Hey there. I've been teaching my introduction to theatre class for about 10 years now, however this semester has to be the worst. They've stuck me with the absolute worst group of students. Listen, I love being able to teach students and help them better connect to the wonders of performing, but this Gen Ed class of freshman couldn't care less. It's full of straight jocks, guys who think they'll get famous on TikTok, exchange students from the middle east and a bunch of stuck up religious homophobic nepo babies who write slurs on the chalkboard. I can't stand it. I'm ready to quit. But this Friday, I found a box of chocolate on my desk with a typed note saying that it was time I learned a lesson. I have no idea which one of these assholes gave it to me and I'm sure they are laced with something but I can't help but want to try one of the chocolates....
You knew you should just throw it away. Put the small box of stupid chocolates in the nearest garbage and forget about it. The box itself looked like it was handcrafted with cardboard and tape. The chocolates inside? Probably made in one of your student's kitchens. Sloppy, made hastily- being homemade alone didn't make something good. As a teacher, you did get gifts on occasion. But in all of your years of teaching, this one was certainly the absolute worst.
"Alright, alright." You mutter, "I'm a teacher, not a food critic."
You relent and grab one of the small truffles, inspecting it closely. It was obviously coated in milk chocolate, a few red, white, and blue sprinkles garnished the top.
"CJ." You think, "Yeah, bet it was him."
Loud, obnoxious, patriotic- the ultimate stupid all-American jock who probably spent the same amount of time drinking beers as he did in the gym. With a sigh, you plop the truffle into your mouth and start to chew. You taste the milk chocolate and get a few notes of peanuts and apple pie. Not the worst thing you've ever eaten, but definitely not...
"Oh fuck..." You grunt and catch yourself on the nearest table, "Oh fuck it hurts." You grab your stomach and wince, "Wh...?"
Your eyes widen as you watch your dress shirt start to shred into pieces, unveiling more and more of your average frame. You let out another yelp as your dress pants start to come undone, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.
"What the fuck?" You grunt as the room begins to spin around you.
The humble walls of your classroom give way to a raucous tailgate. The smell of brats, burgers, and beers fill your nose. The sound of boisterous laughter, cheering, and shit talk fill your ears. But as you stumble in confusion amidst the new setting, you gasp as you look down at your hand.
"Brody, bro!" One of the jocks yells out, "You good man?"
You watch in terror as your hand thickens and becomes calloused from all those lifting sessions with your bros at the gym. You watch as the muscle expands rapidly in your forearms, before your biceps explode with it. Your triceps aren't spared either as your previous twigs-for-arms thicken from all the lifting, creatine, and protein powder you've been using. But you quickly found out your arms were just the start. The air was knocked out of you as your pecs swelled rapidly, back cracking and widening. You stumble, still trying to get used to your increasing bulk.
"Woah, bro..." You mutter, giving your swollen pecs a squeeze, "All right..." You shake your head, "No... no what am I saying?" You can feel a weed sprouting in your head- another voice, another being.
"Yeah this is the shit." It says using your mouth, "Grow baby, grow."
You laugh, deep and dumb. And as you do, your gut packs on more weight and muscle, pushing out with the firmness of extra bulk. Your abs covered by a soft layer of fat brought to you by all the late night snacking and beers you've downed with your bros.
"Check this, bros." Your voice is slower, dumber, and clearly tipsy from the alcohol. But you don't have time to consider that as you let out a massive fart, "Bro! You hear that? Fuckin' legend, dude!"
You grunt as your ass beefs up, swelling with muscle and fat. Jiggling with each step you take. Your thighs and legs bulk up, as your feet crack and expand into wide, size 15" monsters.
"Alright bros!" Brody says, pumping his fists, "Let's fuckin' go!"
You can't do much as Brody has the best fucking time of his life. You do a keg stand, make-out with some blond cheerleader, wrestle with your bros, and bounce your muscle tits while your dick chubs up. To Brody, its the fucking life. But to you- trapped in this smelly, brutish frat bro- you're in hell. Was this the lesson? Was this what your asshole students wanted to teach you? To...
"Yo what're those?" Brody drunkenly makes his way over to a small box of chocolates, "Don't mind if I do." He guffaws and grabs one.
He plops it into his mouth and you can taste it. Cardamom, cinnamon, and dates. Brody wrinkles his nose as he chews it.
"The fuck kinda flavor is that?" But he doesn't have much time to think more on it as the world around him starts to spin, "Oh fuck, too many beers..."
You can feel it too. The world spinning. Its disorienting, terrifying. And you can feel a burning and itching sensation across your chest. You watch in horror as a patch of coarse black hair sprouts from Brody's chest, spreading rapidly like wildfire. It itches intensely as it grows thicker and longer, soon covering his entire torso in a dark pelt. Brody lets out a grunt, rubbing his hands over his new fur.
"Wh-what's going on, bro? I'm so fuckin' hairy."
Meanwhile, the burning sensation spreads to your face. Black stubble erupts on your jawline, quickly forming a thick, unkempt beard. Your once fair skin blotches with an olive tint.
"Dude, I'm American. Why do I lookā¦ fuckā¦"
Every inch of your skin is now olive tinted. There's a grunt as you pack on a little more extra weight and muscle to your previous jock-bro frame. A wave of vertigo hits you hard as reality warps and shifts yet again. The tailgate scene dissolves into a sleek sports car interior. This new man grips the steering wheel tightly, weaving through traffic at dangerous speeds. His bulks grows more, as do his muscles.
"Yallah, move it bitch!" he yells, honking aggressively at a minivan.
"Samir, chill bro." The other Arab man in the passenger seat says.
"Chill? We got places to be, yaar." Samir replies, revving the engine.
You can only watch as this new version of you pulls up to a hookah bar. And as Samir enters, you can smell it too- the air is thick with fragrant smoke and the sound of Arabic music pulses through the speakers. Samir struts in confidently, his broad shoulders, hairy chest, and musculature on full display.
"Marhaba, habibi," he greets the hostess, flashing her a charming smile. She giggles and leads them to a plush booth in the back.
As they settle in, Samir leans back and lights up a large hookah pipe. His arms stretched behind his head. The smell of his musky pits invading your sense.
"Ahhh, perfect," he sighs contentedly. He takes a long drag, holding the sweet smoke in his lungs before exhaling slowly. His friend nods in agreement. "This is the life, yaar. No worries, just good times with the boys."
And as Samir takes another drag, you can feel your mind swimming. The smell of hookah, the laughter, the pride in your middle-eastern heritage. It hurts your head as your identities mix. Teacher? Frat bro? Prideful Arab man? Who are you? What are...
"I... Please, I want this to..."
"Yo who're you?" You freeze. Brody was still here. In your head. Talking to you, "Brah, this whole shits fucked. I got a party to get back to."
You find yourself nodding slowly, "Yeah... a party..." Makes sense, right? You should be partying... at the tailgate... But... you're a teacher, you're a...
Samir takes another long drag from the hookah, blowing the smoke out slowly. "These Americans, they don't know how to live," he says, shaking his head, "Americans, they're weak. Greedy and self indulgent. But us? We're real men, yaar. Strong, proud." He takes another drag, "Inshallah, may Allah bless us with more days like this."
And as the hookah invades his lungs, you too feel it invade your mind. The smell, the camaraderie. The sight of your olive skin, the scraggliness of your beard. And as your buddies pat Samir on the back, you feel like you're part of something more. Something greater.
"Feels nice." You think, "This... this is living... how it should be..."
And as your mind swims with your newfound appreciation for Samir's culture, Samir's attention is captured by a box of chocolates. He smirks and grabs one of the truffles plopping it into his mouth. And almost immediately you can taste it. The bourbon. The hint of vanilla. Maybe even some lavender.
"Wha-" he starts to say, but the words dissolve on his tongue.
You can feel it again. The world spinning around you. Faster and faster. And with it comes the changes. You can feel the heftiness around your midsection starts to dissolve, while the abs underneath are molded perfectly, leaving you with an impressive six-pack. You can hear Samir yelp as his pecs start to puff out further with dense muscle, the hairs starting to dissolve away, leaving behind clean shaven, smooth skin.
"Ugh so pathetic." He groans, running his increasingly meatier hand against his smooth skin, "What is this?"
His skin suddenly begins to lighten once again. His dark eyes become blue, and narrow as a new attitude starts to swell up in your increasingly more crowded mental space.
"Brah, check these muscles."
Your head is spinning with all these different voices. Your body aches as the bulk continues, giving you the body of a greek adonis. Arms swollen, chest solid, abs proudly displayed. The hookah bar finally vanishes, replaced by the glittering expanse of a private pool. Sunlight glints off the water. And you find yourself coming up for air, water falling from your brunette, styled hair.
A girl in a skimpy bikini approaches, carrying a tray of drinks. "Here you go, Mr. Westley," she says, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. This new man takes a drink without even looking at her, already bored. Just another servant. Just another pretty face.
"Get me another one while you're at it." He calls out. He watches her walk away, smirking as he stares at her ass.
He takes a swig of the martini and sighs. Everything looks so bright and crisp. Like the world had been put through a filter. The sky is bluer, the grass greener. Even the water sparkles. And his physique? Toned, tanned, and dripping wet. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"Yeah... I can... I can get used to this..." You mumble as if in a trance.
"Same brah." Brody joins in.
"Fuck that." Samir lashes out, "Spoiled white boy."
The new man exits the pool, tousling his hair, and finding the nearest lounge chair. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, basking in the sun.
"Chad?" He turns towards a man in business attire, "Your father would like a word."
"Tell dear old dad I'm busy." Chad replied dismissively, "And while you're at it, find the groundskeeper and tell him to get this place cleaned up, its a fucking disgrace."
"But sir, your father..."
"You fuckin' deaf or something?" Chad stands up, towering over the man, "I'm. Busy."
The servant scurries away, while Chad just flashes his signature, entitled smirk. And as he gets back to lounging, you feel disgust welling up inside you. This guy was an asshole. A totally self-obsessed douchebag. Even Brody seemed to quiet down, while Samir went on ranting about spoiled Americans.
"I just want to go back." You feel so lost, so hopeless, "I don't want to be this... I want to be me..."
But you're trapped. Trapped in your own mind with Brody and Samir. Trapped and forced to feel everything Chad did. Watch as Chad sends some shirtless selfies to a few blond bimbos. Made plans with an older married woman down the street to meet up when her husband leaves for the day. He messages his friends about using his father's private jet to travel to Tahoe for the weekend.
"Get what I want, when I want." He stretches his arms behind his head and sighs, basking in the sunlight reflecting off his greek god physique.
And that's when you feel it. The power. The musculature of his body. Each flex of his bicep. His massive pecs. You understand now. Understand just how easy his confidence comes to him. Understand why he deserves it. And it felt... good. Yeah... It felt real good. But as you got drunk on everything that was Chad, you were interrupted.
"Chad!" Chad's eyes widen as his father walks over- a man of similar build, height, but older, "You lazy piece of crap!"
"Dad, what... what're you talking about?"
His father's eyes narrow, "I told you before." He points at him, "You want to live like this? You want to use my money for trips to Europe, fuck any bimbo that moves, and lounge around." He frowns, "Then you got to get a degree. An education. Prove you can take over the family business."
"You can't be fucking..."
You can feel the anger boiling up in Chad's body. A degree? Having to go to school? With what? A bunch of stupid, poor, ugly freaks that have to work a 9-5 to experience just 1/1000 of Chad's lifestyle.
"That's... not fair." You whisper, as your mind is overwhelmed by Chad's emotions.
Chad stands up, eyes narrowed and pushes past his father. The older man couldn't be serious. Couldn't really be thinking of making him go to college. He stormed past a servant, who simply smiled.
"Would you like a chocolate?"
Chad freezes, "Yeah, sure, why the fuck not?" And plops it into his mouth.
The world around you shifts once more as the flavors of the chocolate hit your tongue - artificial sweetness, fruity candy, and a hint of energy drink. You can feel your muscles beginning to shrink and change, the bulk melting away.
"Whoa, what's happening to me?" Chad's voice whines.
The opulent halls of the mansion are closing in, shifting into that of a studio apartment. Clothes and empty energy drink cans litter the floor. The air smells stale and musty. You glance down at your changing body - the muscles thinning out, becoming leaner and more defined rather than bulky. Body hair recedes until your skin is smooth and hairless. Your face feels tight as it reshapes itself, cheekbones becoming more pronounced, jawline sharpening into an angular cuteness. Curly locks sprout from your head, styled in a trendy, slightly messy fashion. Your beard starts to fall away, leaving you clean-shaven.
This new form - young, attractive, and youthfully energetic - bounds over to the bed. Sitting cross-legged, and pulls out his phone. The lock screen displays a grid of selfies and short video clips, all carefully curated to showcase his best angles and moments.
"Okay, gotta up my game," He mutters, scrolling through TikTok trends. "More followers mean more clout, and clout means everything."
He spends hours creating and posting videos - dance challenges, skits, pranks, and thirst traps. Each upload is meticulously planned and executed to maximize engagement. Between posts, he constantly refreshes his feed, comparing likes and views to his peers.
"This is exhausting," the old you whispers weakly in the back of your mind. But the new you barely registers the complaint, too focused on growing your online presence.
"Hey there! Zac here!" He starts.
You watch helplessly as this new version of you, Zac, throws himself into the world of social media with reckless abandon. Hours blur together as he creates and posts video after video, thirst trap after thirst trap, desperate for that sweet validation of likes and comments.
"Ugh, this sucks," Zac grunts in frustration, deleting yet another failed attempt at a viral dance challenge. "Why isn't this working? I'm hot, I'm funny, I should be blowing up by now!"
The other voices in your head stir.
"Forget this noise, brah. Let's hit the gym, get jacked!" Brody chimes in enthusiastically.
"No way, man. This social media crap is beneath us." Samir scoffs, his accent thick with disdain.
"He's so fucking desperate." Chad chimes in, "He's never going to amount to shit. Just wishes he could have a sliver of what I got."
The voices swim in your head. Painfully. Overwhelmingly. You just want it to stop. Just want them to leave you be. To let you go back to... to what? You're realizing with increasing terror that you're having a hard time remembering just who you were. Someone in education? A teacher? Right? Or were you...
"Pl-please... just... stop." But your voice is crowded out by these other selves, all bickering internally.
"Fuck it," Zac mutters, tossing his phone aside in frustration. He flops back onto the unmade bed, surrounded by the musky scent of sweat-stained sheets and stale air. With a heavy sigh, he reaches for his phone again, navigating to his preferred porn site with practiced ease.
"Just need to blow off some steam," he mumbles, stroking himself through his thin sweatpants as the first video loads. The lewd sounds of moaning and flesh slapping against flesh fill the small room.
Zac's breathing quickens as he loses himself in porn, his toned muscles relaxing under his touch. The stench of his own arousal mingles with the aroma of the slovenly apartment. Sweat beads on his smooth, hairless chest as he pleasures himself. The sensations wash over you too, drowning out the cacophony of voices in your head. Your mind starts to feel hazy, thoughts growing sluggish and scattered. The world narrows down to the intense physical pleasure radiating from your core.
"Hnnnghā¦ feels so goodā¦" you groan, as rational thought slips away, replaced by base instinct and desire.
Brody, Samir, and Chad's voices fade to distant murmurs, easily ignored as you lose yourself in Zac's pleasure. All that matters is chasing this peak of ecstasy.
"F-fuck yeahā¦ gonna cum so hardā¦"
And in that momentā¦ you're just Zac. Obsessed with social media. Obsessed with the latest trend. Obsessed with views and likes and getting famous. And when you're not chasing fame, you're jerking off. Endlessly. In your musky apartment. And it feels good. No worries. No cares. No more voices. Yeahā¦ Zacā¦ you're Zacā¦ it makes senseā¦ itā¦
You blink, disoriented as the familiar sight of your classroom comes into focus. The musky stench and lewd sounds vanish, replaced by the sterile scent of chalk dust and the dull murmur of students. Your body feels foreign, like it belongs to someone else entirely.
"W-whatā¦ what happened?" you stammer, gripping the edge of your desk for support. The lingering echoes of Zac's obsession and pleasure slowly fade, but the memory of inhabiting that shallow, hedonistic existence lingers.
Around you, your students smile. The straight-laced jocks, the fame-hungry TikTokers, the entitled rich kids, and the cultural exchange students. They're staring at you.
"Learn your lesson, bro?"
"No, please! Leave me alone!" you cry out, clutching your head as the voices of Samir, Brody, Chad, and Zac continue to echo and taunt you. "I don't want to be any of you! I just want to be myself again!"
But even as you beg, you can feel the changes starting to take hold once more. Your muscles begin to swell and bulk up, taking on a chiseled, masculine form.
"You're built like a god now. Act like it." Chad's voice rings out, "Walk around like you own the place, 'cause you do. Entitlement is your birthright, remember that."
Your muscles ripple and grow, becoming impressively defined. The bulges of your biceps and pecs send pleasure straight to your heavy balls and thick cock. You stand taller, chest puffed out proudly.
"Fuck yeah, we gotta document this!" Zac squeals excitedly. "Get the camera out, bro! Show the world what we're working with. Hashtag blessed, hashtag gains, hashtag fitness goals! Gotta get them followers, man!"
You pull out your phone with a grin, snapping selfie after selfie from every angle. You look hot. You look good. And you know it. And so will everyone else.
"Look at you." Samir's voice echos in your brain. Dark, glossy hair springs from your scalp, curling slightly. A well-groomed beard spreads across your jawline and chin, "Embrace your heritage, yaar. You're a son of the Middle East now."
You feel warmth as your skin takes on a warm, healthy olive tone. You run a hand through your thick, black hair, admiring how it contrasts with your chiseled features. Your beard feels soft and stylish as you run your fingers along it. You feel a surge of pride in your Arab roots.
"Holy shit dude, we are ripped!" Brody exclaims gleefully, slurring his words slightly. "Time to hit the town and get fucked up! Gonna be the life of the party with these sick muscles, bro!"
You can feel the intelligence draining from your mind, replaced by a happy-go-lucky, dim-witted enthusiasm. Your tongue lolls out as you grin dopily. The voices blend together into a confusing chorus as your body and mind warp to accommodate all four personas simultaneously. You're left standing in the middle of your classroom, nothing more than a muscular, entitled, self-absorbed Arab party bro, with the combined traits and attitudes of Chad, Zac, Samir, and Brody.
"Yo, teach!" One of your students calls out, "You learn your lesson?"
You turn to face him, your muscular physique on full display as you cross your arms over your broad chest. A cocky smirk plays across your handsome, bearded face. You flash a brilliant, charismatic smile at the student, your teeth gleaming white against your olive skin.
"Lesson learned, my dude."
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