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The Aardchive

All the stories posted on this blog, in alphabetical order by title.

111,121

The Aairport: Alex & Eric Connor Absolute Power Bad Cop The Bearapist

The Bear Cap: Keaton Dakota Backseat Grandpa Johnathan (fully illustrated!)

The Board: 1, 2 A Body Built Boosted The Ballad of Clay & Owen The Broadcast The Broadcast Boys Buff Businessman Bureau Building Security Built Himself Up Business Development Campus Visit The Car Lot: Copped The Chief The Clifton Jocks: Fletcher and Winston Knight Nick Clothes Make The Man Czech Yourself Deeper Double D Dress For Success The Evolution of Corbin Brantley First Responder Flash Before Your Eyes Head Rush The House Always Wins Ironclad Jason Love Klutz La Petite Mort Lawyer Up Learning To Lead Luke of Stripland Made Man Major Mayor A Mall and the Night Visitors The Marine Corps Builds Men The Master of Magic A Matter of Time Meat Market: 1, 2, 3, 4 M-U-S-C-L-E Name Recognition

New York Fucking City: New York Fucking City New York Fitness City Greenpoint

The North Pole Experience Old Dog, New Tricks Old Man Cravitz Old School Men: The Cowboy

The Photo Booth: Chuck Dustin Eric George Liam Mikey Plaything A Recommendation from Dr. Rupert D. Westinghouse Recruiting: Ethan Donovan Repair Costs Reset The Romans, and the Greeks Room Sweep Standing Together The Stud in the Studio Stuffed Shirt Style Scout Tattoo* Under New Management Upgraded Wet

Wishing Room: Morning Wood Beefing Up Security Hot for Teacher The Dance Lifelong Lesson

The Wonder Realms

mystrangetfs

A new team - Weight gain ai sequence

Clint was warming up and stretching when he heard the first shout of his name, glancing over his shoulder Clint could see the football coach and Clint couldn't help but roll his eyes. He had heard the football team had lost a few of its members to injury and that the coach was looking to replace them and Clint could not think of anything worse. Clint was a track star, he had been sprinting the 400m for years and had won several national competitions. That's how he managed to get a scholarship to a top university along with a generous donation from his parents. There was no way he was going to lower himself and become a 'bulldog' and be around the other lumps of dumb muscle. Clint heard his name being called again and still he pretended like he didn't hear, once he was stretched out he would start running and there would be no way the dumpy little coach would catch up to him. However, if Clint had bothered to acknowledge the coach then he would have seen the already out of breath middle aged man jogging over to before standing in front of the sneering Clint.

"Clint Simmons? Yeah I thought it was you. I was calling ya champ, did you not hear me?" the coach said red-faced.

hairy-bothered

A Stranger’s Face

Chris had only ducked into the alley to get away from the noise for a minute. The music from the mix of gay and straight bars still thudded through the brick walls, and laughter spilled out every time a door opened at the end of the block. After finishing college in the Spring, Chris had felt detached and out of his element - finding it difficult to adjust to a new life with more rigid rules and timelines. Sometimes he longed for the days when people would just tell him how to live his life.

He loosened his collar, checked his reflection in the dark phone screen, and smiled to himself. Despite his current listlessness in life he looked exactly the way he liked to look—young, polished, blond, untouchable.

Then he noticed a man leaning against a nearby wall staring the way a lion watches a zebra… He was older, thick through the torso in a way that suggested strength, his open leather vest showing a dense spread of chest hair under the glow of the streetlamp. A cigar rested between his fingers, and his heavy mustache gave his half-smile a strange authority. He looked like he belonged to the night in a way Chris suddenly felt he did not.

“You look lost,” the older man said. “My name’s Jeff. Maybe there’s something we can do to help each other.”

Chris opened his mouth ready to interject with some quick, sharp reply - but the older man had already stepped closer - pinning Chris to the alley wall.

The cigar slipped from Jeff’s fingers and hissed out on the damp pavement. He drew Chris close with startling ease, one hand settling against his shoulder, and kissed him. It was not tentative. It was deliberate. The kind of kiss that made the rest of the alley seem to fall away into the darkness and puddles.

Chris stiffened at first, startled by the force of the moment—but before he could even decide what to do, heat ran through his face and down his throat. His heart pounded so hard it made his vision shake. He broke away just enough to stare at Jeff, breathing fast, one hand flying to his mouth.

“Why did you do that!?” Chris shouted.

“I’m doing you a favor kid. You have the air of a man looking for something more. Someone to guide you.” Jeff smiled beneath that thick mustache.

Just then Chris felt a surge of heat course through his body. His muscles all began to cramp and his skin began to crawl. He doubled over in pain briefly before regaining his composure.

Chris staggered toward a darkened shop window and froze at the stranger looking back. His neat blonde side-part was breaking apart, the hair at his temples pulling backward as if erased by an invisible hand. A shadow had appeared over his lip — thicker by the second, darkening into the beginnings of a broad mustache. His jaw looked heavier. Older. His shoulders strained strangely against his blazer, as though his frame had decided it wanted to occupy more space than it had a moment ago. Even his clothes were changing - fleece and denim being replaced with black leather. The smell and touch both intoxicating and arousing to Chris’s shifting mind.

“No,” he whispered, then louder: “No.”

He clawed at his fading hairline, felt the changed shape of his own face, the roughness gathering where his skin had been smooth and young. Beneath his sleeves, new hair prickled down his forearms. His breath came fast and shallow. He looked over at Jeff, who watched him not with surprise, but with knowing satisfaction.

“You’re fighting it,” Jeff said taking a drag of his newly lit cigar and blowing the smoke towards Chris and chuckling. “That’ll only make it worse.”

Chris backed away, but even his posture was changing - his panic caught inside a body that was already learning a different way to stand - a different way to exist.

The next wave was quieter. That terrified him more. The panic was still there in Chris’s eyes, but it had begun to fray at the edges, interrupted by flashes of something else - familiarity, confidence, a low simmering pride that did not belong to him and yet somehow did. A growing heat in his groin at the thought of men, leather, cigars.

His clothes had continued to change with him: the soft sweater gone, replaced by leather that creaked when he moved and fit as though it had always been tailored for him. His chest felt warmer, heavier, hairier, rougher beneath the vest. His arms looked thicker. His hands looked older.

His hand rose to his lip. The mustache was full now—broad, dark, authoritative. Perfectly at home on his face - as if it had always been there. “Hadn’t it always been there,” Chris briefly thought. “I’ve had it since my late 20s at least…”

He looked at Jeff, and for one strange second it was like looking forward in time and into a mirror at once. Their hairlines matched. Their builds matched. The set of their shoulders, the angle of their mouths, even the cool, assessing look in their eyes — everything was converging.

Memories began to blur at the edges. The bar. The frat brothers. His old laugh. His own name. They all seemed suddenly thin, flimsy, unimportant.

“Who am…” he started, but the question died halfway out. Instead a wide cocky smile formed across his mustached face.

Jeff reached up and adjusted the front of Chris’s vest with almost affectionate precision.

“There you are, Geoffrey” Jeff said. “I was hoping to catch you here in the alley - alone…” But before Jeff could finish the sentence the formerly young Geoffrey pulled him in for a deep kiss with the intensity of a man in the desert being led to an oasis.

Geoffrey’s hands roamed up and down Jeff’s body - relishing the feel of the leather and the scent of tobacco and bourbon on Jeff’s breath. He knew exactly what he was doing when he unzipped Jeff’s pants and reached a newly hairy paw into his underwear - releasing the man’s cock from its leather prison.

Between smoky kisses and tongues deep in each other’s mouths Jeff gave a soft smile - relishing his handiwork at creating a doppelgänger that would know how to satisfy him exactly like he wanted. Exactly as he would do.

Jeff reached into Geoffrey’s pants and pulled out an exact copy of his dick on the formerly young man. He then ran a thumb around the head, already peaking out from the heavy foreskin covered with precum. He reached in and pulled out two round testicles and let them rest free against the leather pants.

Jeff then pushed Geoffrey against the wall looking him up and down and said “Who’s the hottest fucker around?”

“We are” was the response.

“What do we do for fun?”

“Put on our leather and fuck in the alley.”

“Good answer,” Jeff smirked as he turned Geoffrey around and pressed his face against the cool damp brick wall - while simultaneously grabbing Geoffrey’s pants and lowering them just enough for his hairy ass cheeks to spread apart. He then spit on his hand and shoved three fingers deep into the former frat boy - who moaned and jumped like it was the first time he’d been penetrated - now in a body that was clearly more accustomed to giving than receiving.

Jeff then spit on his dick and shoved it deep into his doppelgänger’s tight ass. He put his cigar back into his mouth and took a deep drag while beginning to pump into “himself.”

“Do you like daddy’s dick” he whispered in Geoffrey’s ear while exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Yes, daddy” Geoffrey replied.

“Would you like some of daddy’s cigar?” Jeff asked.

“Yes, sir” Geoffrey moaned between thrusts. Jeff took another drag and offered one to the former frat boy - who relished the opportunity.

Jeff’s pace quickened as Geoffrey reached a hand down to his own engorged dick and started jerking it. Just as Jeff reached climax and shot his load deep into the mirror image of his ass, Geoffrey followed suit - spewing rope after rope of cum on the alley wall.

After Jeff came down from his climax, he took another drag of his cigar and pulled out - replacing his cock and balls into their leather confines. He slapped Geoffrey on the ass spun the man back around and said “Good job, boy. I think I’ll keep you like this for a while. Daddy will have further use for your services.”

Geoffrey pulled up his pants, keeping Jeff’s load inside like a warm souvenir of some both special and simultaneously common-place event. He rolled his shoulders and felt the easy weight of his body settle into place, solid and undeniable. He reached up, smoothing a hand over his mustache with a gesture so natural it required no thought. Somewhere deep down, there was a fading impression that he had once been someone younger, softer, easier to impress. A man named Chris. But that life had the texture of a dream forgotten by noon.

When they stepped out of the alley together, the city seemed to welcome them differently.

What remained was certainty. He took the cigar Jeff offered him, fitted it between his fingers, and smiled when he caught his reflection in a passing window. The face that looked back at him was rugged, self-possessed, and undeniably handsome. More than that - it was right.

Jeff gave him a knowing glance. “You remember now?”

He did. Not the life he had lost. That had already dissolved into the night. He remembered who he was now.

Jeff and Geoffrey walked toward the glow of the bars, matching stride for matching stride, like they had been leaving alleys together for years.

And by the time the door opened and the music spilled over them again, there was no trace of Chris left at all.

legend-the-dumb-jock

I want you to turn me from a cub into a hunky-ish bear after stealing the clothing of a bear

You know that wording is up to lots of interpretations. Especially me. As soon as you made your wish you realized the mistake but it was too late to take it back. You held the clothes close to your nose and smelled the musk and sweat of a truely handsome man.

You couldn’t help but wish to be him as you held onto his sweaty smelly clothes. You rushed to put them on just so you could feel his essence on you before someone came. But then you made your wish and realized too late how wrong you were when the man of your dreams walked into the locker room. You managed to run outside before the pain forced your on all fours on the ground. Moaning in agony as you look at your hands and seem developing liver spots and ground hair on the backs of them. Grey hair. Grey hair that was traveling up your thickening arms. Your forearms tripled in since and led up to your upper arms but no muscle was seen. Only thickness that comes with age. Your stomach gurgled and twisted and soon began to expand. You riled over on your expanding hurt and was greasy if by a massive rock hard beach ball size gut that protruding from your abdomen. You try to suck it in it’s not use. You inches further and further outward till the sweaty shirt your wearing rises up past your belly button. Which shoes to be covered in thick great hair. And you realize your entire chest is covered in the same grey hair rush arms and hands are. It travels down to your your legs that thicken and become massive with hidden muscle while your feet widen and becomes so hair people would thick they are hobbit feet. All while your face e ages as a white beard wraps around your thickening face. As it rounds out your hair falls out into heavy male pattern baldness. You struggle to stand. What happened to you ! You hold a phone up and scream as you see the old man that worked out at the gym. You were now a perfect replica of this bear. But you got what you asked for. You are definitely Hunkish now. I wonder if you’ll be able to find someone to try your clothes on.

legend-the-dumb-jock

I’m a short skinny dude. I was wishing you can turn macho latin young hunk who grows into an older silver fox (of some sort).

I think I have something in mind. What I’ll do is this. Put you in a gene pool that hit the lottery.

Your skin begins to darken as you get taller. Your hair becomes show as your feet explode to a size 15. You own cock snakes down your leg becoming larger and larger while your balls hang lower and lower. Abs poke out of your stomach and your pecs become a shaft while your arms bloom with huge mass packed under the skin. Now at the age of 25 and in the body Pedro. A young borny as hell man always wanting to plant his seeds. Always giving his family grief of possible children that may be floating around out there. But all in all you really do have it made.

But you did say you wanted to grow into a silver fox. Well. Pedro has a really attractive father. So. I only see fit that Pedro , son of his own father go through a particular change guaranteed to set Pedro up for life. Or rather his father’s. You see, the change I’ve made is that Pedro will slowly over time become his dad. Forced to walk in his dad’s shoes. Fight as he might, his body will always turn to one direction. His dad. And he’s going to be 100% like him. Even on a dna level. So for a couple years you enjoy the time you have only to see your body slowly beginning to change. A hair here or there. Then by age 33 you hair begins to fall out of your head as it appears to grow on other parts of your body. Your muscles begin to sag slightly with age around 37 and by this time you have a noticeable bald spot that is quickly meeting the receding hairline that you have started to develop. At age 45 you hair is grey and your stomach slightly bulges. But now at age 50. Your wish is almost complete. At 99% you father. You look exactly like him. You’re hairy. Muscular. And extremely dominating. You sound like him. Walk like. Everything you do is just like him. But that 1% you need that too. Your balls swell instantly. You feel as if someone is squeezing them. And then. Just like that. Your own father sees now churns in your own sac. Leaking like a faucet and fertile for days. You sit on the chair and smile at the one man across from you reading about alll of your changes. You flex your massive frame and hair toes at him. And smile. You know that that man is wishing he could share your genes too.

wetbears

bugbear-emporium

Spring Cleaning 1

I've been trying to find inspiration for stories, and I've always enjoyed pictures of men in showers soaping up and getting clean. Just an excuse to get dirty again of you ask me ;)

Going to try some captions this spring around that theme, just to spur creativity within a little restriction. Hope you enjoy!

Mitchell was out camping with some buddies in the middle of a warm week in May. When they first got there, Mitchell found it strange how many of the other campsites were taken up by rowdy groups of big, hairy, old men. Maybe there was some kind of event going on?

As they walked around the campsite looking for a spot to put up their tent, Mitchell saw a few rainbow flags and shirts with "Daddy" spread across the chests of the other campers. There was obviously some kind of gay dude event happening at the campsite. Nothing wrong with that, Mitchell thought to himself, he'd leave them alone if they left him and his friends alone.

toobig2move2dumbtocare-deactiva

offthetop

Nice

rawtextsdev

One-Second of Eternity

Mark was well past the point of return, phone screen blurry in the dark, thumb scrolling mindlessly through the infinite feed of muscle, sweat, and morphs. He was sweaty, desperate, and edging dangerously close to the precipice.

Then he saw it.

It wasn’t a story or a caption. Just a GIF. One single, looping second. A tanned, oiled-up monstrous stud of a jock, teeth gritted in a feral grin, biceps flexing so hard the skin looked like it was about to tear. He was mid-thrust, burying himself into some hot bottom, caught in that precise, earth-shattering millisecond right before eruption.

Thrust. Flex. Grin. Thrust. Flex. Grin.

Mark’s breath hitched. The raw power radiating off the screen was intoxicating. The guy was a god. A brainless jock, a muscular fucking machine. Mark’s hand jacked faster, matching the frantic loop of the image.

“Fuck,” Mark groaned, his brain melting into the pixelated haze. “I wish… fuck, I wish I was him. Right now.”

The screen flickered…

There was no pain, no slow growth of muscle. Just a violent, electric yank behind his navel. The darkness of his bedroom vanished, replaced by blinding studio lights and the smell of hot lube, sweat and musk.

Mark gasped, but it wasn’t his voice. It was a deep, guttural grunt.

Suddenly, he felt heavy. Unbelievably heavy. His arms weren’t his skinny, pale twigs anymore; they were massive, pumped slabs of meat, locked in a double-bicep flex that felt like iron bands tightening around bone. He looked down… not at a phone, but at a wall of tanned, oiled pectorals and a chiselled six-pack that was currently crunching tight.

He felt the heat below. He was buried deep inside someone, the friction incredible, the tightness overwhelming. The pleasure was a physical blow, a sledgehammer to his new, primitive brain. His balls were churning, aching, drawn up tight against his body. He was right there. He was over the edge. He was about to blow his load in the most powerful orgasm of his life.

“I’m gonna… !”

Blink.

Mark’s eyes snapped open. His lungs filled with air.

He was back. Not in his room, but back at the start of the motion.

His biceps flexed. Hard. The veins popped like garden hoses. The rush of blood was deafening. He thrust his hips forward, feeling that incredible, mind-numbing friction again. The pleasure spiked, zero to one hundred in an instant. His brain fogged over with pure lust. The orgasm rushed up his spine, inevitable, unstoppable.

Blink.

Air in lungs. Muscles tight.

Thrust. Flex. Grin.

Panic flared in the back of Mark’s mind, but it was drowned out instantly by the overwhelming chemical dump of testosterone and lust. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t scream. He could only do.

He slammed his hips forward. The bottom gripped him. His biceps peaked, harder than rock. The cum was right at the tip, burning, demanding release. He needed it. He needed to empty these massive blue-balls.

Blink.

Reset.

He was trapped in the loop. No past, no future. Just one second of infinite, agonizing, ecstatic edging. He was a prisoner in the pixelated muscle, doomed to chase a climax that would never, ever come.

And somewhere, in a dark room, on a glowing screen, the GIF kept playing.

Thrust. Flex. Grin.

abstractvanity32

Barnbound Bulk

Bonnie wandered the rustic grounds of the farm style hotel, the kind of place where guests paid extra for “authentic” country experiences like feeding goats or hayrides under the stars. The air smelled of fresh manure and cut grass, the barns and fences giving it all a charming, weathered vibe. She had come here on a whim, needing a break from the usual grind, her small frame bundled in a loose flannel and jeans that hung baggy on her narrow hips. Her light brown hair was tied back in a simple braid, freckles dusting her nose from the sun, and she felt that restless energy bubbling up, the kind that made her want to do something hands on. Spotting a shovel leaning against a barn wall, half buried in a pile of hay that needed shifting for the evening chores, she grabbed it with both hands. “Might as well help out a bit,” she muttered, planting her feet and heaving. The handle felt oddly warm, vibrating faintly against her palms, but she shrugged it off as static from the dry air. The shovel didn’t budge at first, stuck firm, and she pulled harder, muscles straining in her arms and back.

A strange itch bloomed on her chin then, sharp and insistent, like a rash flaring up overnight. Bonnie paused, dropping the shovel with a clang, her free hand scratching at the spot. “What the heck, bug bite?” she grumbled, but the itch deepened, follicles awakening under her skin as coarse hairs pushed out, darkening from invisible stubble to thick strands that curled and lengthened. The growth spread across her jaw, filling in dense and black, framing her chin in a full beard that scratched against her fingers, the mustache thickening above her lip in a bushy wave that tickled her nose. “No way, this can’t be hair, I’m shaving… wait, I don’t even have…” she trailed off, voice catching as the beard filled out fuller, coarse and unkempt, the kind that shadowed a face after days without care, merging into sideburns that crept up her cheeks.

The warmth from the shovel handle seemed to seep into her bloodstream now, radiating upward from her grip, her neck thickening beneath the new growth as cords bulged out, Adam’s apple swelling like a lump pushing forward. “Get off me,” she whispered hoarsely, clawing at the beard, but the hairs only thickened under her nails, the itch traveling inward to her throat, vocal cords stretching with a deep rumble that made her next words emerge gravelly, laced with a thick New England twang she didn’t recognize. “What in the hell is goin’ on?” The accent mangled her panic into something folksy and resigned, startling her further as she stumbled back against the barn wall, the shovel forgotten in the hay.

The changes accelerated from there, her jaw squaring off beneath the beard, bones grinding wider with a dull ache that made her wince, chin jutting stronger under the coarse mat. Cheeks rounded fuller, puffing out with emerging fat that softened the lines, a double chin forming as flesh layered beneath the growth. Her nose broadened at the bridge, nostrils flaring slightly, lips thickening amid the mustache, eyebrows bushying dark and unruly over eyes that shifted to a muddy brown, lashes shortening as faint crow’s feet etched at the corners from thirty four years of squinting at horizons. Her light brown braid darkened and retracted, shortening into greasy curls cropped close, the roots thickening with natural oil, scalp visible in thinning patches at the crown.

The warmth dove into her shoulders then, broadening them with pops that echoed in the quiet barn, deltoids rounding fuller but buried under emerging softness, traps lost in neck fat that rolled downward. Her arms sagged next, the slim tone melting into plush layers, biceps vanishing under jiggling fat that hung heavy, forearms thickening with rolls that folded as she flexed in confusion, hands enlarging to pudgy mitts with stubby fingers and bitten nails, palms roughening with calluses from phantom labors. “This ain’t right, I feel so… big,” she rasped in that thick accent, the words tumbling out slow and drawling, “feels like I been haulin’ hay all day.”

Her torso swelled in waves, ribs expanding with labored breaths as her chest softened further, modest breasts sagging and spreading wide, the mounds bloating heavier with fat that pulled them downward into moobs that rested on her emerging belly, nipples enlarging and darkening amid sprouting hairs that exploded across the expanse in thick, curly waves, black and dense, merging into a forest that trailed down her sternum. The flannel strained open, buttons popping one by one as her stomach pushed outward, a soft paunch forming first, then bloating into a massive gut that hung low and heavy, rolls folding over themselves in deep creases, the skin stretching with faint marks as fat poured in relentlessly, the navel burying deep in the overhang. Hairs coated the vast belly in wiry patterns, connecting chest to groin in an unbroken mat, the weight pulling her posture forward into a slight slouch.

Lower down, her hips widened dramatically, bones creaking apart as fat layered thick, the jeans splitting at the seams with rips that exposed pale flesh turning ruddy. Her ass ballooned behind, cheeks sagging into heavy shelves that jiggled with each shift, hairs sprouting along the cleft in unruly tufts. Thighs thickened into tree trunks of plush fat, pressing together with chafing warmth, calves burying under rolls, feet planting wider as the growth grounded her at five foot ten, the barn feeling less towering now. “Too much, it’s too much weight,” she groaned, the accent thickening her plea into a resigned mutter, “feels good though, don’t it?”

The core throb hit her groin then, a deep pulsing that made her knees buckle, her vagina spasming with slick contractions, inner walls pulling inward as sensitivity built to a fever. The clit swelled massively, nerves firing in explosive waves, elongating into a short, thick shaft buried under the new fat pad, foreskin loose around the head as blood rushed in, hardening it against the plush thigh with insistent twitches. Ovaries dropped heavily, bloating into small testes nestled in a sagging scrotum tucked beneath the overhang, pubic hair exploding wild and merging with the belly trail. The penis remained modest, half erect from the hormone surge, balls churning with unfamiliar heaviness as urges shifted to lazy scratches and belches.

Flashes intruded stronger, city outings twisting into barn chores, fitness classes inverting to beer guts and hay bales, admirers’ flattery fading into indifferent shrugs at the bulk. “I was Bonnie, I liked… light stuff,” she mumbled, but the words slurred into “I been Nixon forever, lovin’ this gut,” her mind fracturing as routines flooded in, early mornings feeding livestock, the satisfaction of a hard day’s sweat soaking the flannel, no urge to slim down—just embrace the mass, the hair, the laziness.

The jeans mended into sturdy work pants that strained over her thick thighs and gut, flannel opening wider to expose the hairy expanse, a belt buckling tight with a tool pouch at the hip. Nixon scratched his beard idly, a low belch rumbling from his belly as he picked up the shovel again, heaving the hay with ease now, the weight feeling right, natural. The hotel guests would see him as the reliable ranch hand, folksy accent drawling stories by the fire pit, content in the bulk that grounded him.

But as dusk settled over the barns, Nixon leaned on the fence, robe like flannel draped open, the hairy moobs and gut on full display in the fading light, a deeper emptiness gnawed. Admirers glanced but moved on, connections shallow in this rural role, days blurring into endless chores that filled time but left the soul hollow. The pretty girl’s ambitions buried under layers of contented sloth, forever hauling in a body that trapped him in stagnant comfort, the world shrinking to barn walls and beer bellies, a ranch hand adrift in his own heavy horizon, the shovel’s magic sealing him in eternal, isolated bulk.

bigification

Real Man

5k follower special. This story is based on your votes on how I would be transformed and what I would transform into.

I could feel my body relax as I walked out of my last exam. The weight of university had suddenly lifted from shoulders and the burden of corporate life hadn't yet set in. It felt amazing.

Under the refreshing spring sun, I started walking home. I pulled out my phone, planning on listening to some music like I normally did, but something caught my attention. A notification from tumblr.

"Hey man, you should try this podcast, it really changed my life."

It was a message from an anonymous user with a link embedded. Normally I would be a bit more careful, but I was in a good mood so I clicked on it.

It brought me right to a podcast on Spotify, making it easy to start it up and continue my walk.

The podcast began with the buttery smooth voice of a man, maybe around 30. Something about his voice brought me comfort, like there was something hollow in my life that he filled.

I raised my head and puffed out my chest as I walked, now filled with a strange self confidence that had never felt before. But then, my stomach sank as the charming podcaster began to devolve into weird manosphere shit. I clocked out as soon as he began ranting about what makes a real man.

I reached for my phone to turn off the podcast, but I couldn't. I tried again and again, but it was like my body wasn't responding to my brain.

"Now that I've got you." The podcaster said, "let me tell you what makes a real man."

My mind panicked as my body continued walking like nothing was going on.

"Real men are protectors, they build their bodies like fortresses." The man said.

Almost immediately when those words entered my head, I could feel my body change. My shirt tightened as my chest rose into two meaty pecs and my biceps grew until my sleeves were on the verge of ripping. My legs quickly followed suit, making my legs look like any other gym bros.

What do you mean gym bro, I thought. I never go to the gym.

"Do you feel strong now?" The man asked.

"Yes." I heard my voice speak.

No! I mean yes, I do feel strong, but I don't want this!

"Good." The man continued. "But muscle isn't enough to make you big and strong. A real man needs to have his presence be known wherever he goes. A man should take up a lot of space in any room that he's in."

I could feel my perspective shifting higher as my height increased significantly, I must have been at least 6"4. My shirt looked more like a crop top, allowing the breeze to brush against my bare stomach.

Then my stomach sank, it felt like the sun was boiling inside me. I wanted to scream but my body didn't react, it just kept walking. But all of the pain was quickly released as my stomach surged outward, swelling with soft fat until it sagged over my waistband. My waist softened into thick love handles that also spilled over my waistband, giving my body a much wider look.

That was only the beginning, though. My strong pecs became buried in soft fat, growing thick enough to finally rip through my shirt. And the muscle definition in my arms and back disappeared under a thin layer of fat. My legs similarly thickened up, and my body seemed to subconsciously adjust by spreading my legs out as I walked, preventing my thighs from rubbing together. And finally, my ass expanded into two juicy globes that threatened to rip through my tight shorts.

The transformation had completely taken my attention, I had almost forgotten that the podcaster was still talking.

"Now we can't forget what truly makes a man, masculinity. Real men are mature testosterone filled machines, they're sweat covered hairy beasts and they're proud of it."

"Fuck yeah!" My voice shouted in a deep, mature voice.

Stop saying that, I don't mean that. You know I don't mean that, right?

My body quickly became engulfed in an intense itchiness as thick hairs began to sprout all over my skin. You'd be hard pressed to find a spot on my body that didn't have hair, though it was especially thick around my belly, chest, and arms. Also, my clean shaven face soon became covered in a thick black beard.

And just when I thought the changes were over, I felt a pain emerge in my knees, then in my back.

Am I, getting older?

I felt my facial features start to weather and age, though I couldn't quite tell how much I had aged. I felt the sun beating down on my head as my hairline receded slightly. At the same time, patches of hair on my chest and my beard began to go gray, leaving it salt and pepper.

My hand moved up to my belly, moving my thick man hands through the sweat drenched hair on my belly. The feeling felt so foreign to me, I didn't have a belly, let alone a hairy one.

"Fuck..." I moaned as I felt up my growing body.

No! No this is too far.

"How do you feel, big guy?" The podcaster asked, as if he was talking specifically to me.

"God, this feels great." I responded in a gruff voice.

It does feel good, but I hate it.

"Good man. Now, we can't have a man with pasty white skin. A solid tan shows you're a strong working man, and some tattoos always make you look tougher."

The sun felt like it was burning my skin as it took on a more golden colour, though my chest and shoulders turned bright red.

Without me thinking, my hand reached into my backpack to grab a baseball cap. I threw it on to protect my balding head from the intense sun.

The burning on my skin progressed past a normal burn as tattoos began to appear on my chest, arms and neck. I could feel a sense of pride in the tattoos despite the fact that I would never get tattoos like these.

"Now you're becoming a real man," the podcaster continued, "but there's something you're missing. Any real man needs a package that suits his imposing manly body. The kind of dick that can make any woman, or man if that's what you're into, see god when you fuck' em."

The bulge in my tight shorts started to grow as my dick snaked down the side of my leg, nearly peaking through the bottom of my shorts. It grew to a massive 9 inches, creating an obvious bulge in my skin tight shorts. I wanted so badly to cover up, to not be seen like this in public, but my body still wouldn't listen to me. I just kept walking along with a cocky smirk, extremely proud that any passerby would have no choice but to notice my package.

"Now to wrap up this episode, let's deal with that mind of yours." He said.

Wait what!?

"A real man shouldn't have to think that hard. Who needs a university degree when you've got big muscles like that."

No, please, just let me go!

"You love being a dumb jock that let himself go after his days on the highschool football team."

I wasn't on the football team, was I? And I didn't let myself go!

"You love being a rich dad who does nothing but fuck and relax around with mansion."

I have a mansion? Right, I do have a mansion. And you're right, I love fucking.

"Good man. Now make sure to share this with someone that needs to be reminded of what a real man is."

The podcast cut off at the perfect time as I arrived home. Something felt off as I stared at the lavish mansion in front of me, but the feeling quickly faded. As soon as I got inside, it took off the tiny shorts I was wearing. Normally I would just go for a swim naked, but my stupid neighbour complained, so now I have to wear swim shorts.

That's when a great idea popped into my head. As I walked to my backyard, I pulled out my phone and sent the podcast over to my neighbour. A real man wouldn't judge another man for wanting to be naked in his own backyard.

With that out of the way, I stepped out into my massive yard and jumped into my in ground pool.

The time flew as I was floating around the pool, I couldn't tell how long it had been before my phone buzzed. It was a text from my neighbour.

"Why don't you show me what a real man looks like."

My plan worked. My cock jumped at the idea of seeing my stuck up neighbour as a big horny man. I took a video of myself as I walked out of the pool, making sure to show off the star of the show, my belly.

I sent it over and impatiently awaited a response.

"Come to the fence."

My heart skipped a beat as I approached the fence that split our yards. Peaking over, I saw an older, fatter, and hairier version of my neighbour lounging on a chair.

He simply lifted his hand and gestured for me to come over.