saying goodbye to Dan, I decided to take the bus instead of daring to drive Mr. Clarke's car, unsure if I could even handle the pedals with these thick legs or fit inside comfortably with this towering body. The evening air was muggy as I waited at the stop, my dress shirt already sticking to my broad back. When the bus arrived, I ducked my head to board, my broad shoulders brushing the doorframe, and lumbered to the back, the vehicle dipping slightly under my weight. Sitting on the bus without any air-conditioning, I felt stuffed and hot, the seat creaking loudly as I lowered my massive frame into it, my thick ass spreading wide and filling the space meant for two. Mr. Clarke's body started sweating profusely almost immediately, and I felt the back of the dress shirt and my armpits soaked through with his musky sweat, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to my hairy skin, outlining every curve of my chest and back.

A group of college jocks from our school boarded a few stops later, recognizing me instantly. They stared, pointing, and laughing quietly among themselves. "Look at Clarke taking up the whole backseat," one whispered, snickering. "Guy's like a tank. Bet he could crush the seat if he bounces."

At first, I thought it would feel absolutely humiliating, my cheeks flushing hot under the scruffy beard, the heat making my sweat drip faster. I shifted awkwardly, feeling the dense weight of my thighs rub together, the khaki pants damp and tight.

Yet, for some strange reason, a flicker of arousal stirred within me, warm and unexpected, building in my core as their eyes lingered on my bulk. Instead of shying away, I stared back at the jocks with a stern glare, channeling Mr. Clarke's authority.

"Something funny, boys?" I boomed, my voice deep and commanding, rumbling through the bus like thunder.

The jocks went quiet immediately, their laughter dying as they looked away in fear, mumbling apologies under their breath. "Sorry, Mr. Clarke…" one said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

There were perks to being big, scary, and having authority after all, I realized, a small thrill running through me as I shifted in the seat again, feeling the power in my bulk ripple through my muscles. The arousal lingered, a warm pulse in my thick crotch, making the ride feel strangely empowering despite the discomfort.

—

At the apartment, I fumbled with his keys at the door, my thick fingers clumsy and uncoordinated at first, the metal slipping twice before I finally turned the lock and entered. The space was clean and masculine, smelling of cedar and faint coffee, but it struck me how minimalistic it all was. The furniture was sparse: a plain wooden table in the kitchen with two mismatched chairs, a worn leather couch in the living room facing a small TV on a simple stand, and bare walls except for a few shelves holding books on chemistry and physics. No decorations, no clutter, just functional and stark, like the home of a man who lived for his work and little else.

I wandered the rooms slowly, my heavy footsteps thudding on the hardwood floors, exploring this new life that was now mine. In the living room, photo frames on a side table caught my eye. I picked one up with my rugged hands, staring at the unfamiliar faces: a group of people at a family gathering, smiling warmly, with Mr. Clarke in the center, his arm around an older woman who must have been his mother. 

"Who are you all?" I whispered, my deep voice soft in the quiet space.

Another photo showed him with friends at a bar, laughing, beers in hand, a side of him I had never imagined. And on the wall in the hallway, diplomas hung framed: his bachelor's in chemistry, master's in education, awards for teaching excellence.

"All these achievements... and they're all mine now?" I murmured, tracing the glass with a thick finger, feeling a strange mix of awe and intrusion.

The closet in the bedroom was equally plain and boring, filled with rows of identical khaki pants, tight dress shirts in neutral colors, and a few pairs of sensible shoes. No flair, no variety, just practical clothes that strained over his massive frame.

"This is what I have to wear every day?" I said aloud, pulling out a shirt and holding it up, imagining buttoning it over my hairy chest.

Finally, exhausted, I collapsed onto the bed, the frame creaking loudly under my weight like a protest, the mattress sinking deeply beneath my bulk. I peeled off the sticky shirt slowly, button by button, exposing the broad, hairy chest and thick gut inch by inch. The air felt cool against the damp skin, but the heat from my body lingered. My hands roamed tentatively, tracing the unfamiliar terrain, a mix of revulsion and fascination washing over me as my fingers sank into the soft give of my belly, then up to the dense mat of coarse hair covering my pecs. This was my prison now, a body I had day-dreamed about from afar, now mine possibly forever.

That's when I realized this was the first time I had ever seen Mr. Clarke shirtless, even if it was my own view now. A mix of horror and fascination gripped me as I stared down at the insanely hairy chest and thick legs, the coarse hairs curling thickly over the skin, dark and wild.

"This is me now…" I whispered to myself, running my hands through the furry chest, feeling the texture rough and warm under my palms. I gave my own pecs a firm squeeze, the flesh yielding softly under my grip, sending a shiver through my new body, the hairs tickling my fingers sensually.

I had to come to terms with the fact that I was Bruce Clarke now, forced to take on his identity and career as a college science professor, infamous for being cruel and barely fitting through door frames. 

"Bruce... I said aloud, testing the name on my tongue, my deep voice making it sound natural. The thought that I would have to live with this giant hairy body for the rest of my life still horrified me, but at the same time, a strange thrill emerged, building slowly like a fire kindling in my core. I had secretly always admired Mr. Clarke's body, the way it moved with such commanding presence, the sheer mass of it filling every space. 

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all…" I murmured, my hands pressing harder into the hairy expanse, feeling the sweat-slicked skin respond.

My hands drifted lower, unbuckling the khaki pants with deliberate slowness, the belt loosening with a soft click, sliding them down over my impossibly thick thighs, the fabric brushing against the hairy legs. The air felt cool against the newly exposed skin, but the warmth from within built steadily, a pulsing heat in my heavy crotch. I explored further, my fingers brushing the unfamiliar weight there, Mr. Clarke’s cock thick and responsive, stirring under my touch, growing heavier and warmer in my palm.

"Oh god…" I murmured, my deep voice husky now, laced with building desire as I wrapped my hand around it fully, feeling the alien yet intoxicating sensations build with each slow stroke. It was slow, sensual, each movement drawing out the twisted acceptance of my fate, the veiny length thickening in my grip, the hairy base brushing my knuckles.

I lay there fondling myself, grappling with the knowledge that I had to take on the identity of Mr. Clarke from now on, even calling myself by the name of Bruce. "I'm Bruce Clarke…" I whispered repeatedly, the words sinking in as my strokes grew firmer, the pleasure coiling tighter in my thick frame. In the darkness of my new bedroom, I surrendered to the body's pull, my fingers tightening around the shaft, my breaths coming deeper and more ragged, slowly embracing the thick, hairy middle-aged professor I had become.

The slow realization deepened: I could be stuck as Bruce forever, this sweaty, heavy, hairy, and impossibly thick body my permanent home. The thought sent waves of conflicting emotion through me, a mixture of horror at the loss of my youth, yet the thrill at the power and sensuality of this form. The pleasure mounted gradually, waves of it washing over me, building to an unbearable peak until I arched my broad back off the bed, a low groan escaping my bearded lips.

My massive frame shuddered violently, the climax ripping through me, sending spurts of Mr. Clarke’s semen arcing onto the floor, coating my thick hairy thighs in warm, sticky trails, and some residue even splattering upward to get stuck in the scruffy brown beard, clinging to the coarse hairs like dew.

I lay there panting, the afterglow settling over my bulk, sealing my new reality in a haze of reluctant ecstasy.

- Epilogue -

Three years had passed since the accident in the chemistry lab, three years since my life as Noah, the scrawny college senior, dissolved completely into the void of a black hole and left me forever trapped in the massive, hairy body of Bruce Clarke, Westview High’s infamous uptight and cruel science professor.

The classroom, once a place of quiet dread and stolen glances, had become my domain, its fluorescent lights humming softly overhead, the sharp tang of chemicals as familiar now as the constant, grounding weight of my own thick frame. I stood at the front of the classroom each day, chalk dust coating my blunt fingers, my deep voice rumbling through the space as I lectured a new batch of students on molecular bonds and atomic structures that I barely knew anything about myself.

My dress shirts, always custom-tailored larger to accommodate the broad expanse of my chest and the soft curve of my gut, pulled snugly across the coarse hair beneath. My khaki pants hugged my powerful thighs and rounded ass, the fabric stretching with every deliberate step I took across the linoleum floor, a sensual reminder of the man I had fully become.

In the beginning, Dan and I had spent frantic weeks trying to undo the impossible fusion, experimenting late into the nights in the empty lab, recreating mixtures and testing the black hole on objects, animals, anything we could think of. But every attempt failed, and by the end of the first month, exhaustion and resignation settled over us like a heavy blanket. 

“It’s no use, dude,” Dan had said one evening, his voice quiet as he rolled the anomaly back up. “I don’t think you’re getting out of that big body. Ever...”

I nodded slowly, feeling the beard scratch against my collar, the weight of my chest shifting as I breathed deeply, and something inside me had quietly surrendered.

Eventually, Dan and I drifted apart, the strain of our changed dynamic too much to bear. He could not look at Mr. Clarke’s rugged face without flinching, could not hear that gruff voice without remembering the professor he had despised, even though he knew it was me trapped inside.

“It’s just too weird, man,” he confessed one afternoon in the empty classroom, his eyes fixed on the floor as the black hole sat rolled up in his backpack. “I hate that I still feel angry when I see you. It’s not fair to you, but I can’t help it.”

I understood, my massive hand resting gently on his shoulder, the touch heavy and paternal in a way that made us both uncomfortable. After that, our meetings grew shorter, rarer, until they stopped altogether.

I had no choice but to settle fully into Bruce Clarke’s life, his quiet apartment, his solitary routines, his very identity. The first months were a slow, deliberate adjustment, each day a lesson in inhabiting this towering body. I learned the rhythm of his mornings: the hot shower where steam clung to the thick hair on my chest and back, the way my heavy cock and balls swayed as I toweled off, the satisfying stretch of my broad shoulders as I buttoned a fresh shirt. I navigated grocery stores with my wide frame, feeling eyes linger on my bulk, my ass filling the seat of my small car. I graded papers late into the evening, my calloused fingers gripping the red pen, the creak of my new reinforced desk chair a constant companion beneath my spreading weight.

But as seasons turned, resistance melted into familiarity, then into something warmer, deeper. I began to crave the sensations of this body, the way sweat gathered in the dense fur of my chest on warm days, the powerful thud of my footsteps, the delicious heft of my thighs when I sat. 

Alone in the apartment, I found myself drawn to mirrors more and more. I would strip slowly, savoring the slide of fabric over hairy skin, standing naked before the full-length glass in the bedroom. The reflection mesmerized me: a stereotypical lumberjack of a man, 6’8” of solid mass, chest broad and forested with dark curls that trailed all the way down to my crotch. I ran my thick hands over it all, palms sinking into warm flesh, thumbs circling nipples buried in fur, feeling them harden under my touch. My arms, thick and strong, flexed as I explored, veins standing out beneath the hair-dusted skin. Lower still, my cock hung heavy between muscular thighs, stirring as I cupped the weight of my balls, the musky scent of the day rising warmly.

Yet it was my ass that truly captivated me, that massive, rounded mound of muscle and softness that shifted with every movement. I turned sideways, watching it in the mirror, reaching back to grip the cheeks, fingers digging deep into the dense flesh, spreading them slightly to feel the heat within. It jiggled subtly when I walked, filled my pants to bursting, and in those private moments I reveled in its size, its power, its sheer sensuality. This body, once a prison of shame and loss, had become a source of dark, intoxicating pleasure. I was no longer Noah. I was Bruce Clarke, and I slowly grew to love every heavy, sweaty, hairy inch of my new self.

Then, months later and right before graduation, Dan reappeared suddenly, his eyes burning with a wild, desperate hunger. He cornered me after school in the lab, the black hole clutched tightly in his hands. 

“I want it,” he said, voice trembling with excitement. “I want Austin’s body. All of it. The looks, the strength, the privileges. You have to help me, Noah. Please!”

I hesitated, memories of my own irreversible mistake flooding back, but the plea in his eyes, the years of torment we had endured from Austin and his crew, wore down my resistance. Against every instinct, I agreed.

That afternoon I lured Austin to the classroom under the pretense of discussing his borderline grades, my deep voice calm and authoritative as I gestured for him to sit. While the jock slouched defiantly, bragging about his athletic scholarship, Dan emerged silently from the supply closet behind him. In one swift motion, he slapped the black hole onto Austin’s broad, muscular back. The star athlete stiffened, a shocked scream escaping his lips before his perfect body went limp, collapsing forward onto the desk.

I watched, heart pounding in my thick chest, as Dan stripped off his shirt and climbed eagerly into the void, his slim frame disappearing inch by inch into Austin’s chiseled form. The sight stirred something dark in me, arousal mixing with guilt. When Dan was fully inside, eyes fluttering open behind Austin’s handsome face, he grinned wickedly and nodded. Without a word, I reached forward and ripped the black hole away, sealing his fate just as mine had been sealed years before.

The void came free with a soft, wet sound before Austin’s body shuddered and fell onto the floor, convulsing violently for a few minutes before returning to normal, although now permanently inhabited by my old friend.

“Holy shit,” the new Austin breathed, flexing powerful arms, running hands over sculpted abs. “It worked. I’m freakin’ Austin now!”

That evening, the new Austin insisted on coming over to the apartment, his voice over the phone laced with that cocky drawl he had already mastered. I could only agree, my deep rumble quiet and resigned, even though I knew exactly what dark intentions burned in his eyes. He arrived just after dusk, filling the doorway with his perfect athletic frame, shirt stretched tight over sculpted pecs, jeans hugging powerful thighs. The contrast hit me immediately: his smooth, golden skin against my hairy bulk as he stepped inside, grinning like he owned the place.

We barely spoke before he pushed me back toward the bedroom, hands greedy on my broad chest, tugging at my shirt buttons until they popped free. Clothes fell away in a heated rush, and soon he had me bent over, my thick palms pressed against the full-length bedroom mirror, my bearded face inches from the glass. Cool air kissed my sweaty skin as he positioned himself behind me, his hard cock sliding teasingly between my heavy cheeks before pressing in slow and deep. The stretch burned deliciously, and I groaned, the sound rumbling from my hairy chest as he buried himself fully in Mr. Clarke’s thick ass.

The mirror in front of us showed everything: Austin’s flawless chiseled body gleaming with sweat, muscles rippling with every thrust, while my massive, hairy form rocked forward, broad shoulders flexing, thick flesh shifting under coarse fur across my back and chest. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, my big ass bouncing loudly with each powerful drive, while the sound echoing off the walls like thunder.

“Look at you, Mr. Clarke,” he growled, voice dripping with triumphant venom as he gripped my wide hips harder, pulling me back onto his cock. “Always acting like you were better than everyone, barking orders in that stupid deep voice. Now you’re just a thick hairy daddy taking my dick like you were born for it.”

I moaned, eyes locked on my own reflection, mesmerized by the flushed bearded face staring back, mouth open in helpless pleasure, sweat dripping from my brow into the scruffy hair.

“That’s right, you massive old lumberjack,” he continued, slowing his thrusts to long, deliberate strokes that made my thick thighs tremble. “Feel this perfect cock stretching your hairy hole. I’ve got the body you could only dream of: tight abs, big arms, perfect skin. And you? You’re just a big, heavy brute with fur everywhere. Look at all that coarse hair on your chest. Bet it traps all your sweat like the thick bear you are.”

He laughed, reaching around to tug roughly at the dense mat on my chest, pinching a nipple hard enough to make me gasp. “God, these heavy pecs are huge under all that fur. And this trail running down your thick gut,” he traced it with mocking fingers, “leading straight to that musky crotch like the bearded giant you are.”

My cock throbbed harder at the degradation, leaking steadily onto the floor as I pushed back against him, craving more despite the shame. I moaned loudly, voice shaking as my broad back arched.

“Yeah, moan for me, Clarke,” he taunted, flexing one bicep beside my head so I could see it in the mirror, kissing the hard bicep while slamming deeper. “This is what real power feels like. I’m the star now, the perfect jock, and you’re just the thick hairy professor begging for my cock. Say it. Tell me how much better I am.”

“You… you’re better,” I rasped, voice thick and broken, staring at my own hairy bulk submitting so completely. “You’re perfect… young… strong…”

“Louder, you thick brute,” he demanded, slapping my ass hard, the cheek rippling wildly.

“I- I’m nothing like you,” I groaned louder, the words spilling out as he thrust harder, forcing them from me. “I’m just a big, hairy middle-aged college professor with a fat heavy ass!”

“That’s it, keep going, professor,” he laughed, pounding faster. “Now say how much you love watching your own reflection get fucked like this. Admit you’re just a hairy perverted man who deserves it for looking down on me all those years.”

“I love it,” I confessed breathlessly, the sight of my bearded face twisted in ecstasy pulling more words from me. “I love seeing my big hairy thick reflection being fucked against the mirror. This heavy old body I’m stuck in forever, jiggling and sweating in this small town as the uptight middle-aged professor who can barely fit anywhere.”

He reached climax then, roaring as he flexed both arms, veins popping. Hot pulses filled me, spilling down my thick thighs. “Fuck yeah! I’m Austin McCormack! Star athlete, perfect body, blowing my load deep in the science professor’s hairy ass! Look at these guns!”

The overwhelming sensation pushed me over too. My cock erupted untouched, thick ropes splattering the mirror, streaking down over my reflected chest and fur. I whimpered pathetically, mimicking him in broken surrender. “I-I’m Bruce Clarke… just a middle-aged college professor… with a big hairy body and thick ass… stuck in this small town forever…”

He pulled out slowly, laughing as my hole gaped and leaked, then slapped my ass one last time, watching it bounce against the impact. “Fuck, this ass is unreal. So big and juicy and hairy, like two thick muscular pillows. No wonder you could barely fit through doors. Remember that day you sat down and broke the damn chair? Crack, boom, big bad Mr. Clarke sprawled on the floor like a toppled tree, fat ass in the air, face red as a tomato. Bet the whole school would’ve paid to see that. And now here it is, bouncing beautifully while I fuck it raw.”

I whimpered, the memory burning hot through me, my reflection showing Mr. Clarke’s stern eyes now soft and pleading, filled with lust. Without pause, he spun me around, shoved me onto the bed, and climbed over me, sliding back in with ease. “But we’re not done, old man. I’m fucking you all night. Years of payback in one evening.”

“Dan,” I gasped as he started thrusting again, my voice trembling. I thought we were just role-playing, but now I wasn’t so sure. “It’s still me inside, you know... Noah, your friend.”

He paused for a split second, then laughed coldly, gripping my beard and forcing my head back. “Friend? Nah, I don’t see Noah anymore. I see a thick bearded daddy, the uptight stern professor who always looked down on me. And look at you, loving every second of watching your own hairy thick reflection get railed. There’s no way we’ll ever be friends, you old perverted man. This is my final goodbye to you, one last fuck from a stud like me. You’re Bruce Clarke now, and I’m Austin McCormack, the prom king and aspiring athlete. Enjoy that big hairy body and your boring small-town life.”

And he did fuck me relentlessly through the night: position after position, hour after hour, he took me on my back with my thick legs over his shoulders, on my side with his arm around my broad chest, on all fours again while he pulled my beard and whispered more humiliating truths about my thickness, my hair, my heavy build. Each time he came, he proclaimed his new identity louder, flexing and posing, while I whimpered mine in quiet defeat, spilling over my own hairy torso again and again, our former bond shattered irreparably, cementing us forever in these new identities and lives.

By morning, he was gone. No note, no goodbye, just the lingering ache in my body and the sticky evidence on the sheets.

I learned later he had left town right after graduation, the black hole vanished with him, off to live the perfect life of Austin McCormack: scholarships, trust funds, and endless possibilities. I did not blame him. He had everything he ever wanted, while I remained the middle-aged science professor with the big, hairy body and the quiet unassuming life.

The disappearance of Dan and the black hole sealed my fate irrevocably. There would be no reversal, no climbing into a new body. My old life as Noah was gone forever, with no hopes of ever returning. But as I stood in the shower that morning, hot water cascading over my broad back, running down through the dense hair, down the curve of my big ass and between my thick thighs, a profound peace settled over me. I ran my hands over myself slowly, possessively, feeling every inch of this magnificent form.

Later, dressed in fresh khakis and a snug shirt, I sat at my desk with coffee and papers, the reinforced chair creaking comfortably beneath my weight, my ass spreading wide and familiar.

I was Bruce Clarke now, completely and without reservation. Science professor, hairy giant, and infamous owner of the biggest ass in town. And in the quiet moments, before the mirror or alone in bed, I celebrated this mature body with slow, worshipful touches, reveling in its size, its hair, its unrelenting presence. The black hole had taken everything from my old life, but it had given me this, a deep, sensual love for the man I had ultimately become.

The End?