mikey2long-mikegay4u

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

La Vie d’un Autre

(AI Generated - A tragic story of acceptance and love that transcends time. Since it's Pride Month I thought it'd be fitting!)

Emmett was a fleeting figure, his slender frame weaving through life like a shadow, unnoticed by most. At twenty-five, his low self-esteem clung to him, a quiet burden, and his social awkwardness turned every date into a clumsy waltz. A hopeless romantic, he yearned for a love that felt like a sonnet, but his heart often stumbled over the prose of modern dating. He lived in a modest apartment complex, where his neighbor, Léonore Auclair, a kind French woman in her sixties, became a beacon of warmth. Her stories, laced with nostalgia, were a refuge for Emmett’s lonely evenings.

One golden October afternoon, Léonore announced a yard sale in the courtyard, her tables spilling over with relics of her past. Emmett wandered over, drawn by the promise of distraction and her familiar smile. His fingers grazed chipped teacups and faded novels until they settled on a leather-bound photo album, its weight heavy with secrets. He opened it, and the world fell away.

There, in stark black-and-white, was a man who seemed carved from dreams. Vincent Auclair, Léonore’s uncle, gazed back with piercing green eyes that held a tempest of unspoken longing. His dark hair was styled with meticulous care, a mustache framing lips that curved with effortless seduction. His suits were immaculate, tailored to a body that radiated confidence and grace. Emmett’s breath hitched, his fingers trembling as they traced Vincent’s flawless features, captivated by a beauty that felt both eternal and forbidden.

“Mon cher, you’ve found something special, non?” Léonore’s voice broke through, her eyes softening as she noticed Emmett’s fixation.

She leaned closer, her perfume a faint whisper of lavender. “That’s my uncle Vincent. Beau, wasn’t he? So kind, always charming everyone. He’d play with me for hours when I was une petite girl.”

Emmett’s heart fluttered. “He’s… incredible,” he murmured, unable to tear his gaze from the photo. 

Léonore’s smile wavered, a shadow crossing her face. “Oui, but his story is sad. He took his own life before thirty. C’est tragique.”

“Why?” Emmett’s voice was barely a whisper, his chest tightening at the thought of such a man choosing darkness. 

Léonore sighed, her fingers brushing the album’s edge. “There were rumeurs, mon ami. They said Vincent was gay. In the 1960s, it was… difficile. Not like today. He fought dépression, especially after his famille disowned him. They caught him with un homme, and it broke his spirit. He jumped from a bridge and drowned in the Seine.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and she pressed the album into Emmett’s hands. “Take it, s’il te plaît. You understand the struggle. Keep his mémoire alive.”

Emmett clutched the album, his throat tight. “Merci, Léonore. I’ll cherish it.” 

That night, he lay in bed, the album open beside him. Vincent’s face glowed in the lamplight, those green eyes pleading for solace. Emmett’s heart ached, his own loneliness echoing Vincent’s silent suffering. He traced the mustache, imagining the warmth of Vincent’s skin, and whispered, “I wish I could’ve been there. I’d have held you through it all.” Sleep claimed him, the photo pressed against his chest, Vincent’s image a tether to his dreams.

—

Months later, a vicious rainstorm swept through the city, its torrents unrelenting. Emmett, caught without an umbrella, hurried toward a bus stop, his coat sodden and clinging to his slight frame. Across the street, a man waved frantically, his shouts drowned by the rainpour. “Hey!” he called, his voice barely cutting through the rain.

Distracted, Emmett didn’t notice the slick cobblestone beneath his feet. His foot slipped, and he fell backward, his head striking the pavement with a sickening crack. 

The world dissolved into darkness, rain pooling around him like tears…

.....

Water surged into his lungs, a violent jolt wrenching him awake. Emmett thrashed, panic clawing at his chest as he realized he was submerged in a vast, churning river. His limbs burned with effort as he swam upward, breaking the surface with a desperate gasp. Coughing and shivering, he dragged himself to the riverbank, the cold seeping into his bones. 

A woman in a long, vintage dress rushed to his side, her French rapid and laced with worry. “Monsieur, ça va? Vous êtes blessé?” 

Emmett froze, not just at her old-fashioned attire but at the realization that he understood her perfectly. He stammered in English, “I’m okay,” shocked to hear a deep, velvety voice with a thick French accent. He tried again, this time in flawless French. “Je vais bien, merci.” 

The woman frowned, puzzled, before hurrying away, muttering, “Quel étrange homme.”

Soaked and disoriented, Emmett stumbled through the city, his surroundings a dreamlike blend of familiarity and alienness. The air was thick with the scent of fresh baguettes, and French voices filled the streets, their cadence a melody of another era. Men in tailored suits and women in elegant dresses moved with purpose, their world untouched by the neon of modernity.

His heart pounded as he passed a shop window and caught his reflection. Staring back was Vincent Auclair, his green eyes wide with shock, his mustache damp and framing lips parted in disbelief. Emmett touched his face, pinching the smooth skin, his fingers trembling.

“Putain, c’est pas possible,” he whispered, his voice Vincent’s, rich and resonant. 

A discarded newspaper caught his eye, its headline bold: Le Monde, 1967. He was in Paris, in Vincent’s body, in a time not his own.

“Vincent! Mon amour!” A voice, warm and urgent, cut through his daze. A handsome man with blond hair and bright blue eyes ran toward him, relief flooding his features. 

He pulled Emmett into a tight embrace, his hands warm against the damp fabric of Emmett’s shirt. Glancing around to ensure privacy, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Emmett’s lips. 

“I was so worried,” he murmured, his breath warm against Emmett’s cheek. “Where were you? You vanished, and I thought… merde, I thought the worst.” He tugged Emmett along, his grip firm yet tender. “Viens, let’s get you warm.”

Dazed, Emmett followed, his mind a whirlwind as they entered a small apartment, its walls alive with the scent of fresh bread and faint cologne. The man—Jerome, he soon realized—was Vincent’s lover, and this was their shared home. Jerome’s affection was immediate, his kisses fervent as he pressed himself closer.

“Mon cœur, you’re freezing,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “And you smell like the stinky Seine. Shower, now, while I make us dinner. D’accord?” 

Emmett nodded, still processing, and wandered toward what he hoped was the bathroom.

Instead, he found the bedroom, its air heavy with the musk of intimacy and French cologne. Clothes were strewn across the bed, a testament to hurried mornings or passionate nights. Photo frames lined the walls, capturing Vincent and Jerome in moments of unguarded joy—arms around each other, laughter frozen in time. On a cabinet lay an open letter, addressed to Jerome in Vincent’s elegant script. Curiosity won, and Emmett read, his heart sinking with every word.

“My love, Jerome, Every day, I feel the weight of the world upon me. My family rejected me, their words piercing me like knives. They don't understand our love, and I fear they never will. I love you more than the stars, but I can't bear the judgment, the stares, the whispers. I dream of a life where we could be free, but here, it's impossible. Forgive me, my love, for what I must do. It will break your heart, and for that, I am sorry. Always yours, Vincent.”

Emmett’s tears fell, staining the paper as he clutched it to his chest. The river, he realized, had been Vincent’s attempt to end it all. Somehow, at the moment of death, Emmett’s consciousness had slipped into Vincent’s body, sparing him. Why or how remained a mystery, but Vincent’s pain was now his to carry. 

“Pauvre Vincent,” he whispered, folding the letter and tucking it away before continuing to the bathroom.

The mirror revealed Vincent’s beauty in full, a vision that stole Emmett’s breath. His skin was flawless, glowing under the soft light, his eyes a mesmerizing blue-green that shifted like the sea. The mustache, groomed to perfection, framed lips that begged to be kissed. Emmett’s fingers brushed the bristles, a shiver running through him at the sensation.

He unbuttoned the soaked shirt, revealing a sculpted chest, each muscle defined and warm beneath his touch. His hands lingered, tracing the smooth planes of Vincent’s body, marveling at its perfection. He shed his trousers and underwear, his gaze dropping to the long, curved cock that stirred under his gaze. It hardened, a pulse of desire that Emmett fought to ignore out of respect for the real owner. 

“C’est pas à moi,” he murmured, stepping into the shower. Hot water cascaded over his new flesh, the steam curling around him like a lover’s embrace, his arousal a persistent throb.

Dressed in one of Vincent’s crisp shirts, its fabric caressing his skin, Emmett joined Jerome in the kitchen, where a fragrant meal of coq au vin awaited. Jerome’s smile was radiant, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

“Tu es magnifique, Vincent,” he said, pouring wine. “Even after a swim in the Seine, you’re parfait.”

Emmett laughed, the sound rich and unfamiliar. “Flatteur,” he teased, surprised at how easily he slipped into Vincent’s charm. Conversation flowed like the wine, effortless in a way Emmett had never known. Jerome spoke of their plans, their dreams, his voice a melody of hope and love. 

“Tu sais,” he said, reaching for Emmett’s hand, “I couldn’t live without you. You’re my everything.”

Emmett’s heart swelled, Vincent’s body responding to Jerome’s touch with a hunger that felt both foreign and fated. “Jerome,” he said softly, testing the name, “tu es mon refuge.” 

Their eyes locked, and the air thickened with unspoken need. Jerome leaned in, his lips brushing Emmett’s in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, a spark igniting a blaze. The kiss deepened, tongues dancing, hands roaming as they stumbled to the bedroom, shedding clothes in a frenzy of desire.

Jerome pushed Emmett onto the bed, the mattress yielding under their weight. He straddled Emmett, his lips trailing a sensual path up Vincent’s abs, each kiss a brush of fire against the smooth skin. He lingered at Emmett’s nipples, teasing them with soft bites that drew gasps, before kissing his way to Emmett’s neck, sucking gently at the pulse point.

“Tu es délicieux,” Jerome whispered, his voice husky. Their mouths crashed together, a passionate dance that left them breathless, a thin string of saliva glistening between them as they parted.

Jerome’s eyes gleamed with love. “Je t’aime, Vincent,” he said, his fingers tracing Emmett’s jaw.

He slid lower, his breath hot against Emmett’s skin as he kissed the tip of Vincent’s cock, teasing it with slow, deliberate licks. His tongue traced the underside, savoring every inch, before he took it fully, his mouth a warm, wet haven. Emmett’s body, so sensitive in its newness, trembled under the onslaught. He gripped the sheets, his moans filling the room, each one a French curse that felt natural on Vincent’s tongue. 

“Putain, Jerome, Putain! C’est trop bon,” he groaned, his hips bucking.

Across the room, a mirror propped against the cabinet caught Emmett’s eye, its angle perfect to reflect the scene on the bed. It was not his own face staring back but Vincent’s—sweaty, flushed, and utterly consumed by ecstasy. The sight was intoxicating, Vincent’s perfect body a sculpted masterpiece, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light. His green eyes, dark with lust, locked onto the reflection, the mustache framing lips parted in a silent cry. Emmett watched, mesmerized, as Vincent’s chest heaved, his abs flexing with each thrust of his hips into Jerome’s eager mouth. 

The mirror revealed every detail—the way Vincent’s cock glistened, slick with Jerome’s saliva, the way his thighs trembled with the effort to hold back. Jerome’s head bobbed rhythmically, his hands gripping Vincent’s hips, guiding him deeper. Emmett’s gaze lingered on Vincent’s face, the raw vulnerability in those sea-green eyes, the sweat beading on his flawless brow, the way his head tipped back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat.

“Mon dieu, Jerome,” Emmett gasped, his voice a low, husky growl, “you drive me crazy.”

The pleasure built, a slow crescendo that coiled tighter with every stroke of Jerome’s tongue, every gentle scrape of teeth. He watched Vincent’s reflection, the man’s beauty a revelation, his body a temple of desire that Emmett now inhabited. The mirror amplified every sensation, making him feel both participant and voyeur, lost in the erotic tableau of Vincent’s surrender. His hands tangled in Jerome’s short blond hair, urging him on, his hips rocking in a primal rhythm. The heat of Jerome’s mouth, the slick glide of his lips, the soft hum of his pleasure—it was too much, too perfect. 

Emmett’s climax surged, a tidal wave of ecstasy that crashed over him, his body arching off the bed as he came with a fierce, shuddering cry.

“Merde! Jerome!” he shouted, profanities spilling in perfect French, his release pulsing into Jerome’s mouth, wave after wave of blinding pleasure.

The mirror held Vincent’s image, his face contorted in rapture, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen and red, a god in the throes of mortal bliss.

Jerome, spent and sated, licked his lips with a satisfied grin, crawling up to nuzzle against Emmett’s neck. His breath was warm, his body heavy with contentment as he murmured, “Tu es incredible, mon amour,” before drifting into sleep against Vincent’s chest.

Emmett lay awake, his body still humming with the aftershocks, his mind a tangle of wonder and doubt. The mirror reflected their entwined forms, Vincent’s arm draped protectively over Jerome, a scene of intimacy that felt both stolen and earned. Could he return to his time? Did he want to? Saving Vincent felt like a purpose, a chance to rewrite a tragedy...

He pressed a gentle kiss to Jerome’s forehead, whispering, “Bonne nuit, mon amour,” before drifting into sleep, the mirror’s gaze a silent witness to his transformation.

—

Weeks turned to months, and Emmett fully embraced his life as Vincent Auclair, stepping into the role with a confidence he’d never known. Paris became his canvas, its cobblestone streets and bustling cafés a stage for his new existence. Jerome’s love was a constant, a radiant force that healed the scars of Emmett’s old insecurities. 

“Tu es mon soleil,” Jerome would say, kissing him awake each morning, his fingers tracing the lines of Vincent’s face with reverence.

Emmett would smile, Vincent’s perfect lips curving effortlessly, and reply, “Et tu es ma lune, mon cher.” 

Their mornings were filled with lazy touches, their evenings with whispered promises, their love a quiet rebellion against the world’s judgment.

Vincent’s suits, tailored to perfection, became Emmett’s armor, each one a masterpiece that hugged his sculpted frame. He’d stand before the bedroom mirror, adjusting his tie, his reflection a vision of elegance and allure.

“Not bad, Vincent,” he’d murmur, running a hand through his dark hair, the mustache framing a smile that now felt like his own. The city noticed him—heads turned in cafés, eyes lingered on the street, whispers of “Quel bel homme” following in his wake.

For the first time, Emmett felt wanted, desired, his beauty a currency he wielded with growing ease. He’d catch his reflection in shop windows, Vincent’s green eyes sparkling with a newfound confidence, and think, “This is who I was meant to be.”

Though Vincent’s parents remained distant, their rejection a lingering sting, his uncle and aunt welcomed him with open arms. Their young daughter, Léonore, was a burst of joy, her laughter a bridge to the future Emmett had known. 

“Tonton Vincent!” she’d squeal, throwing herself into his arms, her tiny hands tugging at his mustache. He’d spin her around, her giggles filling the air, and feel a warmth that rooted him to this life. 

“Ma petite étoile,” he’d say, kissing her forehead, marveling at the loop of time that tied her to the woman who’d gifted him Vincent’s photos.

Emmett’s days were filled with purpose, his nights with passion. He and Jerome would dance in their apartment, the radio crackling with French chansons, their bodies pressed close, swaying to the rhythm of their shared heartbeat. 

“I want to grow old with you,” Jerome would whisper, his hands sliding under Vincent’s shirt, igniting sparks against his skin. 

Emmett would kiss him deeply, Vincent’s lips a perfect instrument, and reply, “And I with you, mon amour.”

Their love was a sanctuary, a world where Emmett felt whole, Vincent’s sexuality no longer a source of shame but a vibrant truth he celebrated.

—

In May 1968, Paris erupted in protests, a tidal wave of change that swept the nation. The Homosexual Front for Revolutionary Action emerged, a beacon for gay liberation. Emmett, as Vincent, joined the fight, marching with pride and purpose.

“Pour la liberté!” he shouted, his voice mingling with the crowd’s, his heart swelling with the knowledge that he was shaping history. He stood shoulder to shoulder with others like him, Vincent’s handsome face a symbol of defiance, his presence a promise of a better future. 

“Nous persévérerons,” he told Jerome, their hands clasped as they faced the chaos, their love a quiet strength amidst the storm. Emmett never imagined he’d be part of such a pivotal moment in history, but the fire in his heart burned for those who would come after, for the world he’d left behind.

His life as Vincent was a tapestry of beauty and contentment, each day a brushstroke of joy. He’d walk the river Seine at dusk, Jerome’s hand in his, the city’s lights reflecting on the water like stars. 

“C’est parfait,” he’d say, Vincent’s voice rich with emotion, and Jerome would squeeze his hand, replying, “Avec toi, it always is.”

Emmett had found his place, his purpose, his love. The mirror no longer showed a stranger but a man who had claimed his destiny, handsome, wanted, and utterly at peace.

~ Epilogue ~

Rain pelted Emmett’s face, yanking him from darkness. He gasped, coughing water from his lungs, his body sprawled on a wet street beside a bus stop. Confusion gripped him—the last thing he remembered was despair, a bridge, and the Seine’s cold embrace. Now he wore unfamiliar clothes, and the city was modern, alive with neon and noise.

A man approached, older but striking, his green eyes softened by time. He extended a hand, pulling Emmett to his feet and into a warm embrace.

“Where am I?” Emmett asked, stunned to hear his voice in perfect English. 

The man smiled, his French accent thick but kind. “Je m’appelle Vincent Auclair,” he said, his eyes twinkling with secrets. “Viens, mon ami. We have much to catch up on.” He led Emmett away, promising a home-cooked meal by his husband, Jerome, and a new beginning. 

“Don’t worry,” Vincent said, his hand steady on the new Emmett’s shoulder. “I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”

As they walked, Emmett and Vincent felt a strange peace, as if time had woven their fates together, two souls trading places to heal each other’s wounds. The rain washed away the past, leaving only new hope in its wake.

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

A Lustful Twist of Fate

“You just couldn’t let me go could you.”

No matter how sneaky Vance always thought he was, Kyle had been one step ahead.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t anticipated his former Best Friend to follow him after he left the city. After all, Vance Dane had always seemed to do everything in his power to undermine and take the things he loved. He didn’t understand why.

Kyle Marks had befriended him when he was all alone in High School and they never left each others side since then. He shared his hopes and dreams with him, went to the same university to study Media with him. Even got a job at the same advertising agency together. He didnt realize it at first but he noticed that Vance would alienate him from others and started outperforming him when Kyle was starting to get distracted from the anxiety. Vance denied doing so and insisted he was his friend. And yet, the isolation continued.

It got so bad that he couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of picking a fight, he sent in his two weeks notice and moved to another state. He hated that his dream career had gone down the drain. But he had to take it in stride. Be the bigger man. Start over and try his luck with a new career path.

Even if Vance could do this to him, he couldn’t. He was his best friend. And the first man he ever had feelings for. But these days, knowing how far Vance would have gone to destroy him, those feelings had vanished, replaced with anxiety that he would come back.

So imagine his (not) surprise when he saw Vance sneaking into his data lab where he was conducting mind to data physical conversion research.

Vance was the strong one, but Kyle was always faster. A single syringe of tranquilizer to his neck was all Kyle needed.

Vance had slumped to the floor, barely awake from the effects of the drug.

Kyle kneeled down and faced his former friend, ruffling his hair.

“You’re always taking things from me. My dreams. My ambitions. Even the people around me. I let it go because you were my friend but still you persist. I dont know what kind of sick game you’re playing but I’ve had enough.”

Vance grunted as Kyle dragged him by the hair to one of the chairs in the lab. He all but slammed the near unconscious man down and slowly stripped him down to his underwear.

“I’ve taken the high road long enough. I moved away and started over and everything.”

The anger pulsated into Kyles limbs as he attached nodes to Vance’s temples and chest, its wires connecting to a nearby computer.

“All I ever wanted was for you to like me but you still insist on taking from me.”

He felt a tear drop from his eye as he started typing away the commands to start his program. The button on the remote on the table lit up, ready for use.

Kyle stripped to his underwear and grabbed the remote. He approached Vance, who was now fully unconscious.

“Maybe I should take something from you instead.”

Kyle walked over to the chair opposite of Vance and plugged nodes to his own temples and chest.

He stared for a moment, suddenly aware that he’s about to perform a human trial on untested experiment. He was normally rational enough to not let himself perform what could possibly be a crime against humanity. Or worse, death.

But his emotions were getting the better of him.

He deserves it. I’ll make him pay.

Even if it kills me.

And besides… Science requires risk.

There was no going back now.

He stared at his would be body soon. From a distance, Vance looked like he was smiling. Perhaps a reflex of the muscle. No more doubting. This was going to work.

With a heavy breath, Kyle pushed the button.

He felt his body convulse, like electricty was pumping into his heart. His body was sweating and his brain felt like it was getting sucked by a straw. Across, Vance’s body had started convulsing as well, his body arching slightly upward in shock.

For a moment, Kyle felt like this was the end. Maybe he shouldn’t have let his anger win.

And suddenly it went black.

Kyle woke with a start. A ragged breath escaping his mouth. He felt extra groggy.

“Wha-“ he covered his mouth, his voice deeper than usual. He looked down and saw hands that were familiar but not his. And he looked across to find… his body slumped over.

“It worked… It actually worked!” The anger all but disappeared. He had finally succeded.

“I wasn’t hoping to do human trials until later, but this proves it. The mind can be turned into data and moved.”

He ripped the nodes from his new body and walked over to his unconscious old body.

“Maybe now… I can go back to my old life. Maybe it wont be a pipe dream anymore without him getting in the way.” He caressed his old face and slowly lifted his head up by the chin. “Everyone will just think he’s crazy if he starts saying he swapped bodies with me.”

Kyle walked off to grab a towel and look at a mirror. This was a face he was so used to seeing but being inside was a whole new level of ecstacy he was never used to.

“It’s so weird… being in this body. But its…” he wiped his face with the towel and took a sniff.

“…so emasculating. Fuck… Vance is really hot.”

Kyle looked down, his new member straining hard against his shorts. An image he had wanted to see his whole life. And pulling it out confirmed what he had only ever imagined.

“Shit. Mine isn’t bad but this is a whole new level of huge.”

He grabbed hold of his new shaft, the sensitivty eliciting a moan from his mouth. He didnt even process any thought and just started pumping.

“Fuck… FUCK!”

It was like a geyser of white just erupting out of him. The intensity was way beyond anything he’s ever experienced.

He scooped up some from the mirror and gave it a taste.

“Salty…”

He heard his old body stir from behind and he felt an evil grin creep up his face. He walked over as he watched his old body wake up.

“Hey. How’s it feel, Kyle. To have all of this ripped away from you.”

Kyle flexed, feeling the mighty hard muscles from his stolen body. And it felt good.

Vance, in Kyle’s body blinked a couple of times before sitting up. His face remained blank, as if he was still processing.

“Too stunned to speak? Missing all of this? Have a taste of the old you.”

He swiped his cum stained hand over to his old body’s mouth.

“And nice package by the way. Thanks for that. Mine aint bad but sheesh. You sure won the genetic lottery.”

He wanted to be satisfied, but the lack of a violent reaction was souring his victory.

“Well, say something.” Kyle finally said.

Vance stood up and walked over to the mirror. Quiet at first, as if to take in what he now had. Kyle expected trembling, shouting, begging. Anything!

But the words that came out of Vance completely shattered him.

“This was everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Vance raised his new arms, taking in Kyle’s body as if it were a prize.

“W-What…?”

The smile on Vance’s face was anything but the anguish Kyle wanted to see.

“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of this… To be in your flesh.”

Kyle’s breathing intensified, everything clearly not going as planned.

“What are you saying? What the fuck is going on?! This is supposed to be my revenge!”

Vance turned around, walking towards him in such a sultry way that seemed ultra foreign from Kyle’s body.

“Revenge? Why would I want revenge? I’ve never hated you nor have I ever wanted to destroy you. Quite the opposite actually.”

Vance hugged himself, feeling his body from every inch of what he could touch.

“Vance..!” It was Kyle’s turn to be speechless.

“You said all you’ve ever wanted was for me to like you. Kyle, liking you was never a problem.”

He licked his cum stained lip as he began exploring his new cock. A foreign feeling from what he was used to but a dream made reality completely ramped up the sensitivity Kyle’s body normally had. But unlike Kyle, Vance was slow, delibirate. Edging himself as he pumped his new cock in front of Kyle.

Kyle felt like he was being manhandled but he couldn’t stop watching. His own new cock springing back up in arousal.

“I’ve wanted you for as looooong as I could remember. Since that day you saved me from my loneliness. I needed you to be mine. And mine alone.”

Kyle’s breath hitched, backing away as Vance approached him.

“I did everything to be at your side. I’ve followed you to your career path. I got rid of anyone that would stand between us. Because all you need is me. No one can have you”

Kyle tripped down to the chair behind him. This time, Vance caressed his trembling face. It terrified Kyle to watch his own face contort into this kind of… lust… that he would never normally have.

Vance planted his lips into his body’s mouth, forcing his new tongue to dance with his old one. He pulled back, letting their saliva bridge and trail down.

Kyle was panting, overstimulated from the revelation and sexual intensity.

Vance purred, enjoying his slightly higher voice.

“It killed me to see you leave. I never realized that the success I was bringing for us hurt you. But its over now.”

He pumped faster now, their dicks and their sweaty bodies colliding.

“I will follow you to the ends of the earth. I wont let anything stand in my way. I trained my body to protect you.”

With his free hand, Vance twisted his old body’s nipple and he ravaged Kyle’s neck with a long, sensual kiss.

“And now… I can. Forever.” He let out a long gutteral cry completely foreign from Kyle’s usual demeanor. A stream of white cum showered Vance’s old body.

He panted, smiling from an orgasm he never felt before. He scooped up some cum and gave it a taste. “From within, I will always have this… delicious body. And no one who ever wants to hurt you will know it was never you in the first place.”

He licked the rest of the cum up and kissed Kyle. Letting Kyle’s former sweet tasting cum swirl within both their mouths.

“Come here. I will show you the depths of my love.”

It wasnt love. It was obsession.

“Vance… Vance, no. Vance-“

Vance covered his mouth.

“Shh… it’s Kyle.”

The new Kyle smiled before planting his new mouth into the new Vance’s dick.

“OH GOD!” Kyle- no, Vance held onto Kyle’s bobbing head as he received the best head he’s ever had in years.

“Kyle… KYLE!”

His new cock warmed up, another round of cum finally erupting. And Kyle swallowed it all.

~

It had been three months since the body swap.

Vance had moved into Kyle’s home and restarted his career in a new advertising agency. Kyle would soon join him, a return to a life he had supposedly “abandoned” and quietly supported him. The experimental research for Kyle’s mind to data project was shelved and hidden away.

While Vance went on to enjoy a life of success, Kyle would enjoy the body of his one true lust love.

“Rest easy baby. I wont let anything or anyone hurt you…”

-

Hey! Etoile Cyber here. I’ve been a long time reader of body swap stories and thought I’d try my hand at wrting one for once!

I Hope you guys liked it!

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

A Most Hypnotic Change

Dom / Sub / Hair TF

They were just two normal guys.

Jake and Tyler — both 27, cute, fit, and happy. Equal partners. Equal in bed. Equal in life. They shared a little studio in the city, liked hiking, brunch, and trying to outdo each other in bed. They were versatile, both taking turns being in charge. It had always been playful, balanced.

Until that night.

The HypnoXperience show at the theater was meant to be a joke. Just something weird to do on a Thursday. They even laughed when they got called on stage. Jake teased Tyler the whole walk up: “Don’t cluck like a chicken, babe.”

The magician's voice was thick and deep, each word heavy like smoke. Jake and Tyler sat in the spotlight. People clapped and laughed.

Then everything went dark.

Neither remembered how they got home.

They woke the next morning, groggy, in bed, side by side. Their sheets damp from sweat. Mouths dry. Skin…itchy?

Jake sat up first. Rubbed his face. Scratch, scratch. His stubble…was thick. Thicker than yesterday. His chest itched too — he yanked off his shirt.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

Across his chest was a jungle — dark curls sprawled over thickened pecs, his stomach dusted in coarse, rich hair that hadn't been there before. His arms, his legs… even his hands had hair climbing the backs of them. And the scent — musky, rich, almost overpowering.

“Tyler…” he whispered, nudging his boyfriend.

Tyler groaned. He was slower to rise. But when he did, the transformation was just as intense. His lean body was coated in a thick fuzz. His beard had filled in overnight. His thighs were dense with dark curls. His nipples stood hard under a sudden pelt of fur on his pecs.

“What the fuck—” Tyler said, his voice breathy and alarmed. “What happened to us?”

They spent the morning searching for answers, standing shirtless in the mirror. They looked more masculine. More man. But they knew this wasn’t normal. The more they talked, the more another issue crept in, quietly at first.

Jake started giving more commands.

“Go make us coffee,” he said, sharply.

Tyler blinked. “Why don’t you—?”

But he was already standing, walking, obedient.

When he handed Jake the mug, Jake didn’t thank him. He stared at Tyler’s hands, then at his chest.

“Take your shirt off. I want to see you.”

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat, but he obeyed.

That night, they tried to have sex like usual. But something had changed.

Jake wasn’t his usual, sweet self. He pushed Tyler down. Took control. Ordered him to stay still. Called him boy. Bit his neck, pulled his hair. Used him. Rough. Possessive. Almost feral.

Tyler liked it. No, loved it.

When it was over, Jake rolled over and simply said, “Sleep.”

Tyler did.

---

The next few days were a nightmare of desire. Their inner selves changing, new habits forming — Tyler started walking with a softer sway in his hips. His eyes were always low now. His words more hesitant. He wore tight shorts and tanks around the house while Jake stayed in nothing but his boxers. Jake rarely said please anymore. Tyler rarely questioned it.

They still remembered who they used to be. But when they tried to resist…

It hurt.

Tyler tried topping once. Jake nearly laughed. “You think you could top me, boy?”

Jake stood up, all muscle and hair and scent, grabbed Tyler by the jaw and forced him to his knees. Tyler moaned. His cock throbbed.

They never tried that again.

---

By the end of the week, it was no longer just sex.

Jake gave orders constantly. What Tyler wore. When he could speak. Where he sat.

“Don’t sit on the couch,” Jake said one day. “That’s my seat. You sit on the floor.”

And Tyler did.

At night, Jake would grab Tyler by the back of the neck and shove him down between his legs. “Get to work, boy.” Tyler moaned, obeyed, licking the sweat and scent, addicted to Jake’s musk.

They had a safe word — they always had — but neither of them used it.

Though hairy, Tyler became soft and submissive in other ways. Jake made him wear briefs that showed off his ass, made him sleep on his chest like a good pup.

Jake got rougher. Louder. He slapped, bit, spit. Marked Tyler in ways that made them both groan with pleasure. And the more Jake dominated, the more Tyler craved him.

Jake maintained a full beard. His chest hair was often matted in sweat. His thighs grew like tree trunks. His scent filled the whole apartment.

Tyler lost more of his fire. He smiled more, softly, shyly. He rubbed Jake’s feet while they watched TV. He made dinner wearing an apron and a jock. He didn’t need praise. Just the chance to serve.

---

One night, Jake stared at himself in the mirror.

He remembered who he was — sweet, average Jake. And he saw who he’d become: this hairy, domineering, primal force of masculinity.

And it felt right.

Tyler crawled in behind him, nuzzling his beard.

“Say it,” Jake growled.

“I’m yours,” Tyler whispered. “I’m your boy.”

Jake nodded.

“That’s right. You serve the man. And the man… is me.”

He turned and shoved Tyler against the sink. Lifted him up. Fucked him right there. Hard. Brutal. Beautiful.

The mirror fogged. The grunts echoed. The hair tangled.

And neither of them looked back.

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

Roommates with Benefits

I hadn’t seen my boyfriend in weeks due to the lockdown. Both of us lived in shared apartments, so it was impossible for us to stay together for the whole period. We’d call and text a lot but it wasn’t the same. “I wish you we were roommates, Kyle!” said my boyfriend Josh, followed by a desperate sigh.  

The next morning, my roommate Collin walked into my room and woke me up “Hey Kyleeee” he announced. 

“What the fuck do you want Collin?” I replied. I’m not a morning person…

“It’s me,  I’m Josh!!”

Once we had got over the initial disbelief and confusion, I finally saw that it must be Josh inside there. This was gonna be awesome! The two of us locked up in this apartment and with Collin’s hot body too!

We decided to have breakfast together. “So Josh, I was wondering..”

“Hey, wouldn’t it be hot if you called me Collin? Like, just pretend nothing happened. And that I am Collin, right?” He had a naughty look on his face, but at the same time, I also thought it was a hot idea.

“Ohh.. sure… okay, Collin.” He winked at me, to show his approval. Then his whole persona changed and it was like I was with my 100% straight roommate again. “So what do you want to do today?” I asked.

“Hmmm, well we can start with you sucking my dick!” He replied and laughed.

“Josh, you know I don’t give blowjo..”

“Josh ain’t here bro, you’re gonna suck my dick and like it. Then I’m gonna plough that virgin ass of yours.” And he did. It felt so wrong to give to my roommate’s demands, but knowing it was really my boyfriend made it all alright. It was so incredibly hot, and I felt so submissive. Normally I am the top, but with Collin, it just felt right. He fucked me raw, filled me up and then just left. I was so confused but so turned on and I finished off alone. Fuck. 

Over the next days, it was a weird mix of confusion and complete ecstasy. The sex was incredible, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure it was my boyfriend anymore. Was it just an act as part of the roleplay, or was he reallz different? Once, I came out of my room and saw Collin totally naked in the living room jacking off to straight room. Wtf? Josh hates that stuff…

Also, the former OCD neat freak hadn’t showered or shaven in few days. When I confronted him about his smell, he wasn’t very receptive…

He sniffed his pits and replied “haha yeah bro, does smell pretty ripe. But I thought fags like you and your boyfriend like that kinda shit”

Shocked, I replied “But you’re my boyfriend!”

“AHAHAHA, Bro, don’t get the wrong impression, I’m straight, yeah, I am just needing some release now and then since I can’t get out for some real pussy, so you’ll just have to do for now.” He returned to his phone, scrolling through photos are barely dressed women on Instagram as he played with his crotch, his legs spread out wide.

Was my boyfriend still in there?

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

Help me! I'm hypnotized...

The loser roommate I got stuck with did something to my brain. I didn't think it was possible, but that pathetic fag somehow put me in a trance. I don't remember how: with a pendant or spiral; but it doesn't matter! What matters is that at any second he can say a trigger word, and I end up like this: smiling and flexing like a fucking idiot 'till he releases me.

Sure, I look like I'm alright, but I've been stuck in this pose for two hours. My biceps ache and my shoulders are on fire. Add to that a leg cramp that I cant walk off and you'll realize how awful this torture is.

I'd just been trying to finish an essay (his essay to be exact.) I might be on the football team, but this lazy geek is forcing me to do his homework for him! And even though he ordered me to do that, against my will, he calls me up and says my fucking trigger word! It's fucking ridiculous! I used to go out and party with my teammates on nights like this, but now I'm stuck being this dweeb's mannequin-on-command.

I just know he's going to boss me around when he finally gets here. He'll probably make me cook him dinner again. I'd spit in it if I could -hell, I'd probably poison it if I could- but I know I'll be stuck in my own body again. I hate it when he tells me to smile and serve him like a waiter. God, its humiliating...

He makes me workout during my free time, which I have a lot of now that I can't speak to any of my old buddies. I gotta say that my body's never looked better. I guess their is one upside to being under his control: whenever he tells me to train harder, I have to do it.

The gym is the one area of my life where I can at least pretend that I'm not someone's trained monkey. Still, the fact that I can't even shower without his permission is a pretty harsh reminder. Whenever I get back from a workout, my legs march straight to the table where I sit, flex, and smile while I wait for him to tell me what to do. It doesn't matter how tired or hot I am. Sometimes, he doesn't even let me shower. He just tells me to mop the sweat up with my shirt and then put it back on.

I think the nerd has a thing for sweaty jocks or something. The thought of this creep making me do all this to get his little dick hard pisses me off more than anything...

I applied for a job today. It wasn't because I wanted to. My roommate decided that he wants more spending money, so he turned to me and said that I was going to earn it for him. So it wasn't enough for me to be his personal chef, maid, and eye candy! I have to be his fucking ATM now too?!

The tie wasn't my idea either. He told me to go buy some fancy clothes to make sure I impressed my "future employer." He's such a dweeb, and now he's making me dress like a loser too.

Obviously I nailed the interview. It wasn't hard when he programmed me to say things like "I've always wanted to deliver pizzas," or "I want to be the best employee you've ever had!" He made me sound like such a kiss-ass for a stupid minimum-wage job. Even the guy interviewing me thought I was being a bit excessive! I got hired on the spot, and I'm already scheduled every night this week, because my roommate specifically made me ask for as many hours as possible.

Now that I'm done with probably the most humiliating thing I've ever done, I'm stuck flexing with a tie on 'till that asshole gets home...

I got my first paycheck after a long couple of weeks doing his classwork during the day and delivering pizzas at night. My roommate texted and told me to wait by the front door with my paycheck. Apparently, he's going out tonight with some of his loser friends and wants the cash now. I can't believe I'm about to hand it over to him.

"Hey, handsome," he calls, shutting his car door.

"I'm glad your home, sir. How was your day?"

I do not give a shit about his day! He ordered me to say that whenever he gets back. He's also programmed me to get up and hug him like I'm a fucking queer in love!

"Better now," he purrs, squeezing my butt cheek while we hug, "You should come with me and my friends tonight."

The last thing I want to do is be around him and his pansy-assed friends. "Yes, sir," I smile.

"We're going to a gay bar, and I think you would be an excellent wingman."

My stomach drops at the sound of a gay bar. I don't want to be anywhere near that place, and I really don't want the guy with total control over me parading me around that place like I'm his fucking slut! Where is this going? He wouldn't make me do anything gay, right? The terrifying truth is he could. He could order me to act like a stripper there, or...or worse. Fuck! I don't think there's anything he couldn't make me do. He could order me on my knees right now, and I'd do it with this stupid smile still plastered across my face. He could make me blow his tiny cock, and I'd be helpless to do anything other than enthusiastically suck! I don't want to go to that gay bar. I have to escape.

"Yes, sir," I hear my voice gleefully ring out.

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

Building Each Other Up

I've been training Shane for years now. When he first started coming to the gym, he was just a scrawny kid fresh out of college, looking to put on some muscles so that he could impress the ladies.

I remember the first time we met. I saw him struggling with the barbell, his form all over the place, and honestly, it looked like he was going to throw his back out any minute. Being the seasoned gym-goer that I am, I couldn't just stand by and watch. So, I offered to help him out. After all, I'd been working out for years and liked to think I was in pretty good shape.

The gym had always been more than just a place to let off steam and bulk up —it was a sanctuary. As a closeted single guy in his mid-thirties, the gym was a place where I could discreetly check out guys, maybe even meet the occasional DL hookup without fear of judgment or exposure.

But then Shane came along, and everything changed. We started out as just friends, bonding over working towards our mutual goals in the gym. But as I trained him, helping him sculpt his body, our friendship deepened. He looked up to me, admired my dedication and expertise, and in turn, I found a sense of purpose and fulfillment in helping him reach his goals.

Over the years, Shane and I grew closer. We shared more than just sets and reps; we shared our hopes, fears, and dreams. And amidst all the sweat and strain, I found myself opening up to him in ways I never thought possible. I confided in him about my sexuality, my struggles with self-acceptance, and the challenges of living a double life. And to my relief and gratitude, Shane was always there for me, offering support, understanding, and a listening ear. It was truly the best friendship I’ve ever had.

Our unique bond didn't just stem from the amount of time we spent together at the gym; it was also fueled by our unorthodox training style. You see, we had a secret potion, which I had first discovered when I was Shane’s age.

To everyone else in the gym, it just looked like your typical pre-workout supplement. But for Shane and me, it was so much more. This potion had a remarkable ability—it allowed Shane to jump into my body.

When Shane would make the jump, I would become powerless, a spectator in my own body. He was in total control, and only he could decide when to jump back out. But the benefits were undeniable. Not only would he gain the muscle memory from the workout, but he would also inherit any gains my body had achieved from the session. And since I was already pretty muscular, Shane progressed rapidly.

Sometimes, during our training sessions, I would willingly let consciousness take a nap. I trusted Shane fully, so what did it matter if I checked out for a little while? Usually, Shane would jump out after he had showered and changed for me, and we’d go about the rest of our days. But there were occasions when I would wake up the next day, only to realize that he had remained in my body longer than expected. It was a strange sensation, waking up on those days, but I trusted Shane to do what was best for both of us so it was fine by me.

While our training sessions primarily took place in the gym, there were a few instances where I allowed Shane to use my body for purposes other than working out. I remember a couple of occasions when he wanted to pick up girls at the local bar. It was a bit weird for me, considering I was into guys, but I was happy to let him have a good time. Besides, there was a thrill in experiencing what my life could have been like had I been straight, feeling my body react with excitement at the prospect of engaging in intimate relations with a woman.

But it wasn’t long before Shane's dedication paid off, and his body became super ripped. He didn't need to rely on using my body to pick up girls anymore—he had the confidence and physique to do it all on his own. And even though he started to get a bit cocky at times, I was there to keep his ego in check.

It was around that time that we stopped using the potion and went back to being normal gym partners, pushing each other to get better. It hurts my ego to say now, but I think his physique is better now than mine ever was. Which is why Shane’s recent proposition really surprised me.

---

For the past few months, Shane had been pouring his heart and soul into training for a bodybuilding competition. Despite his relentless efforts, it seemed like he was still struggling a bit to reach his peak performance.

"Hey,” Shane said as we walked into the gym for our usual session. “So I'm struggling to get in as much training as I want to, and I could really use your help.”

"Sure, what do you need?" I replied, genuinely curious about his proposal.

"I was thinking we could use the potion again," Shane began, his words hanging in the air. "But this time... you could take over me."

My heart stopped at his suggestion. In all my years of using the potion, I had never actually took over someone else's body. I had always been too nervous to entertain the thought. What if I got excited by a guy and it outed me to whoever I had taken over? And besides, none of my friends were really any better looking than I was, so why would I want that?

But this was something different entirely. I trusted Shane fully, and I didn't really have to worry about those concerns with him. Plus, the idea of experiencing the world through Shane's eyes and getting to be in his body for a change seemed oddly appealing. And it did seem only fair since he had spent so much time in mine.

"Okay, sure," I said tentatively, my mind racing with possibilities. "What did you have in mind?"

---

Shane came up with a plan where we would alternate control, with me spending two days in his body followed by three out. He believed that this schedule would give him the mental rest he needed to train as intensely as he was hoping—or at least, that's what he said.

For our first session, I phased right into his body in a private corner of the locker room. The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I was overcome with a rush of unfamiliar sensations. Like I said, I had never actually been in another body before, and this wasn’t just any body.

Sure, I had muscles when I was his age, but they weren't nearly as defined or toned as Shane's. And I certainly never had this much energy, or this attractive of a face. I mean, I know I'm considered handsome now, but it took a lot of time (and a bit of plastic surgery, if I'm being honest) to get it that way.

I spent the next two days absolutely grinding, hitting double sessions in the gym both days, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from myself in the mirror. My chest and shoulders were absolutely massive now, each muscle defined and sculpted to perfection. It felt incredible, like I was invincible.

At the end of those two days, Shane was super thankful and went back to training himself. But as those next three days in my own body passed by, I found myself constantly thinking about Shane, yearning to feel that rush of power and confidence again. Soon enough, I did.

With the competition looming only a few months away, we stuck to our schedule, which started fine-tuning Shane's physique to perfection one intense training session at a time. And just like in the old days—but this time with the roles reversed—I used Shane's body for hook ups when I was in control. It was refreshing to have this much energy in bed, to feel the strength and vitality pulsating through every muscle. And with Shane's youthful appearance, I found myself attracting a whole new demographic of guys. No longer was I an older daddy, the guys I pulled just saw me for the hot young stud I was.

As the competition drew nearer, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in how far we had come.

But still, Shane still seemed to be a bit overwhelmed by the pressure. Despite our intense training regimen, he couldn't shake off the feeling of uncertainty and self-doubt. To help him out, we decided to up my stay in his body. What started as two days gradually turned into three, then four day stints, and eventually, I found myself spending an entire week inhabiting Shane's body.

He was thankful for the dedication and hard work I was putting in, and I could see the relief in his eyes every time I got out. But as the days passed, I found myself slowly becoming addicted to Shane's physique and his youth. There was something intoxicating about being in a body that radiated strength and vitality.

Things went awry, though, when I stayed for 11 days straight. I could sense that Shane was starting to get annoyed, his frustration simmering for at least a few days. Then, it reached a breaking point.

I could hear Shane's voice in my head, telling me to get out, to give him back control of his own body. But I ignored it. You see, my most recent booty call had been out of town, and I was itching to see him again. I knew he would be back tomorrow, and I just needed to hold out until then. I needed to pound his tight hole, I just couldn't think about anything else. I mean just look at this sexy video he just sent, can you blame me?

So kept brushing off Shane's protests, telling him, "No, no, just a bit longer. I promise."

Then, things went a bit sideways.

"Mark, seriously, get out of my head!" Shane's voice echoed loudly in my mind, his anger palpable.

"Just a little longer, Shane. I promise," I replied, trying to placate him.

"You've been saying that for days! I need my body back, man," Shane insisted, his tone bordering on desperation.

"I just... I have plans, Shane. Give me until tomorrow, okay?" I pleaded, my own desperation seeping into my voice.

But Shane wasn't having it. "No more excuses, Mark. Get out now!”

He started to fight back, trying to push me out of his mind. Despite having no physical control, his willpower was strong, and it had been quite a while since I'd entered his body. Who knew if it was possible for him to force me out?

But I couldn't afford to entertain those thoughts. Besides, Shane sounded annoyed, and I didn't know if he'd let me back in after that. So, I stubbornly held on, determined to see things through to the end, consequences be damned.

I fought back, pushing against Shane's consciousness with all my might. Our mental energies clashed, swirling around each other in a chaotic dance. Shane was strong, no doubt about it, but from all my years of using the potion, I was just ever so slightly more experienced in this realm.

I could feel him teetering on the edge of some sort of mental cliff, his resistance wavering. And then, seizing the opportunity, I gave him one final push. Suddenly, I felt my body convulse. I watched in astonishment as my old body, presumably with Shane inside, fell out of my hunky young body and stumble backward across the room before falling down.

As he looked at me, confusion clouding his face, I couldn't help but say, "Well this is new."

To Be Continued ...

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

[mikey2long-mikegay4u]

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