Cameron adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and slathered a second coat of sunscreen over his pale body, trying not to let the growing irritation show on his face. The waves were small, the sand was hot, and unfortunately, two overly persistent girls from his old high school had spotted him almost immediately when he stepped onto the beach.
“Aww, Cammy! Still pretending to be into boys?” one of them teased, licking a popsicle suggestively.
“Yeah, come on. You’d look so hot with a real girl on your arm instead of—what was it, that barista guy?” the other said, flipping her long bleached hair.
Cameron tried to brush them off. He told them clearly twice, then three times, that he wasn’t interested. He even put his earbuds in. But they only got more persistent and more condescending. They talked about him like he was broken, like his whole self was all a joke or a phase.
So, when they followed him down the shoreline, to where the tide lapped gently against the shore, he finally turned and gave them a long, quiet stare. He had this magic for a reason after all, he thought to himself.
“I warned you,” he said calmly. He made a strange gesture with his fingers and clearly envisioned in his head what he wanted to happen.
The wind died for a moment. The sunlight shimmered strangely on the water. Then, very softly, things began to change.
Their names were Madison and Brittney. They’d grown up as pretty, popular girls, same old story: always the center of attention, always used to getting what they wanted. And they wanted Cameron. Or more specifically, they wanted the challenge of Cameron.
Madison was the first to feel it. She opened her mouth for another taunt, her voice cracked. Literally cracked, as she tried speaking her voice sounded too deep to be hers.
“Ughh, wha—?” she croaked, then coughed, clutching her throat and finding it to feel unusually thick and hard.
Brittney giggled or tried too. but the sound came out sharp and nasal, more like a mocking sneer. “You okay, Mads?” she asked, only to frown at her own voice. “Wait, what the—?”
Their skin began to darken under the sun, but not from a burn. Muscles began to swell beneath their collarbones, at first subtle, then sudden. Popping into place as if something alive was under their skin. Their delicate wrists thickened, and their narrow, painted fingernails curled inward, breaking off as larger hands formed, knuckles cracking and fingers broadening each with a dull thick nail.
“Cam?” Madison asked, but even she could hear the desperate, masculine rasp in her voice now.
Cameron just watched, standing a few feet away as the transformation accelerated.
The girls dropped to their knees in the wet sand, gasping, clutching their stomachs as their waists thickened and broadened. Their hips narrowed, breasts flattening into hard, meaty pecs. Pink bikini tops slipped off and hit the sand with a soft slap. What had once been sun-kissed hourglass torsos were now bulking up into V-shaped gym bros.
Brittney, who now looked about 80% frat pledge, grunted and tugged at the waistband of her bikini bottoms as something stirred beneath them, which something did , her feminine parts reformed, an above average male prostate was pushing itself out of her vigina.
“I feel—oh fuuuck, I feel weird,” she moaned, then let out a guttural laugh as her voice dropped even deeper. “No, bro, this feels good.”
“Bro?” Madison repeated, then blinked. “Wait, yeah—bro. I feel, like—fucking alive.”
Their thoughts were shifting now. You could almost see it happen in their glassy eyes, the way their brows furrowed dumbly in confusion, then eased into cocky smirks.
“Yo, is this what it’s like to be a dude?” Madison asked, flexing his arms and looking at the veins bulging beneath the skin.
“No, man,” Brittney, now mentally calling himself Brock rather than Britt, grinned and scratched his head. “Like. . . aren’t we fucking dudes though.”
Their hair had changed too. Madison’s straight blond waves curled tightly into a mop of sweaty dark curls. Brittney’s tangle of platinum strands faded into a rich, sandy brown and grew denser, more tousled, like the perfect Instagram model the former girls would have thirsted over.
Within minutes, two shirtless young men were standing in the sand where the girls had been, tan, ripped, and glistening in the sun.
And the thoughts that swirled in their newly male brains? Definitely not what they used to be.
“Damn, I need a fuckin’ beer or somethin’,” muttered Brock, tugging on his board shorts, now perfectly formed around his trim waist and generous bulge.
“No joke, bro,” said the other, who was now going by Maddox. “Also kinda feel like...I wanna hit something. Or fuck someone. Or both.”
Cameron stepped back just as they picked up their skimboards, ones that hadn’t existed a minute before. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Cameron stood quietly, a glimmer in his eye.
He went back under his umbrella and sat down, content with a job well done. He watched, as they jogged down the beach to go check out some “tight chicks,” Jax and Brock were now prime examples of the straight, cocky fuckbois they’d always fantasized about. Shallow, horny, and mostly brainless, with just enough confidence to make them entertaining.
He watched as Brock clumsily flirted with a volleyball player, slurring a lazy line about “how tight her spike was,” while Jax adjusted his waistband for the fifth time, smirking down at himself like it was the first time he’d seen it.
Cameron let out a slow breath and pulled his hat lower over his face. He happily picked up his book, eager to finish it in his self made peace and quiet. But as he quietly flipped pages he failed to notice the two new beach bros walking towards his set up, lust in their eyes and a determined pep in their step. Not every spell works exactly as you want it to. . .
(A magical spell, maybe, gone wrong. Anyway hope you enjoy this one! Let me know if guy have any story ideas you want to see.)
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The sun was already beating down on the sand, even though it was barely nine in the morning. My backpack felt heavy on my shoulders, loaded with sample vials, a field notebook, and my trusty transect tape, as well as water, sunscreen, a clipboard, and anything else I’d need for the day’s lab work. Studying saltwater intrusion, invertebrate diversity and distribution, sand grain morphotypes… my mind buzzed with the protocol for our beach assay. This was the part of oceanography I lived for – the hands-on data collection, the tangible connection to the environments I spent hours studying in textbooks.
“Yo, Cassidy! You bring any snacks?”
I sighed, adjusting my sensible cargo shorts and breathable rash guard. That would be Chad. And his shadow, Brock, was probably right behind him, cracking a dumb joke. And unfortunately today, these two were my lab partners. “It’s a lab project, not a picnic,” I muttered under my breath, pushing my sunglasses up onto my forehead. Out loud, barely concealing my frustration, I remarked, “This is no time for snacks. We have actual research here to do today.”
They sauntered over, board shorts hanging low, tank tops stretched tight over torsos that clearly saw more gym time than library time. Brock tossed a frisbee in the air idly. “Dude, chill. It’s the beach. Gotta embrace the vibes.”
“The only vibe I’m interested in is ‘collecting quantitative data along a measured transect to assess intertidal biodiversity’,” I said, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. Clearly nothing of scientific merit was going to get accomplished unless I took the lead. I laid out the transect tape, pulling it taut towards the water. “Okay, so the professor said to start at the high tide line. Chad, you can be on quadrat placement. Brock, you’re on sand scooping. I think you can handle that. I’ll take care of the sieving and data recording. And sample labeling. And specimen identification.”
Chad flopped down near the start of the tape, while Brock eyed the sand scoop like it was going to bite him. As usual, Chad spoke up first. “Sounds like a lot of work, Cassie. Maybe we should just… eyeball it?”
“Absolutely not, and don’t call me Cassie!” I snapped, glaring and already kneeling to mark the first point. “Professor Marsh is super strict about methodology. This data has to be precise.”
Brock leaned against a driftwood log, watching me. “Man, you take this stuff seriously, huh?”
“That’s why I’m an oceanography major,” I said, pushing a strand of hair back into my tight bun. “Because I am serious about it. It’s fascinating.”
They exchanged a glance that felt like a silent, judging conversation. “Yeah, well, we’re, like, here ‘cause the beach is rad and maybe we’ll see some dolphins,” Chad said, picking up a handful of sand and letting it sift through his fingers.
Right. Dolphins. Not benthic invertebrates or tidal zonation. This was agony. Having to rely on these two for a grade was going to be… problematic.
Professor Marsh, a brilliant but frustratingly meticulous man, had a policy of random groupings for field labs. It was meant to "foster diverse perspectives" and "build camaraderie." In this case, all it did was land me with these two meatheads. They were the caricature of everything I actively avoided on campus: loud, obsessed with the gym, perpetually discussing protein shakes and parties, and treating university like an extended vacation paid for by their oblivious parents. They were taking Oceanography because, and I quote, "the beach is, like, totally awesome and chill, bro." Word salad, I swear. My intellectual soul shriveled a little every time they spoke.
I tried to talk to Prof. Marsh about changing groups, but he wouldn’t budge. All he had to offer was unhelpful advice about getting along. “Try to approach it with an open mind and go with the flow. Every student has a unique perspective. I’m sure by the end of the project the three of you will get along swimmingly.” I had trudged back to my dorm, fuming. When I spoke with my roommate, a biochem major herself, about my plight, she offered a sympathetic nod and a pronounced eyeroll at the unintellectual frat bros of the world. At least she gets me.
“Okay, first quadrat. Three meters from the high tide line,” I instructed, pointing. They weren’t listening. They weren't even looking at the sand we were supposed to sample. They were scanning the beach, probably looking for bikini-clad coeds. My frustration simmered. It took Chad a moment to actually stand up and walk over. Brock ambled behind him.
As I knelt, directing Chad to position the quadrat frame, and Brock to start carefully scooping sand into the sieve according to our protocol, I could feel their eyes on me. It wasn’t just the typical college guy glance; this felt more lingering, more… assessing. I tried to ignore it, focusing on the tiny grains, looking for tell-tale signs of life. Open mind, Cassidy, open mind.
“You know,” Brock said, voice low, “you should really take things less seriously, Cassidy.”
The suggestion hung in the air for a moment. I paused, sieve in hand. I couldn’t even think of what to say to that. Take things less seriously? What could be more serious than studying the ocean? It was important, vital research. This was my future. The entire planet was counting on oceanographers like me figuring out the mysteries of the sea. But… for some reason the thought lingered. It was a beautiful day. The sun felt good. Maybe I was a bit… tightly wound. I mean, it’s college, right? Shouldn’t I be enjoying it a little more? My grip on the sieve loosened slightly as I contemplated. My shoulders felt a fraction less tense. Was my GPA really that important? A slight dip wouldn't kill me, would it? Just as long as I learned the material… right? The information was the important part. I shook my head subtly, trying to clear the strange thoughts and refocus myself, but my brain felt… stickier than usual.
“Okay, that should be enough sand for the sample,” I said, my voice sounding a little softer than before.
Brock chucked the trowel on the ground, giving a dramatic sigh as he himself flopped down in the sand, gym-sculpted muscles rippling with each motion. “This is boring, man. We should just lie down, catch some rays.”
“We are doing a… beach assay,” I said, the words feeling slightly less ingrained, less automatically important than they had seconds ago. “We need to collect our samples.”
I sifted the sand through the sieve, finding no signs of life, but getting sand all over my cargo shorts and into the crevasses of my sandals in the process. I sealed a sample of the sand in a glass vial and labeled it ‘Site 1, no organisms’ in black Sharpie.
Chad was still watching me. “You know what, Cass? You should have worn clothes you could get wet in.”
He said it casually, but a weird warmth spread over my skin. Clothes I could get wet in? My sensible shorts and tech shirt were technically quick dry material, but I saw his point. Maybe I ought to have worn a swimsuit. Or at least something… beachier? Usually I stick to practical lab attire rather than your typical beach wear but… why not? The water looked inviting. It would be nice to cool off. When we were done with the lab samples, of course. As I thought it, a strange sensation circulated across my skin like an ocean current washing over my body, a subtle shimmer in the sunlight. My clothes felt… different. Tighter. Lighter. I looked down. My mouth fell open slightly.
Where my practical outfit had been, a bright, vibrant turquoise bikini now adorned my curves. The top was a simple pair of triangles hugging my slightly more than average chest, the bottoms tied at the curve of my hips, leaving very little to the imagination. The nylon blend of the fabric felt smooth and cool against my skin. How in the…? Despite my shock, it somehow felt completely natural, like this is what I’d intended to wear all along. And weirdly, it felt… good. I had a sudden, clear memory of picking this bikini specifically for this beach project. Back in my dorm room, miles away, a small pile of clothes on my chair seemed to spontaneously shift and grow, forming a small collection of cute, revealing outfits – sundresses, crop tops, short shorts – that definitely hadn’t been there before.
"Um… I..." I stammered, losing my train of thought about setting up our next sample interval. I felt self-conscious, yet also oddly empowered. The beach, which had until then been just a field site, suddenly felt like a place to be seen, admired.
“Whoa, Cassie,” Chad whistled softly, sitting up. “Never would’ve guessed you were sporting a bod like that under all that lab gear. Nice!”
Brock grinned, a slow, appreciative look in his eyes that didn’t feel as gross as it would have moments ago. It felt… validating?
I felt a blush rise, but it wasn’t of embarrassment. It was something else. Confidence? Suddenly, the thought of getting my boring clothes wet seemed absurd. This was much better.
“Yeah, well,” I said, my voice now sounding a little breathy, a little more relaxed. “Guess I came prepared after all, huh? Easier to rinse off the sand, right?” I actually giggled slightly. Giggled? What?! What was happening to me?
“Much better,” Brock approved. “Though, gotta say, you look a little stiff still. Maybe you should let your hair down.”
He gestured to my bun. The suggestion hit differently this time. Stiff? Was I? Suddenly, the tight knot of hair felt… constricting. Like it was holding back more than just my hair. With newfound impulsiveness, I reached up, pulled out the hair tie, transferred it to my wrist, and shook my head side to side. My hair, which I usually kept neatly contained, tumbled down around my shoulders in soft, natural waves. It felt amazing, light and free. As my hair fell, so did something else inside me. A wall? A barrier? My posture relaxed further. I found myself wanting to lean back, to stretch. The scientific terms bouncing around my head faded slightly, replaced by a feeling of easygoing warmth. My vocabulary seemed to expand, incorporating words I rarely used. Like “totally” and “awesome” and “dude.”
“Whoa, dude, nice hair!” Chad said, impressed.
“Thanks,” I said, shrugging and blushing a little with a slight smile curling the corners of my lips. “Yeah, my bun was totally giving me a tension headache anyway.”
Brock pushed himself off the log and walked closer, looking down at me. He wasn’t leering; it felt… friendly. Even attractive? What was happening to me? These were the guys I’d found so annoying just minutes ago.
“See? Told you she was chill,” he said, glancing over at Chad who gave a sheepish shrug. “You know, we should hang out more.”
The idea landed like a warm wave. Hanging out? With them? My initial reaction would have been a resounding no. But now my normal thought patterns buried under layers of something new and unfamiliar… why not? Why wouldn't I want to hang out with them? Maybe there was more to them than just frat stereotypes. Maybe I'd misjudged them. They seemed fun. Easy to be around. Much easier than poring over textbooks or trying to perfectly calibrate lab equipment. Plus, I couldn’t deny they were both hot. Spending time with them outside of class… that sounded actually appealing. Like I wouldn’t have to put on a show of being a good student. Wait. Hold on. That wasn’t a show - I was a good student. Wasn’t I? It was getting hard to think. My mind started picturing beach bonfires, maybe grabbing pizza, just… chilling. Chilling with guys like Brock and Chad. The image of my packed study schedule for the weekend seemed less like a necessary grind and more like… a bummer. My memories of endless hours spent alone in the library, poring over textbooks, suddenly seemed a bit sad, a little lonely.
“Yeah,” I said, standing up and brushing sand off my bikini bottoms, barely even thinking about the lab work we were supposed to be doing. “Totally. We should hang out. Outside of class, I mean.”
“You know what else?” Chad said, a new gleam of desire in his eye. “You should totally check out the campus gym.”
Chad and Brock’s eyes lingered on my body as I stood there. My skin felt different now. Tighter. Tanner. More defined. It wasn't just the bikini, although that was doing wonders for my chest; my muscles felt different too… like they were actually there. Like I could flex them. I felt, well, sexy. My core felt firm, my legs strong. A vague, pleasant ache settled in my limbs, the kind you get after a good workout.
Suddenly, the ache made sense. The gym! Of course! I pictured myself there, lifting weights, running on the treadmill, doing countless squats, feeling the burn. I could hear the familiar clang of the machines, the pulse of the music pumping, feel the satisfying fatigue after a killer session. Hadn’t I just been there yesterday? Or was it this morning? Or was it both? My mind felt… fuzzy on the exact timing, but the feeling of being a regular gym-goer, someone with a dedication to fitness and a sculpted physique, was completely real. My body felt amazing, perfectly toned and ready for the beach.
“Oh, yeah!” I exclaimed, genuinely excited. “I love the gym. It’s the best way to blow off steam. Especially when school gets, like, stressful. Plus, you can’t argue with the results!” I emphasized my point by striking a pose, flexing my muscles playfully.
They both exchanged another look, practically drooling. Clearly they liked what they saw, but for some reason I felt like I wasn’t used to this kind of attention. That felt odd. Why wouldn’t I be?
“Speaking of looking good,” Chad said, circling me slowly. “You should wear more makeup, you’d look so hot.”
Makeup? I barely wore lip balm usually. But the suggestion sparked something. I saw myself in my mind’s eye, eyes lined with a smoky shadow, lashes long and dark, lips painted a glossy, inviting pink. It wasn’t vanity; it was… an enhancement. Why wouldn’t I want to look my absolute hottest? As the thought solidified, a subtle layer seemed to appear on my skin – a light foundation, a touch of blush, mascara, bright lipstick. It felt light and natural, like I’d been wearing it all day. Back in my dorm again, my cluttered desk began to rearrange itself. Textbooks shifted out of the way, some migrating to the bookshelf, others disappearing completely, making space for elegant jars and bottles of cosmetics, brightly colored palettes, brushes of every shape and size, a lighted mirror – turning my usual academic workspace into a perfect vanity.
“Hmm,” I mused, touching my cheek. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I should definitely experiment more.” My reflection in their sunglasses showed eyes that seemed brighter, more attention-grabbing, framed by perfectly shaped brows.
Brock pulled out his phone. “We should take a selfie.”
A selfie? In the middle of our beach assay? The thought of it made me laugh, but not derisively. My old self would have cringed, but now… it felt like a brilliant idea. Capturing the moment, sharing it with the world. Why not? Science could wait. It was feeling more and more like a chore anyway.
“Totally!” I said, grabbing my phone too. I didn’t hesitate, squeezing between them, tilting my head just right, throwing up a peace sign. I had no idea when they both took off their tank tops, but I certainly wasn't complaining! We took a few more, me wrapping my now toned arms around their backs, them flexing and posing, all three of us laughing, the beach assay completely forgotten for the moment.
I immediately went to Instagram. My feed, formerly a sparse collection of blurry tide pool photos and pictures of plankton under a microscope, was now… different. Vibrant. Full of smiling faces, beach shots, and pictures with friends. My followers were somehow in the thousands. I selected the best selfie with Chad and Brock, filtered it, and added a caption. "Beach day vibes with the best lab partners ever! 😎👙🌊 #collegelife #beachbabe #oceanographyishardlol🙊" I added a string of flirty emojis at the end (😘🍑🔥😈) and hit post. The likes and comments started rolling in instantly. Score! This felt so much more rewarding than analyzing sediment composition.
“This oceanography class is kind of intense, though, right?” Chad said, scrolling through his own feed. “All the science stuff.”
“Yeah, totally,” Brock agreed. “Feels like a lot of work for… sand.”
I was too preoccupied with my Insta notifications to really take in what they were saying, but it sounded pretty relatable. Without taking my eyes off my phone, I nodded absentmindedly and chirped, “Yeah, totes. Schoolwork sucks.”
“You know,” Brock said, leaning back against the log again, scanning the beachgoers and the waves, “you don’t really seem like the science type, Cassidy.”
I looked up from my phone, my mind reeling, shifting again, my memory of the last couple of years warped and reformed. His words didn’t offend me. They resonated. Science type? Me? The idea felt… foreign. Like a costume I’d considered, but never actually worn. Science... wasn't that what my roommate was into? My major… what was my major? I thought for a moment. Communications! Of course. Easy, fun, lots of opportunities to meet people. The intense passion I thought I had for marine biology? A strange, faded dream. Oceanography… oh yeah, I took this class because I absolutely loved dolphins and whales! And, let’s be real, spending time on the beach working on my tan. Totally taking it pass/no pass anyway. Grades? Meh. I’d turn in an assignment now and then to keep my grade in the passing range. As long as I passed, it was fine. Honestly, even if I didn’t pass, it’s like, whatever.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I admitted, tossing my hair over my shoulder.
Chad looked confused, “So then, like, why are you an Oceanography major?”
“Oceanography major?” I scoffed, giggling. "Nah, babe, I'm a Communications major. Comms is way more my speed. This class is just for fun, y'know? And, like, who doesn’t love the beach?” I gestured around us, a wide, happy smile on my face. "Gotta get that vitamin D, right?"
Chad and Brock shared another look, wider this time, like they’d just unlocked a secret level in their favorite video game.
“Dude, you’re actually fun,” Brock said, sounding genuinely surprised and pleased. “You should totally check out the sorority scene.”
The sorority scene? My breath hitched with excitement. Like… duh. Of course. I was already in a sorority! Lambda Alpha Chi. My sisters! The parties, the mixers, the bonding over late-night convos, getting dressed to the nines for formals… freshman year had been a blur of amazing experiences; joining LAX had been the best decision I ever made. Forget studying, my college life revolved around my sisters, the Greek scene, and making the most of every moment. Academic clubs? Research grants? Nah. Sorority events and social calendars were my lifeblood.
“OMG, yes!” I squealed, clapping my hands together. “You guys didn’t know? I’m in Lambda Alpha Chi! LAX life forever!!! I love my sisters! It’s literally the best part of college.” I was surprised they hadn't noticed - I was literally wearing my sorority bikini top right now, with the 'L' on my right tit, and the 'X' on my left. Then the 'A' was cleverly made by the knot and my cleavage, which always made me giggle. The girls and I came up with the design at one of last spring's chapter meetings.
Their grins widened. “See? We knew you were cool,” Brock said. “Hey, we’re having a kegger at the beach this weekend. Huge party.”
A kegger? At the beach? With Sigma Pi? My heart pounded with anticipation. This weekend! Oh, I had to be there, obvi. My mind instantly flipped through possible outfit options from my newly materialized wardrobe back in my room at the sorority house, trying to decide what would look best. Definitely something short, ooh and sparkly! My half-formed thoughts about spending the weekend buried in lab reports and supplementary readings vanished like morning mist on a hot summer day. Studying all weekend in my room sounded miserable. Partying with Chad and Brock and everyone else sounded amazing.
“It’s gonna be our annual beach bash. You should totally come!” Chad said, watching me expectantly.
“Are you kidding?” I grinned, leaning towards them eagerly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world! What night?”
“Saturday,” Brock confirmed. “Be there.”
“I am SO there,” I promised, already mentally scrolling through the extensive collection of party-appropriate clothes back in my room.
I looked around. It felt like we’d been out here, like, forever, and we’d only collected, what, one measly sample? The beach quadrat, the transect tape, the sample tubes… they all seemed utterly irrelevant to me now. Lying there on the sand, remnants of a boring life I no longer lived, or even wanted.
“You know what?” I said, standing up fully, stretching my arms over my head, thrusting my chest out, my bikini-clad body feeling amazing in the sun. “Forget this. We should get out of here.”
Chad and Brock looked at each other, then back at me, their eyes lingering on my figure. The beach air crackled with unspoken possibility and sexual tension. The idea of continuing to measure sand and look for tiny worms was laughable. What was the point? Vague science jargon floated through my brain like little bubbles, popping one by one. Glycerans? Polychaetes? Nemerteans? Meaningless word salad to me now.
“Where to?” Brock asked, his voice low and eager.
My room at the sorority house seemed like the obvious answer. It was closer than their frat house, and… more private, at least at this time of day. The excitement bubbled up inside me. Just being with them felt right. Felt fun. Felt… promising.
“My place?” I suggested, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “It’s not far. We could… hang out.”
The look on their faces mirrored the anticipation I felt. The beach assay was forgotten. Oceanography was just a class I took for fun, pass/no pass. My major was Comms anyway, and coursework was honestly never my priority. My life was my sorority, the gym, my friends, and looking good. And right now, all I wanted was to see where this unexpected turn on the beach with Chad and Brock would lead. I picked up my cute beach tote (containing not much beyond some tanning lotion, my phone, my sunglasses, a hairbrush, and my on-the-go makeup kit) and slung it over my bare shoulder.
As I felt both boys staring at my every move, I sincerely believed, and hoped, they were as interested in me as I suddenly was in them. For some dumb reason, I’d planned to spend my weekend holed up in my room, working, alone. My thoughts drifted, warm and hazy, towards the thrilling possibility of three bodies in my bedroom, not just one, discovering each other among the scattered makeup, displaced textbooks, and soon-to-be-tangled sheets that now filled my space. Yeah. Getting out of here was definitely the right call. Prof. Marsh was sooo right - we were getting along swimmingly.
Branson was a posh boy from a private school in LA. He was cruel to anyone outside the school, especially those who didn't go to private school. He and his friends liked to walk around LA after-school, making their entire personality about their parents' wealth and picking on those porter than them.
One day, Branson and his gang was walking home to their mansions, when they saw a guy who was laying on a bench. He was covered in blankets and wore a weathered coat. He had their back to them and was staring into the sea. Jason, one of Brandon's friends, spotted him first.
'hey peasant!' he shouted. Jason confidential walked up to him, the four others walked close behind, snickering at the poor man. The man ignored Jason and stared out to sea. 'Hey!' Jason shouted again. 'I'm talking to you!' he put his hand on the guy's shoulder.
The man clamped his hand on Jason. Jason's face contoured in pain as he knelt on to the ground. The man lent over and whispered in his ear, then let go of Jason. Jason stood. He turned to his friends. The friends gasped as he traveled his eyes, glowing green. 'Let us swim in the sea.' he said emotionlessly. He turned to the sea and walked towards it.
Brandon inched forwards and followed him. Jason waded into the sea, fully clothed in his preppy uniform. The wave rose up around him, covering his body. His clothes melted of him, like the sea lapped up the uniform and dissolved it. He wore a yellow Speedo, gleaming in the sun. His skinny figure grew muscles, he grew taller. He turned. A new man stepped out of the surf. His eyes were glowing green still, but a wide grim spread across his face.
'Wow.' he said in a deeper, more masculine voice, 'It worked.' he turned to his friends. 'Well,' he said. 'Jump on in.'
Brandon and his friends turned to each other. Nickolas and Benjamin smiled, there eyes glowed a green hue. They ran to the surf, and they transformed like Jason. They put their arms round each other, and smiled at each others boners. They smiled and laughed in a deeper, adult laugh. They locked eyes, and Nickolas slowly knelt down.
Brandon felt a hand clamp on his shoulder. 'time for a swim.' Jason said, w hunk of pure muscle. He threw Brandon in. He went flying, and splashed into the water. The sea hugged him, it's warm embrace clamped him down, he stopped struggling and giggled and laughed as the water shaped his body, ripped abs, thick thighs and a huge ass. The water dissolved his old school uniform and wrapped his new body in a blue Speedo and flung him out of the water. Brandon landed on his feet. As he looked at his new body, his vision became tinted green, and he grew a rock solid boner.
'hey bro!' shouted Jason. 'nice boner, wanna see mine?'
'of course bro!' Brandon replied. 'Lets see it then!' he knelt as Jason pulled down his yellow swimming trunks.
The man in blankets smiled. He watched the new men play with eachother and crumbled into a green dust, and directed away in the wind.
( say if you want a longer story or short. This is medium for me.)
