I yelled and shook the kid off me, red on my arm from where he bit me. Luckily for me his big brother had seen the whole thing, thanking me for keeping him from falling after he had tripped. My injury looked like little more than a surface scratch, despite a lot of blood, but the surfer dude insisted on getting alcohol and bandages.
They turned out to be unnecessary as it seemed the blood must have come from the boy's mouth. My arm didn't have a mark on it. You'd think that would have been the end of it, but the older boy, who introduced himself as bodhi, wanted my name and address, and kept asking me to see some special doctor he knew. I just drove away, not wanting any hippie herbal treatments, and I figured that was the last I would see of them.
I had forgotten all about the encounter, but a month later, a sudden knock startled me. Answering, I found bodhi waiting on my front porch. My sudden scowl made him step back and raise his hands. "Sorry to bother you. I tracked you down through your license plate." Considering the trouble he must have gone through to find me, I sighed and waited. When I did not invite her in, she said "My... um, lil bro. He like, startled when he started to fall and fear made him react bad to your grab."
I nodded, hoping to speed him on his merry way. The young man flushed, then said "I know it seemed like nothing, but he really did bite you. And that was your blood." At my dubious look, he continued. "You just healed super fast. It's like the infection doesn't want to be known about" He sighed. "Like a Werewolf curse." OK, he was a nutcase, probably high on weed right now too.
“Um, right. Well, I haven't tried to chase cars, but I'll keep that in mind, OK?" I started to shut the door, only to have him persist.
"Teddy isn't really my brother. He's my Gramps." That comment made me make a renewed effort to get him to leave.
"Sir, I need you to leave. Please." I could see he wanted to argue, but then shook his head.
"I'II go." I watched him return to his scrappy truck and drive away, resolving not to answer
the door to strangers for a while. At least until it started to turn dark, Trick or Treating started at 6 PM. I stepped out to check my porch light and noticed that we had a full moon. then suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous.
I grabbed the side of the house and then staggered into the yard, expecting to throw up. As I did, my jeans cut off at my knees, the excess Dinum dropping to my ankles, making me nearly fall over. The sick feeling passed, leaving me bewildered by the sudden cool breeze on my chest, which was somehow now bare?
I stared as I lifted each leg, easily pulling free of the pooled up fabric of my pants. Muscular, hairless legs and smooth bronze skin. They looked like they had spent countless hours in full sun. My (also tan) hands jerked up to feel a hairless chiseled face, long blonde hair hanging in my eyes, just like… "Dude." I recoiled from the deep slow voice, which I remembered from earlier that day. Turning, I saw Bodhi looking at me with a sad smile.
"There was always a chance that you would be immune, or there wouldn't be enough change for you to notice much." He remained where he was, hands by his sides. "But it looks like you got hit full force. As far as I can tell, you are just like anyone else hit with the surf wave" I looked at my arms, biceps bigger than my head used to be and then up at the night sky.
"Am I going to turn into a monster?" I asked, my voice cracking like I’m going through puberty.
He shook his head beneath his green hoodie. "You aren't a werewolf. And you won't change again." That last was said with such finality that I looked back at him, puzzled.
The surfer sighed. "Lil dude is only contagious during the full moon. He was hit with a weird variant of the wave, cursed to always be a little surfer boy instead of a young adult. None of us can figure it out. I knew I should have kept him home, but even though he misbehaves a lot, he's never bitten anyone in all the months since he changed. Until you."
I stared, comprehension dawning. "But that means..." He
nodded. "Grandpas was like 80 years old, and now he’s 12 years old. His mind is that of the child too, now memories of his past life. And, I'm afraid, you will be joining him in that
too." I wanted to deny this, but even as he spoke I realized I couldn't remember half of my life.
He held out a hand. "I'm sorry, we don’t normally transform those who don’t truly need to be something else. But at least you won't be alone, there’s a lot of us now. You, me, and the lil guy are related too it seems. And with me and him as brothers, that will at least be easier than being alone."
I stare at his outstretched hand and then back at a house I can't even remember living in anymore. Then I slap his palm in a dab up and let him lead me toward towards the truck he shares with me. I am confused, the past fading and new stuff filling in the gaps, but not sad. Actually, I am getting excited to meet new friends I have never met before, and a lil bro. Even if he was the one who turned me into a were-surfer.
(The first of summerween, the others are written and ready to go, a first for me, and will be dropped in the following weeks. Enjoy this sunny spooky story that kickstarted this whole series!)
Hi, big fan of your work ! (English is not my native language, so sorry for my mistakes.)
In your recent post about the descendants of werewolves (my favorite creature !), you introduce us to Beasts and their nightly transformations.
But what would hapen if a Beast enters a transformation area like Maxford or Baxter Beach ? Would both their forms be affected or only one ? Or will they somehow influence the power of the town/beach/wherever ?
Since I’ve introduced you guys to transformation areas, I’ve mainly focused on Maxford, since it's one of the largest, and to be honest one of the most interesting transformation areas that exist. But for a complicated question like this, it makes more sense to focus on one of the smaller and more controlled transformation areas, which brings us back to another place I introduced you to early on, known as Baxter Beach.
For those of you who don’t remember, Baxter Beach is another transformation area, a small beach somewhere on the American east coast that transforms anyone who walks onto the sand into a hunky surfer for as long as they stay there. There's also a small surf shop that can extend the transformation of those who enter the area for some time, but we’ll get into that some other time. What we’re going to focus on for now is how Baxter Beach, and other transformation areas like it, affect those who aren’t quite human. Not just Beasts, but Alphas, Camous, and even Trait Vampires.
Let's start with the group you’re most familiar with, Alphas. The other descendants of werewolves besides Beasts, Alphas are incredibly manly men who are so naturally dominant that reality itself submits to their will. Men who get the entire world handed to them on a silver platter, by people who will become whatever their Alpha decides. The thing is, with a place like Baxter Beach, an area with a sort of will all of its own, Alpha's power can get a bit more… interesting. When an Alpha and a TF area come into contact, they don’t come into conflict like many people assume they would, but instead tend to form an almost symbiotic relationship. The Alpha and the area become intertwined, at least for as long as the Alpha stays in the area. The Alpha gains even more control and power than they normally would have, and the area gains more direction and strength. For example, if an Alpha were to come in contact with Baxter Beach, the Alpha would become a hunky surfer on the outside, well keeping their true self intact internally. They’d then have almost complete control over the area, not only the people but the physical area itself, able to warp and play with it with ease. They’d be able to focus the natural power of the beach in any way they wanted, and even somewhat increase the beach’s area of effect. An Alpha finding a TF area can be very, very dangerous, because as long as they stay in that area, the Alpha is essentially a god. The only limitation they’d have is that the Alpha has to stay ‘on brand’ as it were. They can do anything… as long as it’s beach related. All that being said, it is possible that something else could happen, if it were a particularly strong Alpha, or a particularly powerful area.
Next up is Camous. For those who don’t remember, Camous are essentially the opposite of Alphas, people who don’t control reality, but who conform to fit into it. Surround a Camou with a group of gym bros, you get another obnoxious gym bro. Throw a Camou into a gay nightclub, you get a cute twink ready to rave. For an Alpha a tf area is a gift, but for a Camou, they’re basically death sentences. Camous already naturally submit to their environment, but when they come in contact with a tf area, an environment that makes even regular people submit, they essentially become a part of the area itself. They undergo an intense transformation, becoming a pinnacle of whatever the area makes their victims into, and become a sort of conduit for the area's power, one that remains even after leaving the area. For example, if a Camou were to enter Baxter Beach, they’d become a hunky surfer like everyone else, but they’d notably remain one after leaving the area. Not only that, they’d make those around them hunky surfers too, at least for a while, essentially becoming a moving part of the Beach’s influence. In a way, the area infects them, turning the Camou into a part of the area itself and making them a permanent resident. Some Camous will actually seek out tf areas, since well it does change them, it protects them from being changed again and gives them a solid sense of self, something many Camous crave. Of course, they have to pick the area very carefully, or else they might become something they hate.
Another interesting group that can interact with tf areas are trait vampires, although their way of doing this is a lot simpler. Trait vampires, surprisingly, are affected by tf areas at all. No one is quite sure why, but a trait vampire stays exactly the same when inside the tf area, with the only notable difference being that they can’t steal any of the traits created by the area for themselves. One thing they can do, however, is alter some specifics of how the area affects people. For example, if a trait vampire were to walk onto Baxter Beach, they wouldn’t transform, or be able to steal someone's muscles, but they could make it so one of the hunky surfers was a beefy lifeguard instead, or a giant beach bodybuilder. They can make it so that the beach has to ‘reroll’ and transform the person in another way than they initially picked. This isn’t very useful, but can be fun for a trait vampire looking to play with their powers a bit.
Finally, let's go to your favorite group, the Beasts. Regular guys who undergo nightly transformations into incredibly manly, gruff men, ones with animalistic impulses and the need to fuck. They can spread their curse through unprotected sex, but are generally harmless as long as you have a condom. When a Beast interacts with a transformation area, they can actually gain another form. For instance, if a Beast were to enter Baxter Beach, they’d remain unchanged, and would still become their Beast self at night, but might gain the condition that they become a surfer when they touch salt water. This new, extra form will stay with the Beast, even after they leave the area, so most Beasts avoid tf areas so they don’t end up gaining a third persona.
Well it can be complicated, and dangerous to test, seeing how different transformations interact can be so fascinating. I’d definitely like to explore that a lot more in the future.
The midday sun hammered down on the coastal path, bleaching the timber boards to near-white. Nathan squinted against the glare, lanky limbs feeling awkward and out of place among the bronzed, fluid bodies that flowed around him. His faded band t-shirt clung uncomfortably to his back, and his jeans, a poor choice for the Australian summer, felt like woolly prison blankets. He adjusted his glasses, the plastic slick with sweat, and tried to focus on the reason he was here: a specific, oddly-shaped rock formation a local enthusiast had detailed on a forum. It was supposed to be right... somewhere around here.
His sneaker snagged on something. Not a root, not a loose board. He looked down. Half-buried in the sand beside the path was a weathered square of what looked like dark, petrified wood, about the size of a manhole cover. Intriguing, celtic-style knots were carved into its surface, worn smooth by countless feet and years of salt-laced wind. Most people would have just stepped over it. Nathan, however, saw an artifact, an anomaly. He placed his foot carefully in the center of the carving.
A jolt, not of electricity, but of profound, bone-deep *wrongness* shot up his leg. It was hot. Deep, primal hot. He yelped, stumbling back, but the sensation was already spreading, a rising tide of internal heat that started in his toes and flooded upwards. His skin began to prickle, every nerve ending lighting up.
"Wha...?" he managed, the word catching in a throat that suddenly felt tight.
The heat coalesced in his feet. He looked down in horror as his sneakers seemed to shrink, the canvas groaning, the laces straining. His toes, usually long and pale, were darkening, thickening, pressing against the front with an insistent pressure. With a series of sharp, wet *rips*, the shoes tore apart. His feet burst free, massive and broad, the skin tanned a deep leather-brown. A shock of coarse, dark blonde hair sprouted across the tops, and his toenails, once neatly clipped, thickened and yellowed, digging into the timber boards. A wave of something musky, rich and overwhelmingly *male*, wafted up from them.
"Oh god," he choked out, but the protest was weak, already dissolving. The heat was a drug, and it was flooding his system with bliss.
It surged into his calves, and the lean muscle there ballooned. He felt the fibers stretch, tear, and reform into dense, powerful slabs. Golden hairs, finer than those on his feet but just as numerous, prickled to life on his skin. His jeans, already tight, were now torture devices. The denim screamed as his thighs expanded, the quads and hamstrings bunching into incredible, chiseled mass. The fabric ripped at the seams, the sound echoing the wet tearing of his shoes. More hair dusted the new, powerful limbs, a carpet of gold that trapped the sweat now pouring from his pores.
The change hit his groin with the force of a physical blow. A dull ache exploded into a throbbing, pulsating heat. His balls dropped, feeling heavy, swollen, and impossibly full. His cock, usually a modest participant, stirred, then hardened, then grew, thickening and lengthening with alarming speed until it pressed insistently against the tattered ruin of his jeans. The musky scent intensified, growing richer, heavier, a humid cloud that made his head spin. He felt a drop of something viscous and slick leak from the tip, and a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure so intense it made his knees buckle washed over him.
"Uhhhn..." The sound wasn't a word. It was pure, animal grunt.
The firestorm of transformation continued upwards. His spine lengthened with an audible series of cracks, pulling him taller. As Nathan fell to his knees and began to jack his throbbing cock with reckless abandon, his hips narrowed, ass tightening into two perfect, hairy globes of muscle. His stomach, once soft and pale, clenched. The fat seemed to melt away, burning as fuel for the change. His abs popped, one by one, then again, forming a deeply-cut, six-pack grid of muscle. More hair, a trail that started thick and wild below his navel and fanned out across the newly carved landscape of his torso.
His chest heaved as the transformation took hold there. His pecs, once flat, swelled outwards, pushing against the remnants of his shirt. They grew into two thick, heavy slabs of muscle, perfectly rounded and powerful. His shoulders broadened, tearing the shirt's collar, and then the rest of the garment gave way, the fabric shredding like wet paper. His delts and traps swelled, rising towards his ears, forming the perfect shield for a body built for power.
His arms were next. The heat was a constant, roaring forge now. His biceps and triceps inflated, swelling to an impossible size, veins snaking like rivers across the new terrain. His forearms thickened, and his hands, once nimble for typing, became large, calloused paddles, the fingers thick and stubby.
His neck was consumed, the muscles thickening until his head sat on a trunk of pure power. Then the fire reached his face.
His jaw ached, then cracked, resetting into a stronger, squarer line. His cheekbones rose, becoming more prominent. His nose seemed to shrink, becoming a little upturned, cute in its brutish way. His lips swelled, becoming fuller, softer, perpetually parted. His skin, from the neck up, began to darken, tanning instantly to match the rest of him. The prickle of new stubble on his jaw and chin was replaced by a permanent, dark blonde shadow. His ears, which had stuck out slightly, seemed to settle against his head.
But the most profound change was happening behind his eyes.
The complex calculus of astrophysics, the intricate plot points of Dostoevsky, the very memory of his own name and address—they were like sandcastles against a rising tide of pure, golden sensation. The thoughts became blurred, then dissolved, replaced by simpler, more vibrant concepts. *Sun. Good. Water. Fun. Muscle. Feel good.* The intricate web of his consciousness was being washed away, replaced by a single, powerful, sun-drenched drive. He tried to grasp a fading memory, of a library, of a computer screen, of a girl he once liked, but it was like trying to cup water in his hands. It slipped through, leaving only the feeling of warmth.
“Uhhhn…” he grunted again, the sound deeper now, resonating from a chest the size of a barrel. As his brain boiled, he desperately tried to hang on to something, anything. He tried to recall his name, a simple anchor in the storm. *Na... Nah...* The letters felt foreign, heavy on a tongue that was suddenly slow and clumsy. *N... Nahhhh...* A wave of pleasure, originating from the immense, throbbing heat in his groin and the sheer sensation of being so *big*, so *powerful*, crashed over him, wiping the slate clean. *Nah... good... feels...* The thought of himself, the old him, seemed distant, silly. Why would he want to think about that when he could think about the sun, or the water, or the amazing feeling of his own muscles?
“Fuck…” he moaned and grinned as his eyes lost their intelligent focus and gained a hazy, lustful glaze.
His hair, the last bastion of his old self, was the final thing to change. The short, mousy brown strands seemed to writhe on his scalp. They lightened, bleaching to a shocking, platinum blonde, then began to grow, spilling over his forehead, past his ears, down to his shoulders in a tangled, salty, sun-bleached mane.
The internal heat subsided, leaving behind a constant, radiating warmth and a sheen of sweat that coated every inch of his new, massive body. The musk was a tangible aura now, a cloud of raw, masculine heat that hung in the air around him. He stood there, breathing heavily, each breath a deep, rumbling sound in a broad, hairy chest. He blinked slowly, long blonde eyelashes brushing against his high cheekbones.
He looked down at his tattered clothes, at the two giant, hairy feet planted firmly on the timber. He flexed his hands, watching the muscles in his arm bunch up. A slow, dopey grin spread across his handsome, vacant face.
Whoa. Heavy.
He ran a thick-fingered hand through his long, blonde hair, then down his hairy, sweat-slick chest. It felt awesome. Everything felt awesome.
A flash of movement caught his eye. A surfboard, waxed and gleaming, leaning against a nearby rail. He didn't know the word for it, couldn't have articulated its purpose, but he knew, with every fiber of his new, simple being, what he was supposed to do.
He took a step, then another, his massive, hairy feet thudding heavily on the boards. He picked up the board, the weight feeling perfect in his grip. He turned towards the ocean, the endless blue expanse calling to him with a simplicity that was all he could now comprehend.
Sun. Water. Him. Perfect. A single, happy thought bloomed in the beautiful, empty space of his mind, as clear and bright as the Australian sun.
wow! I welcome Chronivac Inc.'s Support again! I love experiments. What happens if I mix Orange and Aquamarine Blue?
Since you asked, you're probably interested in a result similar to “Asian Beach Boy.” I checked with our research and development department. As usual, we cannot guarantee the results when mixing Chronivac Food & Beverage Inc. products, but you should get the best results with a mixing ratio of one-third Aquamarine Blue and two-thirds Orange.
You're careful. You take the kitchen mixer and mix it thoroughly. You take the shaker and drink. It's salty, fishy, but still a bit like bubble tea.
The house that was yours just a moment ago is now your host parents' house. They speak worse English than you do. The food here is terrible. And the beach is damn far away. You hate studying as an exchange student in the Midwest. The other guys at college make fun of you because you always walk around in board shorts. You make fun of their pale skin and the fact that they drink beer and call kicking sleeping cows a sport. Actually, you have no idea how you ended up here.
You can't wait to go back to Japan. Or at least to go to another college. Your math professor is working to get you to Santa Barbara. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you.
Wade reluctantly follows his boyfriend into a new thrift shop. After trying on some old surf shorts he is blasted into the past. With each passing moment and stray thought he's body and mind molded into the King of this mid-century beach.
What better time for a surfer TF than Winter huh? In season for any Aussie/Southern Hemisphere readers I might have haha! At any rate, Hope you enjoy this little time travel TF, got a cowboy TF coming next ;) Best ! -Occam
Wade and Dylan don’t know how they’ve somehow overlooked the vintage shop on Main Street until now. Wade’s more than happy to make a note of it and come back later, quite eager to get out of the cold. But when Dylan pulls on his sleeve and begs they check it out, “We’ll just be in and out babe-” the driver acquiesces with a grumble and turns into the small parking lot.
Before the engine’s off, Dylan hops out of the small car and sprints inside in search of some theoretical hidden gem. Wade sees his sigh in the icy air before he knew he released it. Longing for the end of the winter he trudges carefully along the icy sidewalk behind his happy-go-lucky boyfriend.
The woman at the counter pages through some old magazine of vintage clothing while Dylan raids the racks. Wade eyes the cluttered store as he fights back a sneeze from the dusty shelves. Quite the eclectic shop, certainly not a store with a specific market in mind. What can only be leather fetish gear hangs on the walls next to some army surplus gear and in between are rack after rack of pastel skirts and oversized vintage suits.
He hears his boyfriend squeak in excitement as he pulls two things off their coat hangers. “Wade! Look~ Bell Bottoms!” He holds a pair of something more akin to boho pants up to his waist and poses, “Aren’t they just 60’s chic babe?” Queen that he is, Wade opens his mouth to question or debate when exactly they became vogue, but before he has a chance there’s a glimmer in Dylan’s eyes as he pulls out a piece for Wade to judge.
“And I found these for you babe!” Stretching the string waistband with a wink, Dylan produces a pair of surf shorts that are surely a few sizes too large for Wade, who remains ready to leave. Responding to a complaint not yet uttered Dylan raises a finger to silence him and continues, “C’mon just try ‘em on Wadey! You can tighten them all the way up, this way if you keep up on your gym plans they’ll be perfect for your beach bod!”
Wade grumbles and reaches out to grab the shorts. Though he’s loath to admit it, he’s surprised at how right they feel now that they’re in his hands. Pursing his lips he doesn’t acknowledge the strange sensation. Wade shakes his head in shock as after a moment holding them, he’s filled with an urge to strip then and there to throw them on. Blushing at the strange thought he keeps silent and allows himself be dragged towards the two shabby dressing rooms in the back of the store.
Dylan, holding his bell bottoms and a vest Wade didn’t see him pick up, does a little pose before dipping into the changing room on the left. Ready to be done and slightly on edge from his intrusive thought, Wade enters the curtained space opposite. Like any other of the millions of dressing rooms throughout the country there’s a mirror, a small mounted bench, and spot to hang up your clothes. What is less expected is the bizarre silence that overtakes him as he steps past the curtain, as if he were in a recording booth.
Holding his shorts he forcefully assumes it’s just his ears popping and he’ll be right as rain any moment now. It’s anyone’s guess as to why the sound of Dylan’s humming as he changes into his little outfit is totally muted by two hanging sheets of fabric. As far as Wade is concerned his boyfriend has simply decided to go quiet, willfully ignoring how out of character that is for a man as uncomfortable with silence as Dylan is. Faced with this strange supernatural quiet Wade feels himself begin to understand the discomfort.
The man’s two feet away, Wade should hear the shuffling of clothing if nothing else. Hackles officially raised, Wade starts to investigate, though before his hands can reach the curtain he’s struck with a migraine and thought that’s not his own blaring in his head, It is of no concern, I should change into the surf shorts. Lip quivering the shorts are already in his hands as he turns back to the mirror.
His reflection flickers as his pants fall to the ground, goosebumps soaring up his legs from the shock of losing their cozy covering. Unwilling to acknowledge whatever horror must lie in the mirror he forces his eyes shut as his body moves of its own accord to pull the baggy shorts on. When he feels them cinched and tied on his thin waist he opens his eyes, holding fast to the idea that everything is fine, must be fine.
In the mirror he finds his reflection as it always is, tacky swim shorts notwithstanding. He looks exactly as he should. Wade sighs in relief before he notices that he’s not out of the impossible jungle yet. What is different is the room in which he finds himself, the curtain now striped, a harsh bulb hangs above him, the small bench replaced by a damaged wooden stool.
Taking time to rationalize how he’s gotten these details mixed up, as is the only explanation, he sees a shimmer in the bottom of the mirror. Looking closely he sees a spark slowly panning up. When it reaches his feet he sees them slowly begin to darken, tanned by a sun they’ve rarely seen before they begin to bulge and lengthen. Seeing feet more akin to swim fins than what he knows he has he yelps and jumps away, getting tangled in the rough curtain before spilling into the vintage store’s hallway.
Dumbfounded, Wade scrambles to the floor and sees the vintage store is no more. In its place is what appears to be a cabana. Large windows show a bright beachside summer day, a far cry from the frigid world he knew it should be. Before he can pinch himself awake he flinches as some surfer bro gestures to his shorts and shouts, “Eyy Wade! Lookin’ killer brah!”
Refusing to engage with the world he’s found himself in, Wade beelines to the tall, tanned, muscular man who addressed him by name and asks as his eyes start to tear up, “D- Dylan?” The surfer’s eyes focus in and his mouth closes into a look of shock before dropping into a slack jawed, “Whuh?” and settling on a smile as he laughs and ruffles Wade’s hair, “‘S Ray dude, you know that ahahah!”
Ray? Wade rubs his eyes as he tries to remember if he knows a Ray, though really he doesn’t think he knows any surfers. Ray. With each searching thought comes a creeping sensation. The name feels right? It feels more at home, more familiar in his head, as if he’s thought of the man thousands of times. Ray. Yeah, he knows Ray, how could he not. Looking at the man standing opposite him, blushing at the tan pecs at his eye level he is struck with countless memories of watching him on the waves. Cheering on his, brah? No that can’t be-
“Should take your shirt off too Wade, show off for the ladies eh?” Ray flexes and Wade narrows his eyes, okay well that’s enough of this dude. He then slaps his forehead, what’s he thinking he just needs to call Dylan, obviously. He quickly runs back to the changed-changing room and arrives just in time to find his pants shifting into vintage shorts, quite like the pair he now wears. Swallowing his fear he reaches into the pocket for his phone, though the only thing he produces is a beaten up wallet and his car keys, now missing their fob.
Putting forth great effort to steady his breathing he checks the wallet to find a similarly damaged driver’s license unlike any he’s ever seen. Gone is the plasticine card he’s carried for years, replaced by some water stained, taped together laminated bit of paper with a signature sloppier than he’d ever use scrawled under his name. His eyes refuse to look at the date of birth as he opts to sprint back and confront Ray.
His feet pound hard on the few steps back to the cabana’s lobby, heavier than they had any right to. With each careening step they widen and lengthen racing to match the wretched paddles he saw in his reflection. Their soles roughening from what must be years of walking along dingy beachside sidewalks, perfect for sticking to a waxed board. “Okay dude, Ray, whatever your name is I’d like my phone back. I don’t think this stupid little prank is funny.”
Ray pauses mouth hanging open, its default state apparently, as he processes whatever it is that Wade must be whining about. He tilts his head and smirks a stupid smile at the clerk that Wade only just noticed, “Hear that Mabes? Wader over here thinks you had a phone in the changing room! Hah!”
She rolls her eyes before turning to address the clearly apoplectic newcomer, “Wade I don’t know what your deal is today-” she pauses to look him up and down and groans, “God! How many times do I have to tell you guys, if you’re going to come in at least throw on shoes. No one wants to see your disgusting little feet.”
Ray performs indignance at this, throwing a heavy arm around Wade’s shoulder, though he shoots higher than he should as if he were expecting his bro to be taller than he is, “Now Mabe, babe. You won’t get me defindin’ the cleanliness of my brah here, but little! I’ll have you know he’s got the best board huggers this side of San Fran!” Wade narrows his eyes in confusion as whatever is going on is clearly beyond and beneath him. Though as Ray finishes speaking, the smaller man grunts as his feet cramp.
Looking down, Wade discovers that, alongside the world around him, he too has begun to change. His feet have clearly already grown, Dylan always poked fun at his small shoe size, but now they have grown beyond measure. Wade recoils in shock as they balloon once more, toes stretching further as his soles bulge wider.
They seem so large that he wonders where he’ll be able to even get shoes that big. Eyes flickering back and forth he figures he’ll just have to order them on Ama- uh? Wade’s eyes glaze over briefly as he loses his train of thought. His head pangs with pain as the idea of online shopping starts to fade. Surely they have catalogues for extra-large shoes or something, he’ll check with Ray later, yeah. Ray’ll know.
Speaking of, Ray and Mabel have continued arguing. Wade is unaware that as he was lost in his own mind, his new surfer bro has continued to defend him, and with each complimentary phrase Wade has begun to inch taller in height. Speaking of waves conquered and tubes bodied, Wade catches the tail end of one particularly exaggerated story as his mind begins to fill in the details. Back stretching and calves slowly bulking as he clearly recalls bailing from his board. He grunts again as he surges taller, thighs slowly bulking up as his new height exposes a pale midriff, attracting eyes from both of the spatting pair.
Finding he has their attention he clears his throat and begs, “Look, I don’t care about any of this-” Ray recoils in shock, “Can I borrow either of your cellphones so I can call my boyfriend?” Their eyes widen at the brazen use of boyfriend though the friends are well aware of Wade’s proclivities, what actually causes the strange stares is his asking for a cell phone. “Brah, did you hit your head or what? You know the cabana don’t have a phone.”
Wade shakes his head, he doesn’t know that he doesn’t care, “Sure! Whatever!” he reaches out, “Can I borrow your cell phone.” Mabel and Ray eye each other once more before breaking out into laughter, “Shell phone? What are you on about dude?” Wade stares back with absolute shock and derision before his vision goes spotty and his head burns with a rolling headache. His hippocampus physically pulses as his mind and memories are rewritten.
A cell phone is foolish? A dream. A phone you could just up and carry anywhere? Science fiction. And yet he can almost picture a small black mirror in his hand. Embarrassed from their laughter and determined to not let this fact of reality be erased he continues to stare at his hand as if he’s trying to will one into existence. Unfortunately the only change that he notices is his skin bulging as his hand flexes larger, a few scars blanch from years on the beach as his hands struggle to keep up with his advancing height. One could almost hear his bones cracking as his fingers lengthen and grow calloused while his fingernails lose their polish, grow dirty, and shorten
He pounds the cabana counter and Mabel clicks her tongue, “Okay let’s cool it buddy, you wanna make a call Ray’ll take ya down the street.” She motions to the door with her head and Ray escorts him out, “Come back when you’ve worked out whatever this is on the waves huh Wade?” she pouts as she watches the pair go, taking care to stare at Ray’s defined back with a smile, then she snickers and whispers to herself as she gets back to her magazine, “been watching too much Star Trek I bet.”
Ray’s chipper as ever as he leads Wade out of the cabana, unknowingly more comfortable now that his arm rests closer to where it should after Wade sprouted a few inches. For his part, Wade finds himself distracted by the wild blue sea. Waves rise and crash into foam and he’d swear he could feel the bubbles, the surge on his skin. Like a dog staring at a treat he fights desperately with the urge to sprint across the sand to enjoy it right now.
In fact, his thicker feet begin their plodding to a surf wagon nearby with a couple boards stowed before he’s stopped by a question from Ray, “You wanna take your shirt off so you can get some sun brah? Lookin’ a little pasty there.” Wade shakes his head and tries to disregard his words, though as his mind continues to be assailed by a hunger to surf he gives up the ghost on the shirt battle and reveals his pale weak chest to the world, “s- sounds radical. I’l uhh, catch some rays. hah”
Ray starts to laugh at the pun but instead grimaces as the sight of Wade’s small pasty torso is incongruent with the reality that he knows to be true. Though with a mind accustomed to shrugging off strange ideas and problems too big to worry about he quickly throws his arm around Wade’s shoulders slowly growing wider. “Well let’s getcha to a pay phone so you can call your buddy!”
Wade rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as the pair head down the boardwalk. He can scarcely focus on the increasingly rapid changes occurring to his body and mind as he’s still distracted by the sound of crashing waves. As the Summer Californian sun beats down on him, his skin starts to darken, closer to the shade Ray recognizes as Wade. Spreading forth in patches he tans to the customary surfer brown, ushering forth from surf shorts that aren’t quite filled and up past a core that is only now getting defined.
So too does his hair suddenly start to lighten. Lengthening into something sun bleached and salt stained. His usually clean-cut look begins to giveaway as the life he knows he should have is slowly eroded, just like the ebb and flow of the waves calling out for him. Pecs beginning to form darken and shine with sweat under the beating sun as he dreamily stares at the sea. Though despite it all, despite true real memories of life in the twenty-first century slowly fading like a mirage, he still remembers his time with Dylan clear as day. To this he holds fast as he stumbles forward from his heavier upper body.
As he continues to grow into this new form, molded by the alien world of the past around him, he begins to notice other surfers and beachgoers eyeing him with familiarity and nodding with respect. After his bicep bulges larger from returning a few shakas, he bumps his shirtless body into Ray to get his attention like he's done a million times. Finally tearing his eyes away from ogling scantily clad women, Ray tilts his head as Wade asks in a tone clearly affected by the thickening neck and shifting disposition, “Hey brah, er- Ray? Am I like, a big deal?”
Ray looks dumbly at Wade as his irises change to match the deep blue of his quarry before laughing, “Hah! Such a cut-up today brah! Course everyone knows you, you’re always ripping! If anyone needs any tips or tricks they come to you.” Wade clenches at his head as years of memories and knowledge rush into his mind. Equivalent to the sensation of bailing on his board into the choppy sea, he’s drowning in visions of showing off on the waves and taking care to help anyone who so desires to join him in enjoying the spray of a set. His chest puffs with pride and puffs larger with pecs as his jaw widens and now-blue eyes roll back. He’s the king of this beach. And just like that, as soon as the words, the idea, cross his mind he’s overwhelmed and pulled under.
He awakens laid out on a bench somewhere down the way, he hears the Beach Boys playing through some static nearby and opens his eyes to see Ray’s face painted with concern, though as soon as he hears Wade speak up he returns to his usual happy-go-lucky expression. “Gnaaarly dude- feel like I just woke up for the first time~” The new surfer then coughs up some sea water which he finds as strange, he wasn’t surfing was he?
This small quibble with reality acts as one final life preserver to the life he once knew. Just odd enough for him to question his situation, his reality. For a moment he stares at his tanned, veiny hands and questions is this who he is? Trailing up arms patterned with sun-bleached blonde hair and briefly hung up on the quarter-sized nipples poking off a thick chest. He scratches his stomach, for some reason expecting to find a bit of a belly, his fingers instead bump against tight abs.
Unfortunately his last grasp at the future is haplessly wasted as he’s almost immediately distracted by Surfin’ U.S.A, “Ugh-” he chokes out in his now perpetually fried, laid-back voice, “Why’s this dad rock playing?” Ray laughs and helps the man up, “Maan Wade you’re on a trip today, first goin’ on and on about selling phones and some enter-net! You know your dad hates the Beach Boys! Ahahah” With this paltry grasp his past self is evermore washed to sea, Ray’s recollections sound just as strange to Wade as they did to him and Mabel.
Even the explicit mentions of cell phones and the internet isn’t enough to prevent the rubber band from snapping as decades of lived experience with future technology is wiped from his mind. Memories of the modern world thoroughly displaced by life sprinting across the sands and mooring the foundations of surfing as a continental sport. Just as Ray has done countless times today alone, Wade smiles dumbly in brief reflection on his life lived.
Going forward on rare occasions some fragment of his other self washes up to his mind like jetsam. Sometimes when he sees a record he can’t help but wonder if they’ll be smaller one day or he’ll reach for something in his pants out of habit when he has a question to ask, before shaking it off like a strange tic. His crew often labels him some kind of prophet as he seems almost too keenly aware of how global events will shake out.
“I swear brah, gettin’ me worried that your new guy’s slipped ya somethin’” Ray says with a wink. Wade flinches with a start, that’s right! He needs to call Dylan immediately! Putting change in a pay-phone like he’s done all his life he dials a number he knows by heart and holds his breath, begging the universe that Dylan will answer the other line as the ringing tone vibrates the receiver, and then his miracle is answered.
Sounding as if he’s discovered cloud 9, somewhere across the town his love, Dylan, answers, “Heyyyyy, ‘s this Wadey?” The sound of his voice fills Wade’s thicker chest with comfort, “Dyl! God it’s so nice to hear you…” He stands there for a few seconds, only then does he notice how tight his swim shorts have become from his bulking thighs and building ass. Though of course, the most prominent issue at the moment is the rising dilemma in front. He blushes and bites his lip as he tries to speak with more discretion, “You uhhh, down to come over to ours later today?”
He can almost hear the smile of the man on the other line, “Uhhh yeahh, yeah… Me ‘n my uhhh freaks are on a trip righnow. But yeaaah, think I could swing by baby” Wade can almost see the man on the other line, delighting in the feeling of his fingers twirling the phone wire in his hands, certainly too high to work out a time but Wade doesn’t mind. The promise of a future fuck and time together after is more then enough, “Righteous brah, well I’ll see you then Dyl.” His lover just giggles and the pair hang up at the same time, bonded tighter than ever despite their strange unknown journeys apart. Sighing in delight and ignoring the pulse in his pants, Wade turns to face his brah.
For the first time Wade throws his arm around Ray’s shoulder as the pair wander off towards his wagon. Ray gestures for him to try and mask his clearer than anything erection though the surfer just shrugs, “Oh sure dude, as if anyone ever misses your goose eggs you little horndog.” The pair guffaw and continue to tease eachother as they start back towards Mabel’s cabana.
Glimmer in his eyes and too eager to not speed up, Wade hits his bro on the back and challenges him on a race to their boards. His new legs carry him faster than he’s ever managed before. Settled into his new life the feeling of his feet pounding into the hot sand fills him with contentment. There’s no place he’d rather be than soaring across the beach while his crew watches.
Adam decided to go to the beach with his girl best friend, Freya, Kylie, Lily, and Michaela. He was a skinny twink-ish gay guy who was dating a boy called Joseph.
They arrived and set up their towels and cooler so that they could get comfortable. Adam pulled out his phone and sent a video snap to his boyfriend.
"Oh my gosh babe we're at the beach, SOO excited to get a tan and relax!" Adam said and sent to his boyfriend. Lily went into the ocean dragging Kylie with her.
A little while later and they both came back and he decided to eat one of the ice lollies in the cooler, not knowing the girls spiked it with a little bit of their dark magic.
As he ate it his muscles started to grow, filling out his skinny build. His hair started to get blonder, decreasing his brain cells. His t-shirt was practically bursting at the sides, and a shark tooth necklace was placed round his neck.
His hair parted itself down the middle and grew out into a flowy middle part, typical of surfer boys. His teeth perfectly straightened and so did his sexuality. He could only think about dating girls and being dominant towards them. He grew a tan which made himself dumber and his voice deepened astronomically. His eyes got bluer and his mouth gained a permanent cocky grin. Finally his personality got more cocky and confident, whilst also being pretty stupid and beachy, as well as his name changing from Adam to Adrian. All he wanted to do was surf.
After his transformation ended, he let out a long "Yoooo!" solidifying his transformation. He pulled out his phone and broke up with Joseph and quickly blocking him.
A surfboard magically appeared near his towel, which he picked up.
"Soooo, which one of you sexy girls is, like, mine ya know huhuhu?!" He said in a very cocky tone. Why would he need to worry about getting a boyfriend when he had 4 sexy girls in front of him that he would probably bang one later.
"Mee!" They all say in unison.
"So that means I'll bang you all later then lol!" He said again super cockily.
He proceeded to grab his surf board and do a surfer boy run to the water to surf his old life away.
