alsanderecho - Tumblr blog

[alsanderecho]

"Good Girls go to heaven, bad girls bring heaven to you..."

Disclaimer: None of these pictures are mine. For takedown please message me. Explicit content, only for viewers 18+. Take care :)

This was Rachel. She's 24 years old with long blonde hair she kept good care of, green eyes and a loving and cute smile. Her boyfriend, Chris, was a good looking 25 year-old police officer. He's a Sargeant at the Criminal Investigation Department and therefore has a lot to do at work, which meant that he couldn't be at home every evening. But Rachel was still the happiest woman she could be. She loved Chris with everything she has and so did Chris. The couple was living together in a large apartment, a little bit too large some might say, but Rachel inherited it from her late grandfather and the you couple accepted excitedly.

Rachel was a sweet and caring girl. She didn't go out that much and didn't put on a lot of makeup, but she still possessed a natural beauty that was hard to oversee. Other than that she didn't do anything risky, she loved to stay at home, cuddling on the couch, cooking, or reading a book with a hot cup of tea. She took good care of her boyfriend. She often came home early from work and cooked a wonderful dinner for him. She'll talk about her day, but also listen to him when he told her about his. She was a good listener and very empathetic. Chris knew that he found his girl for life. Life was good. But then something happened that changed their life.

Rachel was in the mall around the corner shopping for groceries. After she payed for them she was about to exit the mall, when a punk girl was heading her way smoking a cigarette. She was singing the song "Heaven" by Julia Michaels. Rachel liked the song. It was playing regularly on the radio, so she knew it pretty well. But the punk girl changed the lyrics, she replaced "Boys" with "Girls". Rachel didn't think about it though, she was busy trying control her overloaded shopping cart. That's when she crashed into the pink girl...

"Ouch! What the fuck?! Whatcha where the fuck you're going, shithead!", the punk girl shouted. Rachel turned red from embarrassment, simultaneously picking up her spilled groceries from the parking lot and timidly apologizing to the girl. She smelled the sweet perfume of the girl and the strong smell of cigarettes. She looks at the punk girl. She was everything that Rachel was not. While Rachel was dressed conservatively and barely wore any makeup, the punk girl was wearing skimpy clothes and too much make-up. Additionally she had tattoos all over her body and piercings in her nose and lips.

"What the hell are you looking at, rich kid?". Rachel was shocked that she was caught staring. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to!", she answered quietly. "D'you think you're something better, just because you've got money? Just look at you... You are so boring... You're not even fucking worth I spent my time getting angry at you...". With these words the punk blew a big cloud of cigarette smoke into Rachel's face, turned around and continued her way to the entrance of the mall while singing "Heaven".

On her way home Rachel could not get the smell of cigarette smoke out of her nose. She felt like it was in her hair, her clothes, everywhere. But soon she got used to it. While she was waiting for her boyfriend, she even grew to like it. She caught herself pulling a strand of her to her nose, smelling the faint scent of smoke. She felt like a bad girl for some reason. Thinking about it made her go wet. She got disappointed when the smell of smoke went away...

In the evening Chris came home, they had dinner like always. But somehow Rachel was not tired at all after dinner. Normally she'd go straight to bed, cuddling with Chris. But this evening she felt like she could go clubbing all night, even though she never was before. She thought about it, but dismissed the thought. She settled for a walk around the blog. Chris, tired from work, kissed her goodnight, while Rachel went into the fresh evening air.

She walked around her neighbor, enjoying the cold air and the calmness of the night, when she came across a kiosk. There she saw several different packages of cigarettes. Remembering how turned on she felt this afternoon, she caught a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and immediately lit one up. It was like magic. Even though Rachel had never smoked any cigarettes before in her life, she inhaled the smoke like she already did it a hundred times. She felt the nicotine flash and it made her feel alive. When she returned home an hour later, she needed another cigarette, so she lit one up.

The next morning Rachel woke up and had a weird taste in her mouth. Then she remembered the cigarettes she smoked the last evening. "I don't know what came over me... I don't smoke", she thought. Nevertheless she got up and felt the urge to light one up again. It was her free day and Chris was already at work. He left a note, writing how much he loves her. It made her smile. Rachel went into the shower and made herself ready for the day. She was about to go into the living room, when she walked past the full-length mirror. It made her pause in confusion.

"I don't remember putting on any makeup", she wondered. "Why would I put on makeup? It's 9am and I don't plan on going outside or anything". Shaking her head in confusion she went into the living room. She grabbed her purse, searching for her smartphone, when she pulled out the pack of cigarettes. A sudden urge made her go out on the balcony, pulling out a cig, lighting it up and inhaling a deep puff of smoke. It's strong smokey taste made her shudder, but still, it made her feel good. She spend the next few ours outside, smoking and drinking coffee. She went inside to make herself something for lunch. She realized the smell that emitted from her hair, her fingers, her skin and her clothes.

Looking at her clothes she felt a sudden sting in her brain. She suddenly felt so ugly. Her woolen hoody she was wearing made her skin itch. Being bored at home and having nothing to do, Rachel decided to go shopping. She grabbed her credit card and spent the whole afternoon in town. When she returned her clothing style changed a lot. She was wearing a lot of leather, which she found to be a fabric that was beautiful and not as itchy to her skin as her boring old clothes. Of course she bought herself another couple of packs of cigarettes. She couldn't help herself.

When Chris returned home from work in the evening he realized, that Rachel did not cook any dinner. Instead he saw some takeaway food on the kitchen table. Hello looked around to find his girlfriend and surprisingly found her on the balcony. As he opened the balcony door, the smell of smoke was the first thing he noticed. There she was, Rachel, his girlfriend. She was standing near the ledge, smoking a cigarette and looking at him curiously.

"Hi there, babe", Rachel said, testing out how Chris would react. To her surprise he didn't freak out or even looked shocked. He just looked surprised. "I didn't know you smoke... Since when do you smoke?", he asked while approaching her to give her a hug and a kiss. He smelled the cigarettes on her breath and in her hair. His hands clung to her red leather jacket and made a distinct sound as he hugged her. "You've got yourself a new jacket?", it wasn't a real question, more like a statement. "Yeah babe, I was bored and I thought I could go buy myself some cute new clothes. What do you think?", Rachel did a little twirl as she blew a puff of smoke above her head. "It looks hot on you!", Chris admitted.

This evening, they skipped dinner and went straight to 'dessert'. Chris could not control himself. Rachel was so hot. Her new clothes, the smell of smoke and her face in makeup. Rachel, normally a very timid person when it came to sex, took the lead in bed this night. She rode Chris kike there was no tomorrow and moaned louder then ever. It was so hot that they went for another round before passing out exhausted.

This night Rachel was dreaming about her being the baddest bitch in her neighborhood. She was smoking, was wearing skimpy clothes and was confident the first time in her life.

When Rachel woke up the next morning Chris was already gone again. So she went straight into the shower. Her body felt sore. And somehow her brain was hurting a bit. After the shower she went straight to her purse, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it up in the bedroom. She couldn't help herself.

Then it hit her. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw her hair. It was definitely becoming brighter. It now was platinum blonde and even longer than before. But the most shocking thing was her arm, on her arm to be precise. On both arms. Under her boobs, too? Rachel dropped her cigarette, and pulled her black t-shirt over her head.

"What the fuck is this?? Why the fuck do I have tattoos?", Rachel shouted. She immediately put her left tattooed hand over her mouth in shock at the profanities she spit out in these sentences. "What is wrong with me. I know this is shocking, but I never curse!", she thought to herself. "But I am still wondering, where the f..., mhh, where these tats come from...".

As she lit up another cigarette something clicked in her brain, implementing a memory of her getting inked last night, while Chris was asleep. She didn't even question these new memories, she even forgot about that thought seconds later.

After a quick smoke she went into the kitchen, making herself some breakfast. But after that she couldn't make herself clean the kitchen. It was so boring. "I don't have time for this. And I should not be the only one, who cleans up. Chris can fucking do the dishes this evening.", she said in a bitchy tone.

With this Rachel put on her leather jacket, black jeans and black leather boots. She put on her makeup in a dramatic way. Not because she wanted to, well, maybe she did, but without heavy makeup she felt naked and not complete. After that she grabbed her purse and left the appartment going into town...

Three days later...

"Hello honey, I am home! I am so sorry... There was a murder and the case was very important. Our chief told us that we are allowed to go home after finishing the first urgent important investigations. And so we did. I hope you had a few wonderful days, my dear!", Chris said while stumbling into the appartment. His eyes had dark rings under them and he looked a mess. But a sparkle in his eyes and his huge smile told everyone how happy he was to be back home. "Where are you?", he shouted.

"Don't fucking come near me!", he heard the voice of his wife. Chris didn't know what irritated him so much, hearing his normally timid and good-girl wife curse, or the distinct change in her voice.

"I don't know what the fuck happened to me. I was like in a fucking trance or something... I don't even look like myself anymore...", he heard Rachel say. She still sounded like herself, but somehow her voice sounded a little more husky, a little more dominant and self-confident. Then Chris saw her. And his jaw dropped.

In front of the bathroom mirror was Rachel, well a woman who faintly resembled his wife. Her hair was platinum blonde, her face caked with heavy, dramatic makeup and her lips inflated with fillers, giving them a hot inviting little gap between them. Her whole body was spotting multiple tattoos, even her throat and fingers were inked. It made her look like a bad bitch.

"Woah..", was everything Chris could utter. He timidly took a few steps inside the bathroom, never taking his eyes off Rachel. In the last few days she had changed so much, he couldn't believe it. Next to her change in hair colour, makeup and her new tattoos, her breasts seemed to have grown as well. In addition to that, her ass looked perkier as before and her midriff was toned. That's when Chris finally realized how skimpy the clothes were that Rachel had put on. They left little to imagination... And through the soft fabric of her silky top, Chris spotted her pierced nipples.

"I really don't know what happened...", Rachel whispered, shaking her head. Even though her voice trembled, her whisper still sounded confident. Chris shook off his disbelief and walked over to his wife, embracing her tightly. He smelled the dark and sweet perfume on her, combined with the faint smell of cigarette smoke in her hair and on her skin. She smelled nothing like her old, pure self before. Embracing his wife, he felt her breasts rubbing into his chest. They felt oddly firm, which made him realize that they had to be fake. He shook his head.

"Babe, what happened to you? You must have been too bored all alone, huh?", Chris sheepishly said, but his eyes were full of doubt and disbelief. "Fuck babe, I really don't know. Today I woke up and felt different. I looked in the mirror and didn't fucking recognize myself anymore. And the worst part is that I can't remember getting all this work done...", Rachel muttered, trembling and pointing to her tits and lips. "It's okay babe", Chris tried to calm her down. "I'll take you out for dinner. Then we can have some drinks and some food food. Maybe that'll help you".

While at dinner, Chris couldn't take his eyes off of his wife. In fact, most people around them, men and women, couldn't. They maybe seemed like the strangest couple ever: Chris, the normal but handsome looking guy and Rachel, the bad bitch and slutty looking girl. Her new foul mouth and cigarette addiction didn't help either.

Lost in his train of thoughts he realized that Rachel was looking at him expectingly. "Oh, I am sorry honey, did you ask something?", Chris asked. His wife just shook her head and smiled. He collagen filled lips parted, revealing perfect white teeth. Unbeknownst to him, these smiles would become more rare every day.

Later that evening, after having a great diner, they sat down on a benched area in the bar nearby. Over dinner, Chris noticed a change in behavior in his wife. Her once bubbly and warm personality became less and less visible. It later got replaced with a resting bitch face. Chris joked several times, which normally would have caused a fit of giggles out of his wife, but this time, she only smiled, her eyes staying cold and bitchy. She looked almost bored and uninterested.

Chris was upset at first, but over time he came to the conclusion that the personality of his wife hadn't changed, but only her projection of emotions and her appearance. When he looked deep inside her eyes, he could still see the love sparkling when she looked at him. So even though she looked like a stone cold bad bitch to everyone, Chris knew, his wife was still there and was still loving him. And Rachel knew that, too.

Soon they were leaving the bar. On their way home Rachel smoked another couple of cigarettes, before looking at Chris like a predator at his prey. She pulled him close to her gave him a deep kiss, her tongue sliding deep into his mouth, probing every inch of it. Chris tasted the bourbon and the cigarettes, but he grew to love it. It was so corrupted, so bad, the contrary of his former good-girl wife.

They were making out the rest of the way back to their apartment. Chris couldn't even open up the door properly, before Rachel stripped him out of his clothes. "I want you to fuck me so bad, babe! I fucking need you deep inside of me, here and now!", Rachel commanded, her trousers damp of her fluids. She undressed and jumped on her husband like a bitch in heat. Her new, claw-like fingernails digging deep inside his skin. She immediately dropped down to her knees, putting his erect cock inside her mouth, which was followed by the best BJ Chris has ever received. The new Rachel was a pro. "I am so fucking horny, babe. Fuck me now! Fuck me like the dirty slut I am!"

These words initiated a long night filled with sex and multiple orgasms. Lying in bed, exhausted, Rachel got up and looked at her husband with a dirty look, trying to fix her smeered lipstick. "I am fucking yours, babe! I am yours forever!"

"Good Girls go to heaven, but bad girls bring heaven to you..."

Thanks for reading! :)

Nihility - 2022

[alsanderecho]

Punked

This is my half of a story swap with @nihility-of-darkness. It is a bit long (8k words) but I really enjoyed this transformation. I hope you enjoy it too. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking down the dimly lit street, Rachel tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear and glanced up at Chris, a small smile playing on her lips. “So, how was the day at the precinct?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity. The modest elegance of her dress fluttered lightly with the evening breeze, a contrast to the seriousness often found in Chris’s day-to-day.

Chris let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, the weight of the day momentarily visible in his eyes before he masked it with a smile for Rachel. “The usual chaos, you know. Paperwork that seems to regenerate overnight and a couple of cases that don’t want to get solved. But enough about me. How was the bookstore today? Any interesting characters wander in?”

Rachel’s face lit up at the mention of her workplace. “Actually, yes. There was this little boy, no older than seven, who came in insisting on buying a book about space with his own money. He was so determined to learn about the stars,” she recounted, her enthusiasm infectious. “It’s moments like those that make me love my job even more.”

Chris chuckled, the tension from his day visibly melting away with Rachel’s story. “You always did have a way of finding the magic in everyday moments,” he said, squeezing her hand gently.

Their peaceful night took a sudden turn when they came upon a scene straight out of Chris’s workday: a group of punks was harassing an older woman, attempting to steal her purse. Without hesitation, Chris let go of Rachel’s hand.

“Stay here,” he instructed, moving forward to intervene. His voice, when he spoke to the assailants, was authoritative and calm, “Let her go.”

Rachel watched from a short distance, her anxiety visible. Chris managed to subdue the punks with surprising efficiency, restraining them until he could call for backup on his phone. Within minutes, police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder as reinforcements approached.

As the police took the punks into custody, the leader, his gaze fixed on Chris and Rachel, caught Chris protectively wrapping his arm around Rachel. In that moment, the punk shouted something, his voice carrying a menacing tone that cut through the night air. The curse was loud, clear, and unmistakably directed at them.

“What did he just say?” Rachel’s voice trembled slightly as she turned to look at Chris, seeking reassurance.

Chris’s face was set in a frown, a mix of confusion and concern. “I’m not sure, I didn’t understand the language he was using. Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed it.

“Are you okay?” she pressed, her eyes searching his for any sign of what he truly felt.

“Yeah, I’m fine. More importantly, are you?” Chris’s concern shifted back to Rachel, reinforcing the protective bubble he always tried to maintain around her.

“I’m okay,” she responded, her voice steadier. “Let’s not let this ruin our evening.”

They resumed their walk, attempting to reclaim the peace of their earlier night, but neither Chris nor Rachel were able to shake the uncomfortable feeling of the encounter.

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Chris walked into the apartment, the weight of the day heavy on his shoulders. The case he’d been working on had taken a difficult turn, and it had demanded more of his time than he’d anticipated. As he closed the door behind him, the comforting aroma of a home-cooked meal greeted him, instantly lightening his mood. Rachel had prepared dinner, and even though he was late, the table was set, and the food was kept warm, waiting for him.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Chris apologized as he saw Rachel, who was tidying up the kitchen. Her gentle demeanor and understanding smile were a balm to his frayed nerves.

“It’s okay, I figured it was something important at work. Sit down, dinner’s ready,” Rachel responded, her tone soothing. Despite the delay, her patience was unwavering, a trait Chris had always admired.

As Chris began to eat, grateful for the meal in front of him, he noticed Rachel sitting across from him, her attention partially on a book she was reading. However, it wasn’t the book that caught his eye; it was the absent-minded doodling she was doing on her arm. A small, but unmistakable drawing of a skull and crossbones had begun to take shape under her pen.

“Is that a skull and crossbones?” Chris asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. It was an unusual choice for Rachel, whose aesthetic and personality seemed so at odds with the symbol she was sketching.

Rachel looked down at her arm, seemingly surprised to find the doodle there herself. “Oh, this? I didn’t even realize I was doing it. Just feeling a bit fidgety, I guess,” she said with a slight laugh, brushing it off as nothing more than a random distraction.

Rachel glanced once more at the drawing on her arm, a small concentration frown creasing her brow. Without further comment, she quickly wiped the pen ink off her arm, erasing the skull and crossbones. The ink smeared slightly against her skin before it was gone, leaving no trace of the doodle behind.

She then turned her attention back to her book, immersing herself in the world of words and stories, her earlier fidgetiness seemingly forgotten. 

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Chris was still asleep when the sound of Rachel moving around the apartment more loudly than usual started to seep into his consciousness. The sound of drawers being opened a bit too forcefully and objects being set down harder than needed suggested she was in a hurry or perhaps a bit agitated.

Then, quite distinctly, Rachel’s voice cut through the semi-silence of the morning. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, a word not typically in her calm and collected vocabulary.

Chris’s eyes snapped open, and he was instantly alert. “Rachel? What’s wrong?” he called out, concern evident in his voice.

“It’s stupid, I can’t find my bookmark. The one I always use,” Rachel’s voice floated back, a mix of irritation and disbelief coloring her tone. The frustration over such a small detail was unusual for her; Rachel was the type of person who approached most of life’s minor inconveniences with patience.

Chris sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “That doesn’t sound like you. Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice was full of concern, not just for the missing bookmark but for the noticeable shift in Rachel’s behavior.

“I don’t know… I’m just not feeling like myself this morning,” Rachel admitted, her frustration giving way to a hint of confusion over her own reaction.

A few moments later, she came into view at the bedroom doorway, ready for work but visibly off, her usual morning brightness dimmed. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late,” she said, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Okay, see you tonight. Take care,” Chris replied, watching her leave before falling back to sleep.

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Rachel was behind the counter at the bookstore, focusing on a book reading.  As she read, the pen in her hand seemingly moved almost of its own accord. Over time, small but elaborate doodles began to populate her left arm.

Later on, customers came and went, greeted by Rachel’s now somewhat distracted presence. Uncharacteristically, her language had taken a casual turn, sprinkled with curse words that slipped out as naturally as any other word. “Yeah, that book is fucking fantastic, you’ve got to check it out,” she recommended to a customer, not even flinching at her own language.

It wasn’t until a coworker, Jenna, pulled her aside that Rachel became aware of her actions. “Hey, Rachel, you okay? It’s not like you to…well, curse so much. And what’s with the arm art?” Jenna’s tone was a mix of concern and confusion, her brow furrowed as she gestured to Rachel’s doodle-covered arm.

Rachel glanced down at her arm, her eyes widening in surprise. She hadn’t realized she’d been drawing on herself again, let alone cursing in front of customers. “Oh my God, I… I didn’t even notice. I’m so sorry,” she stammered, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. She quickly tried to rub off the pen marks with her hand, but they only smeared.

“Don’t worry about it too much. Just maybe keep an eye on it? And maybe lay off the sailor talk in front of the customers,” Jenna suggested gently, giving Rachel’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading back to work.

Rachel stood there for a moment, mortified. This wasn’t like her at all. She’d always prided herself on her professionalism and poise, especially in her work environment. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to pay more attention to her actions.

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Rachel stepped into the apartment, immediately enveloped by the savory aroma of dinner cooking. Chris, wanting to make up for the previous night’s missed dinner, had taken it upon himself to prepare a meal. The rich, inviting smell prompted Rachel to exclaim, “Wow, this smells fucking amazing!” as she threw her arms around Chris, planting a big, wet kiss on his lips.

The intensity of her greeting and choice of words took Chris by surprise. This kind of language and the level of affection were uncharacteristic for Rachel, especially right after walking through the door. He noticed something else, too—an ink smear on Rachel’s arm, which stood out against her skin. 

“Been doodling on yourself again?” Chris asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he tried to lighten the moment.

Rachel looked puzzled for a second. “How’d you guess? Oh, right, detective skills,” she quipped, following his gaze to her arm. Noticing the smear, she added, somewhat loudly and with a brashness that wasn’t typical for her, “Yeah, I guess I fucking got carried away.”

Her tone shifted abruptly, as if she suddenly became aware of how she sounded. “I, um, I’ll just go clean up before dinner,” she said, her voice returning to its usual, softer register. With a quick, somewhat embarrassed smile, she headed to the bathroom to wash off the ink.

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Chris and Rachel sat at their dining table for dinner. Chris sat upright, his detective eyes always attentive. Across from him, Rachel slouching yet jittery. Her once long blonde hair messily cut to shoulder length.

Chris looked at Rachel questioningly. “Why did you cut your hair?”

“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully. “I was in the bathroom cleaning up and just decided it needed to be shorter.”

Chris wanted to press, but decided against it. As the meal continued, Rachel launched into an excited recount of her day.

“You won’t believe what happened today,” Rachel began, her voice louder and more animated than usual. “This guy walks into the store, right? And he’s looking for this book that’s basically impossible to find. So, I’m there, trying to help him, and I swear, I almost said, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ But I caught myself.” She laughed, a bit too loudly, and continued, “I mean, who does that five minutes before closing?”

Chris smiled, noting the slight edge to her language. “Sounds like you handled it pretty well, though.”

Rachel nodded, her leg bouncing under the table. “Yeah, but that’s not the best part. So, I start looking through the database, and—oh, this is the kicker—I actually find it!” Her voice soared with excitement. “I was so surprised; I almost let out a ‘shit’ right in front of him. But, you know, professionalism and all that.”

Chris raised his eyebrows, amusement mingling with concern. “Sounds like an eventful day. I can’t remember the last time I heard you curse so much, though.”

“Oh?” Rachel paused, her fork midway to her mouth. For a moment, her demeanor shifted back to her usual self, more measured and calm. “I guess I did get a bit carried away. It’s just been one of those days, you know?”

Her expression sobered as she continued, “Anyway, after that, I spent some time reorganizing the back shelf. It was kind of therapeutic, actually.” Her voice had softened, returning to the familiar, gentle tone Chris was accustomed to.

Chris nodded, listening intently. “That sounds more like the Rachel I know. Reorganizing shelves and finding lost books.”

Rachel smiled, a genuine, softer expression crossing her face. “Yeah, it’s the little victories, right?” Then, as if a switch had been flipped, her enthusiasm reignited. “Oh, and guess what else? I fucking—oops,” she caught herself with a quick glance at Chris, “I mean, I managed to sell that rare first edition we got last week. Can you believe it?”

Chris chuckled, though the concern didn’t quite leave his eyes. “That’s great, Rachel. Really. Just…watch the language, maybe?”

Rachel’s cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment. “Right. Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me today.”

Chris’s expression turned serious as he broached a topic of his own. “I’ve got some news from work,” he began, pausing to make sure he had Rachel’s full attention. “We received a tip. There’s a gang leader coming into town, and I’m going to have to be away for a couple of days. The department needs all hands on deck.”

Rachel’s animated recounting slowed, her demeanor shifting as she absorbed Chris’s words. The fidgeting stopped momentarily, replaced by a look of concern. “That sounds serious,” she said, her voice losing its previous buoyancy. “Be careful, okay?”

Chris reached across the table, offering a reassuring squeeze to her hand. “I will. It’s just part of the job,” he replied, trying to ease her worry.

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That night, Rachel’s usual reserve was replaced by a noticeable boldness as they settled into bed. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them, initiating a kiss with Chris that carried an assertiveness he hadn’t seen in her before.

“Rachel, wow, I’m not used to this… but I’m definitely not against it,” Chris said, a mix of surprise and delight in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I just felt like it,” Rachel replied, her tone bolder than before. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem at all,” Chris quickly reassured her, his voice laced with affection and a hint of amusement at her newfound forthrightness. “I love this side of you, too.”

“Good, because I fucking love you, Chris. And I want to be close to you, now more than ever,” Rachel said, the curse word slipping out effortlessly, as if it were a natural part of her vocabulary now.

Chris paused for a moment, taking in her words and the intensity behind them. “I love you too, Rachel. More than anything,” he responded. 

They went back to kissing and enjoying each other’s bodies.

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The next day, with Chris away on his stakeout, Rachel was tidying up some shelves when two men entered, immediately drawing her attention with the distinctive scent they carried. The smell intrigued her, lingering pleasantly in her nostrils.

Approaching the men who were perusing the fiction aisle, Rachel couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Hey, need any help finding something?” she offered, her voice carrying her newfound boldness.

The man in the leather jacket turned to her, a friendly grin on his face. “Nah, we’re just browsing, thanks. Got any recommendations, though?”

“Sure, a ton,” Rachel started, then, without thinking, blurted out, “But, damn, what’s that smell? It’s really good.”

The men looked at each other, slightly taken aback but amused. “Uh, probably just our cigarettes,” the man replied, his grin widening. “Didn’t think they’d be a hit, especially indoors.”

Rachel laughed, louder than she intended, her internal filter on vacation. “Well, shit, I usually can’t stand cigarette smoke, but you guys must have some magic brand or something.”

From a few feet away, Jenna, her coworker, couldn’t hide her dismay. “They smell like cigarettes, Rachel. That’s it. Cigarettes,” she said flatly before walking off, clearly not sharing Rachel’s sudden appreciation.

The exchange left Rachel momentarily confused. She shrugged off the moment, focusing back on the men with a shake of her head and a puzzled smile.

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Rachel sat at her kitchen table.  The room was quiet except the sound of the soft scratching of pen on skin. With a lit cigarette hanging from her lips, she meticulously drew an elaborate design.  Each line and curve flowing into the next, shaping into what was unmistakably a phoenix rising from flames.

The centerpiece of her makeshift tattoo was the phoenix itself, its wings outstretched in defiance, detailed with sharp, angular lines for a modern, edgy flair. The feathers were adorned with geometric patterns and spikes, a nod to the punk culture’s aesthetic of rebellion and resilience. Surrounding the mythical bird were flames, but these weren’t just any flames; they were intricately designed to resemble barbed wire and chains.

Every so often, Rachel paused to take a drag from her cigarette, examining her work with a sense of satisfaction that seemed to fill the room alongside the smoke.  As she finished the last touches on her design, Rachel leaned back, and stretched her arms above her head. She glanced at her work.

“Fuck yeah,” she smirked.  “Tomorrow, this is going to get inked for real.”

She took one last drag and then put out her cigarette directly on the table leaving a small burn mark in the otherwise clean tabletop.

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Late into the night, Chris finally made his way back to the apartment, exhausted from the stakeout. The first thing he noticed as he opened the door was the unusual smell of smoke that seemed to have permeated their home. Before he could process this further, Rachel was upon him, her energy and affection undeniable as she showered him with kisses and wrapped him in a tight embrace. 

“I fucking missed you so much,” she said between kisses, her words laced with a fervor that was new to Chris.

Taken aback not only by her language but also by the taste of smoke on her breath, Chris gently pulled back. “Rachel, you taste like smoke. Have you been smoking?” he asked, concern creasing his brow.

At first, Rachel tried to brush off his concern with a wave of her hand and a dismissive laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just trying something new,” she said, attempting to redirect his attention.

However, Chris persisted, his worry evident. “Rachel, this isn’t like you. What’s going on?”

It was then that Rachel seemed to come back to herself, the flurry of affection pausing as she met his gaze. For a moment, she dropped the cursing, her voice dropping to a softer, more troubled tone. “I don’t know, Chris. I just… I’ve been having these thoughts, these urges to smoke, curse, and just… throw myself at you. I tried fighting them, but they feel so natural now.”

Chris’s concern deepened at her admission. “Rachel, maybe you should see someone about this. A therapist could help sort out what you’re going through.”

The suggestion, however, sparked a defiant reaction from Rachel. “Therapy? I don’t fucking need therapy, Chris. This is just me being more… me, I guess.”

Noticing the weight of concern in Chris’s gaze, Rachel shifted her approach, her demeanor turning more playful and teasing, yet direct in her intentions. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a more suggestive tone, laced with her newfound habit of cursing.

“Hey, fuck the worries for now. How about we just go to bed? I promise to make it worth your while,” she said, a teasing smile playing on her lips, her suggestion clear in the sparkle of her eyes.

Chris, despite the exhaustion clinging to his bones, found himself caught in the sudden shift in Rachel’s mood. “I’m really beat, Rach. The stakeout was a nightmare,” he tried to protest, the weariness evident in his voice.

But Rachel wasn’t having any of it. She wrapped her arms around him, her resolve clear. “Come on, don’t be such a fucking spoilsport. You need to relax, and I need… well, you. Get that cute ass in bed, detective,” she insisted, her language bold and filled with a playful directness that Chris hadn’t heard from her before.

Letting out a resigned yet amused sigh, Chris allowed himself to be led towards the bedroom, his concern temporarily shelved. As they crossed the threshold into the dimly lit room, he caught a glimpse of Rachel’s arm.

“Did you… get a tattoo?” Chris asked.

Rachel turned her arm, displaying the tattoo with a mix of pride and defiance. “Yeah, I fucking did. Pretty badass, right?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Chris awoke to the inviting aroma of fresh coffee. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and made his way into the kitchen, where the sight that greeted him was Rachel.

She was standing there, wearing only panties and a t-shirt that had been cut up in a way that it revealed much more of her body than any of her usual attire ever did. The shirt hung off her in tatters, deliberate cuts that turned it into something daring and bold. 

Offering Chris a mug of coffee with a wink and a swift kiss, her initial flirtiness was unmistakable. “Morning,” she chimed, her voice playful yet edged with something new.

“That’s quite the… look,” Chris remarked, trying to tread lightly, though he couldn’t mask his astonishment at her choice of attire.

Rachel’s flirtatious veneer cracked instantly, annoyance flashing across her face. “I’m so fucking tired of all my clothes. They’re just so damn boring,” she snapped, her frustration evident as she surveyed the remnants of her once-conservative wardrobe.

Without warning, her irritation seemed to evaporate as she grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the counter and lit it, a defiant gesture that was becoming all too familiar. “Fuck it, I’m not going to work today. I need to go shopping,” Rachel declared, her tone leaving no room for debate as she inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around her in a rebellious dance.

Chris, coffee forgotten, attempted to interject, “Rachel, what about your job? And… this isn’t like you. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

But Rachel was already dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand, the lit cigarette punctuating her movements. “I’m fine, Chris. Just need some new fucking clothes, that’s all,” she retorted, effectively closing the conversation as she exhaled a stream of smoke, her decision made.

No sooner had Rachel declared her intentions to skip work for a day of shopping, than her demeanor shifted once more. Her expression changing from annoyance and defiance, back into a sweet smile. She approached Chris, cigarette still in hand, and with a swift, fluid motion, straddled his lap at the kitchen table. 

Leaning in, Rachel planted a deep, passionate kiss on Chris, her tongue playfully teasing his.  The kiss lingered and Rachel felt Chris get hard, his cock pressing against her panties.  His breathing deepened.

Breaking off the kiss, she looked into his eyes, her expression softening even as her language retained its edge. “I’ll fucking call work and make sure it’s cool. Don’t worry about it,” she promised, a tender reassurance mingled with her now habitual cursing.

As she slid off his lap, she turned back to him.  “I fucking love you, Chris.”  Chris took a sip of his coffee when something soft hit him in the head.  Looking up, he saw a naked Rachel sauntering out of the kitchen toward the bedroom.

“You fucking better not keep me waiting,” he heard her call.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rachel found herself pushing open the door to the clothing store, one known for its alternative flair. The recent additions of shiny metal piercings adorning her ears felt like a badge of honor. As she perused through racks of leather and lace, her fingers brushed against the fabric.

Spotting a particularly daring set of outfits, Rachel couldn’t help but imagine herself in them. “Damn, I’d look fucking hot as hell in these,” she mumbled to herself. The idea of stepping out in such bold attire thrilled her.

The thrill of the moment surged as she clutched the chosen items closer to her chest. “Fuck paying for these,” she thought, a wicked grin spreading across her face. The notion of simply taking what she wanted sent a rush through her veins, edging into arousal. It was a high she hadn’t anticipated, but one she found intoxicating.

As Rachel’s heart raced with the thrill of shoplifting, a fleeting thought of Chris flickered through her mind. Chris, with his detective’s badge and his adherence to the law, would undoubtedly find her current actions more than just problematic. “What would Chris think if he knew? Being with someone who just… takes what she wants?” she pondered, the fabric of the stolen clothes soft under her fingertips.

The idea that her actions could reflect poorly on him, possibly even damage his reputation or career, briefly sobered her excitement. She could almost hear his voice, mixing disappointment with concern, reminding her of the consequences, of how things could spiral out of control if she were caught.

But then, a mischievous spark ignited within her, pushing those concerns to the back of her mind. “He won’t find out. I’m not gonna get caught,” she reassured herself, her confidence swelling. After all, she had never felt more alive, more herself, than in this moment..

With a determined grin, Rachel dismissed the worries about Chris and what might happen if she were caught. The risk, it seemed, was part of the allure, adding an edge to the rush she felt. “I fucking want these clothes. They’re mine,” she thought fiercely.

She effortlessly slipped the items into her bag like she had done it a thousand times before.

Exiting the store, the clothes secured in her bag and her pulse still quickened from the act, Rachel’s eyes caught the neon sign of a hair salon across the street. The sight sparked an immediate decision. “This blonde shit has got to go,” she declared, as she crossed the threshold into the salon. “Make it black, and fucking chop it off,” she instructed the stylist.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that day while Rachel was out shopping, Chris’s phone rang. The precinct called him in; the punk from their encounter weeks ago was ready to plea bargain. Chris was exhausted from his stakeout, and his time with Rachel, but quickly left for the precinct.

In the sterile confines of the interrogation room, Chris faced the punk he arrested days ago. The punk seemed almost too at ease, given his current predicament, a smirk playing on his lips as he regarded Chris from across the table.

“So, detective, how’s life treating you these days? Your girlfriend doing well?” the punk prodded, his tone laced with a mocking curiosity that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Chris stiffened, his instincts warning him that this was more than idle chatter. “She’s none of your concern,” he replied tersely, trying to steer the conversation away from Rachel.

“Oh, but I think she is,” the punk continued, undeterred. His demeanor remained playful, almost enjoying the game of cat and mouse they were playing. “After our last little… encounter, I’ve been curious about how she’s ‘coming along.’ Noticed any interesting changes?”

Chris’s heart raced, a mixture of anger and fear knotting in his stomach. He had been trying to ignore the nagging suspicion that Rachel’s recent changes weren’t just coincidental. “What did you do?” he demanded, his voice low, a dangerous edge creeping in.

The punk leaned back, clearly enjoying Chris’s reaction. “Let’s just say, I left a little gift for you both. A token of our encounter,” he teased, his gaze sharp. “I’m curious, detective, has she developed any… new hobbies? A sudden interest in things she previously couldn’t stand?”

For a moment, Chris faltered, images of Rachel’s recent behavior flashing through his mind—the smoking, the cursing, the sudden shift in her personality. He had to fight to keep his composure, realizing he was giving away too much. “You’re going to tell me what you did to her,” he said, voice hard, regaining his footing. “But first, you’re going to tell me about your boss. That’s what this is really about.”

The punk’s smile faded slightly, recognizing that Chris wasn’t going to be baited any further into revealing more about Rachel. Yet, the satisfaction of having unsettled the detective lingered. Chris, though momentarily shaken, refocused on the task at hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rachel paced her living room, adorned in leather and fishnets that clung to her, showing off her body. Her reflection in the mirror was bold, almost unrecognizable—the makeup around her eyes dark and heavy, giving her a wild, untamed look. Various new piercings adorned her ears, glinting under the light, while her hair, once simple and blonde, was now a striking asymmetrical cut dyed a deep, rebellious black.

With a lit cigarette in hand, she exhaled a cloud of smoke, admiring her new look.  “You look fucking hot babe,” she said to herself. 

A ring of her phone cut sharply through the room, Chris’s name flashing on the screen.

“Chris,” she answered, her voice a cocktail of frustration and anticipation, the cigarette dangling from her lips.

“I’ve gotta head out. That punk gave us something big, and it’s time-sensitive,” Chris’s voice came through, rushed and laced with a hint of regret.

He dove straight into the revelation that had been haunting him, the curse that now explained Rachel’s drastic transformation. “Listen, Rachel, that punk from the other night, he… he cursed you, okay? It’s making you act out, embrace all this… punk behavior.  He said it would make you crave smoking, punk clothes, makeup, even sex.

“Fuck, so there’s a reason I’m turning into a goddamn walking cliché of a punk?” Rachel’s voice cracked, a mix of anger and relief slicing through her. The confirmation brought clarity, but with it, a swell of horror at the implications.  “And now I know why I’ve been so fucking horny all of the fucking time.  I’ve jilled myself off twice since I’ve been home and I’m still all jittery.”

“Listen, we’re gonna fix this. We’ll find a way,” Chris assured her, his voice steady, a beacon in the chaos that had become her life.

“Fucking promise me” she demanded.

“I promise,” came his quick answer.  “As soon as I get back.”

“You better get back here fucking soon,” she exhaled a plume of smoke as she spoke. “And stay safe, I love your fucking ass.”

“I love you too,” he said as he hung up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rachel, now fully immersed in her new punk persona, strutted into the bookstore the next day for work. Dressed in black leather pants that hugged her tightly and a transparent black top revealing a black lace bra underneath, she was a visual shock to the quaint, quiet atmosphere of the store. Her face was framed with heavy, black makeup, and the smell of cigarette smoke lingered around her, marking her presence before she even spoke.

As she walked in, her boss, who had been arranging books near the entrance, looked up and did a double take, not recognizing the person in front of her.

“Excuse me, can I help you with something?” her boss asked, her voice polite but cautious.

“It’s me, Rachel,” she responded with a half-smirk, her voice laced with a newfound boldness and a hint of defiance.

Her boss’s expression shifted from confusion to shock and then to disapproval as recognition set in. “Rachel? But you called in sick yesterday… And this look, this isn’t appropriate for the bookstore,” her boss stated, struggling to reconcile the Rachel she knew with the person standing before her.

Rachel laughed, the sound harsher than she intended. “Yeah, well, I needed a fucking day. Thought I’d shake things up a bit,” she said, her words casual.

The boss took a moment, her disappointment palpable in the silence that followed. “Rachel, this…your attire, your language, it’s not acceptable here. I’m sorry, but I have to let you go,” she said firmly, the decision clearly paining her.

“Fired? For being too fucking real?” Rachel retorted, her anger flaring. “You know what? Save it. This place is fucking shit anyway.”

With that, Rachel turned and stormed out of the bookstore, the small bell ringing loudly as the door slammed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After being fired, Rachel’s next destination was a local dive bar, a place she’d never before considered her scene, but now felt inexplicably drawn to. She was chasing the numbing embrace of alcohol, yearning for its dulling effect on her spiraling thoughts and emotions. Her appearance alone was enough to turn heads as she entered the dimly lit, sparsely populated bar in the middle of the day.

Striding up to the bar, Rachel slammed her hand down, demanding the bartender’s attention. “I need a fucking drink, make it strong,” she declared, her voice cutting through the low hum of midday patrons and the crackle of a worn-out speaker playing what the bar considered music.

With a glass of something potent in hand, she made her way to a corner table, the clack of her boots on the sticky floor announcing her every step. Lighting up a cigarette, she took a deep drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke as she slumped into the chair, her entire demeanor one of defiance and unrest.

“This music is shit,” she muttered to no one in particular, a sneer twisting her lips as she scanned the room, her gaze challenging anyone to contradict her. Her voice, louder than necessary in the near-empty bar, was tinged with a mix of anger and disdain.

As Rachel sat, nursing her drink and lost in thought, an attractive man caught her eye as he approached with a confident stride. He placed a fresh drink in front of her with a smile that seemed to know too much. “Thought you might need another,” he said, his voice smooth, inviting conversation.

Intrigued and admittedly enjoying the attention, Rachel gestured to the seat opposite her. “Why not,” she replied, a playful smirk forming on her lips.  She leaned forward to grab the drink ensuring the man had a great view of her tits.

The man took the invitation, sitting down next to her and leaning in. His hand quickly found its way onto her thigh as he talked about nothing in particular.

Rachel, drawn in by his confidence and directness, felt a need growing within her. She entertained the conversation, her responses laced with innuendo and the promise of possibility. “You’re not too bad on the fucking eyes, you know,” she teased, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “And god, am I in the mood for some trouble.”

She traced her fingers across his chest and licked her lips teasingly.  As the flirtation reached its peak, Rachel leaned back, her expression shifting to one of contemplation. “But here’s the kicker,” she continued, locking eyes with him. “As fucking horny as I am right now, and believe me I’m rev’d up, I’m madly in love with someone. He’s the kind of love that changes your whole fucking world. So as tempting as this…whatever this is…might be, I can’t. I won’t cheat on him.”

The man, clearly taken by surprise, faltered momentarily, his interest piqued even more by her declaration. Rachel, relishing the moment, continued, “But if looking at a hot piece of ass and a bit of fun conversation is your thing, feel free to stay.  But first, I have to change this fucking music.”

Internally, Rachel was at peace.  This curse, as improbable as it seems, has caused her to change dramatically.  But at her core, her love of Chris remained true.  Somehow she knew she could deal with these compulsions knowing that she maintained control of that central concept. She loved Chris and nothing could change that.  

The man, though visibly disappointed, couldn’t help but respect her honesty and ordered another round of drinks.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Chris returned. The first thing he saw as he entered the apartment was a layer of smoke.  Then he saw Rachel sitting on their couch, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other.

She was decked out in full punk attire: black leather, chains, and a defiance in her eyes that matched the aesthetic. Yet, when she saw Chris, her expression softened, and a familiar warmth spread across her face.

Chris paused, taking in the drastic changes. “Rachel, this is…wow, you’ve really changed,” he said, trying to mask his surprise.  He noticed more tattoos were now visible on her arms, and additional piercings dotted her ears and one on her nose, glinting metallically, and he thought he saw two barbell shapes poking through her braless top. 

Rachel hugged him, her movements confident yet welcoming. “Chris, look, I know this is… a lot,” she admitted, gesturing to her tattoos and piercings. “But I need you to know something important.”

“What’s that?” Chris asked, his concern evident in his voice.

Rachel took a step closer, her expression serious. “Despite all these changes, how I feel about you hasn’t changed. I’m still me, Chris. I love you. That’s the one thing this…situation hasn’t touched.”

Chris, still processing the visual transformation, focused on her words. “I love you too, Rachel. No matter what you look like, or how many tattoos and piercings you get,” he responded, his voice steady and supportive.

Rachel’s face, alight with relief and warmth at Chris’s acceptance, reflected a mix of emotions. Her gratitude was palpable, her voice carrying a sincerity that touched Chris deeply. “Thank you, Chris. That means everything to me,” she expressed, her eyes softening.

But as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, it morphed into something more provocative and daring. Her posture shifted, becoming more assertive as a wicked grin spread across her face. “But let’s cut the crap, Chris. I’m fucking starving for you. This whole transformation thing? It’s made me hornier than ever,” she declared, her tone laced with a boldness that was both new and electrifying.

Chris, taken aback by the sudden shift, couldn’t suppress a startled laugh, the tension breaking between them. “Well, that’s…quite direct,” he managed, his surprise giving way to a growing warmth in his gaze.

Rachel leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, her breath hot against his ear. “I don’t want to be direct. I want to be fucking clear. I need you, Chris. Now.” Her words were a demand, leaving no room for ambiguity.

The intensity of her desire was palpable, and Chris felt himself drawn into the depth of her need, the raw honesty in her demand igniting his own longing. “Rachel, I…” he started, any thoughts of hesitation evaporating under the heat of her gaze.

She cut him off with a finger to his lips, her eyes alight with a challenge. “No more talking. Show me you’re glad to have me back,” she said, her voice a sultry command that left no doubt about her intentions.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After their moment of intimacy, the room still buzzing with the electricity of their connection, Chris and Rachel lay together, wrapped in the quiet aftermath. It was Chris who broke the silence, the weight of his recent experiences pressing on him.

“We made some serious inroads into that gang, finally caught their leader,” Chris began, his voice carrying a mix of pride and exhaustion. He detailed the operation, describing the den they’d infiltrated, the people they’d found there—rebellious, adorned in punk aesthetics, aggressive in their defiance of societal norms.

As he spoke, he didn’t immediately notice the shift in Rachel. But as he inadvertently started to disparage those people, comparing their lifestyle and choices to something negative, something undesirable, he saw a change in her expression. Her face, which moments ago was soft and open, hardened.

Rachel’s reaction was immediate and fierce. “So what? You think I’m just like them? Some kind of freak?” she snapped, her words sharp, her vulnerability turning into anger.

Chris realized his mistake too late. His descriptions, meant to share a part of his life with her, had instead drawn an unintended parallel between Rachel’s recent changes and the very elements of the gang culture he was condemning.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Rachel. I was just talking about the gang, not you,” Chris tried to explain, scrambling to repair the sudden rift his words had caused.

But Rachel was already on the defensive, hurt and retreating behind a wall of vulgarity and anger. “Fuck that, Chris. So now you’re saying I’m just another one of your cases? Some problem you need to fix?” she retorted, her voice rising, the pain evident beneath her harsh words.

As the harsh reality of his words set in, Chris could only watch as Rachel jumped out of bed.   She rapidly layered her punk attire over her naked body, closing off their moment of shared intimacy.   

“I’m sorry, Rachel, I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Chris said, his voice filled with regret as he attempted to reach out to her, to explain.

Rachel, however, was in no mood to listen. With her outfit complete, she gave Chris a final look, one that was cold and distant. She turned to him, flipped him off, and left the apartment with a “fuck you”..

Chris was left alone. It dawned on him then just how much Rachel was struggling beneath the exterior changes.  The changed hair style, the tattoos, the piercings, the clothes.  These were layers of compulsions acting as a casing over who she was on the inside.  Something he’d been so careless to hurt.

Realizing he couldn’t let her walk away like this, not when she was this hurt and vulnerable, Chris quickly dressed, grabbed his coat, and chased her out the door. He needed to find her, to apologize, and to show her support, to show her his love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the crowded dive bar, Rachel found a table far from the bar, immersing herself in the anonymous hum of conversations and clinking glasses. She caught the bartender’s eye, and recognized him as the man who flirted with her a few days before.  She nodded an acknowledgement before sharply gesturing for a drink. Without much delay, he navigated the busy space to bring her a double shot of whiskey.

“Here’s your drink,” he said, setting it down in front of her with a cautious look.

Rachel snorted, her mood souring further in the noisy environment. “About damn time. I needed this fucking drink yesterday,” she shot back, her words laced with the sharp edges of her current state of mind.

She tossed back the whiskey, feeling it burn down her throat, a brief salve from her pain. Sliding the empty glass back towards the edge of the table, she locked eyes with the bartender. “Hit me with another,” she demanded, her stare intense, daring him to comment.

He hesitated, the question in his gaze obvious as he assessed her. The bar buzzed around them, but Rachel’s table felt like a separate world, her demand hanging in the air.

“Sure, I’ll get you another. Just… take it easy, okay?” he finally responded, a mix of professionalism and personal concern in his voice as he took the glass and turned back to the crowd.

Rachel watched him go, a smirk briefly crossing her face at his concern. She leaned back, her demeanor challenging anyone who looked in her direction.  It was unnecessary, everyone left her alone.

Chris entered the dive bar, the noise and dim lighting a stark contrast to the clarity of his mission: to find Rachel. His eyes quickly adjusted, and soon enough, he spotted her in a corner, isolated yet unmistakably present. Before he could take more than a few steps towards her, Rachel’s voice cut through the murmur of the bar, loud and laced with anger.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Chris!” she yelled, her words sharp enough to draw the attention of nearby patrons. “Go back to your perfect, clean-cut world and leave me to my low-class punk life!”

Chris, his resolve firm despite the icy reception, didn’t stop walking toward Rachel even as her shouts pierced the buzz of the dive bar. Her anger was palpable, a raw, unfiltered wave of frustration and defiance aimed directly at him.

“Rachel, please, just let me—”

“No! Just fuck off, Chris!” Rachel cut him off, standing from her seat, her posture rigid with anger. “You think you can just waltz in here and what? Save me? I don’t need your fucking pity or your clean, tidy life!”

Chris reached her, standing firm in the face of her fury. “It’s not about saving you, Rachel. It’s about understanding you, being there for you. I messed up, okay? I get that now,” he said, his voice calm but earnest.

Rachel’s response was immediate and physical, her hands pushing against his chest with surprising strength. “You don’t get shit, Chris! You see this?” she gestured to herself, to the tattoos, the piercings, the outfit. “This is me now. You can’t just come here and pretend everything’s fine!”

But Chris didn’t back down. Instead, he caught her hands gently, pulling her into an embrace she didn’t resist for long. As her hits slowed, and her anger turned to sobs, he whispered, “I’m not pretending, Rachel. I see you—all of you. And I love you. All of you.”

Her voice muffled against his chest, Rachel’s retorts softened, her words blending with tears. “You’re such an idiot, Chris. This… all this is fucking crazy. And you’re here, like some… some…”

“Like some fucking loser who loves you too much to let you go through this alone?” Chris offered, a half-smile in his voice.

Rachel let out a choked laugh, nodding against him. “Yeah, fucking exactly. God, you’re impossible.”

Chris pulled back slightly, looking down into her tear-streaked face. “And you’re incredible. Look, I’m sorry for not being there the way I should have. For not seeing how hard this has been on you.”

Rachel sniffled, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re fucking here now, aren’t you? Detective genius found his wayward punk girlfriend.”

“I did. And I’m not going anywhere,” Chris affirmed, his gaze locking with hers, a promise in his eyes.

As Chris and Rachel settled into their newfound calm, the bartender made his way over, a look of concern etched across his face from witnessing the earlier outburst. The noise of the bar seemed to quiet down around them, focusing attention on the small drama unfolding at their booth.

“Everything okay here?” he asked, directing his question towards Rachel, his eyes darting between her and Chris, trying to gauge the situation.

Rachel, now noticeably more at ease, offered him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah, everything’s good,” she confirmed, her tone light but sincere. She then gestured towards Chris, a playful glint in her eye. “This straight-laced, narc-looking dude? He’s actually my loving boyfriend. Was just telling you about him the other day.”

The bartender, picking up on the shift in Rachel’s demeanor and the affectionate, albeit teasing, introduction, nodded politely. “Glad to hear it,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of relief. Setting down the drink he had brought over for Rachel, he added, “Well, if you need anything else, just let me know.”

With that, he turned and left them.  Chris and Rachel shared a look, one filled with love and understanding. The bar seemed to forget them, the noise ramping up again.

After the bartender left, ensuring Rachel and Chris had everything they needed, the atmosphere between them shifted towards a lighter mood. Rachel leaned in closer to Chris, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Guess what? I didn’t just waste my time while you were playing detective. I went shopping,” Rachel said, a smirk playing on her lips.

Chris, intrigued by her tone and the look in her eye, leaned in as well. “Oh yeah? What’d you get?” he asked, picking up on her playful energy.

Rachel’s smirk broadened, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Found us some new toys,” she revealed, her choice of words deliberate, her expression daring him to ask for details. “And I’m not talking about fucking action figures. Think more along the lines of… adult fun.”

Chris’s response was a mix of amusement and surprise. “Is that right? Sounds like you’ve got quite the evening planned for us,” he replied, matching her provocative tone.

“Yeah, I figured we could use a little… excitement. Shake things up a bit,” Rachel said, her words heavy with implication and a hint of challenge. “You game?”

Chris laughed, the sound rich with warmth and anticipation. “With you? Always,” he assured her, reaching for her under the table.  Her hand brushed his aside and teasingly stroked his cock. Rachel’s laugh in response was genuine. “Good, because you’re in for one hell of a night, detective,” she teased.

“I think we’re in for one hell of a life, Rachel,” was his reply.

[alsanderecho]

Wedding Hells

Abby was happy she finally managed to convince her best friend Lindsay to not marry her fiancé James. Abby had learned that James was secretly the head of the crime family in town and was involved in every dirty deal going.

As happy as Abby was, James was pissed. When Abby came over to pick up some of Lindsay’s belongings he made she sure she knew.

“Well if it isn’t the do gooder little friend who tricked my fiancé into leaving me. I hope you’re proud.” He said with venom.

“Tricked her? I told her the truth of who you really are you creep and soon I’m going to tell everyone as well. Your days not behind bars are numbered.” Abby said straight to his face expecting to see him bubble up with rage but instead he broke into a smile.

“You have a fire and strength in you I had noticed before. You’ll do just am fine as my wife instead.” He said walking over to Lindsay’s never worn dress.

“You’ve lost it now, good luck with your life, or should I say you’re 25 to life.” She said turning on her heel. However within a feel feet she felt the white fabric of the wedding dress draped over her head. Within seconds it seemed to come alive and squeeze down her body.

“What... the... hell...” Abby said trying to rip it off her but found it was too tight.

“You see Lindsay never knew about who I really was but she was going to be my second in command in my growing criminal empire. I had big expansion plans but needed someone I knew would be loyal and ruthless. That’s where this magic dress came in.” James said matter of factly as Abby continued to struggle.

The dress had started to push off her clothes and toss them aside as it enveloped her body and sealed her in. She was quickly dressed as a bride to be but that’s when the real changes began.

The dress constricted her stomach making it hard to breath for a second. However Abby soon felt her belly shrink to match the tight waist of the dress. It actually felt good.

“Oh what are you doing to me you bastard! It feels... it feels... so goooood.” She moaned as her chest heaved outward as two massive tits grew outward from her modest pair.

“You don’t think I became kingpin without the help of the dark arts do you? Soon you’ll understand. When you become the Queenpin.” James said laughing.

Abby should of been furious with him but for some reason she was more turned on then ever before. The word Queenpin making her wet everything she thought it.

“Oh fuck I hate you James you big dick fuck! Once I’m free of this I’m going to fuck your brains out! Wait noooo! I don’t want that! I neeeeed that. No this is wrong!” She said moaning again as her conflicted emotions fought each other.

“You’re right, this is wrong but doesn’t it feel so good to be bad? No more morals, no more caring what anyone thinks? Just taking what you deserve, which is everything! Embrace it Abby, embrace being a bitch!” He said, tempting her.

Abby’s body continued to change as her mind was at war with itself. Her skin took on a healthy tan, sexy makeup was applied generously to her face. Her hair became thick, long and luxurious.

If there hadn’t been a mirror nearby that day, she might have saved her soul. As her eyes made contact with her reflection she found herself drawn into the cold, permanent bitch faced, goddess that was staring back. James was right, she thought, why should she not have everything she ever wanted? A beauty like her deserved the world and if wasn’t going to be given it she would need to take it.

As the good parts of her psyche were replaced by her new meaner, more cutthroat persona her struggling ceased. Her posture straighten into a classical pose and all resistance faded. Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she eyed James not with disgust any longer but with desire.

“Abby? That’s such a childish name. It’s Abigail from now on. Do I look like some immature child?” She said arching herself against a wall so she could shove out her butt. James mouth was agape.

“Sweetheart you’ll catch flies looking like that, how about you come over here and use it on more expensive tastes?” She said with a purr dripping in lust. James didn’t waste any time as he quickly grabbed her and kissed her deeply. Abigail moaned softly as he did, loving how he tasted. Lindsay had always said he was a good lover and now she was about to find out.

Removing the dress, Abigail found herself in some sexy white lingerie, a by product of the magic dress. She pushed James onto the nearby bed and posed sexily for him.

“When we fuck darling, I don’t want to hear Abby, or Abigail come from that mouth of yours. I want to hear only Queenpin, understand?” Abigail said authoritatively, making James get harder.

“Of course… Queenpin.” Her growled making her as wet as he was hard. Strutting over to him she took out his impressive cock and lowered her tight pussy on top.

“Mmmm a perfect fit… Kingpin.” She purred as she started to rise up and down.

The next few hours were a blur of sexual juices, screaming and grunting. By the time they were done Abigail had forgotten ever being Abby. In her mind she had always been Abigail, a tough and brutal but also outrageously beautiful crime boss.

James had planned on telling his men to fall in line and treat her like a boss too but she slipped into the role so easily that they were too scared to disobey her. Within a week she had doubled James’ profits with her ruthless ways. While James was a perfectly cruel and calculating leader, Abigail was literally created to be bad. She was the model of evil.

However not everyone was as impressed as James, namely his ex-fiancée and Abby’s old best friend, Lindsay. She confronted Abigail one day on the street and pleaded with her to tell her what had been done to her but Abigail just looked at her coldly.

“Do I know you? Regardless no one speaks to me like that, I am Queenpin of this city and I could have you disappeared like that.” She said snapping her fingers. When she did, her two burly bodyguards seized Lindsay and threw her into the trunk of Abigail’s luxury tow car.

Sliding in Abigail smirked as she heard the muffled banging of Lindsay.

“It’s no use dear, even if anyone heard you they’re all too afraid to say anything. You don’t have that fear but you will soon. Once I break you you’ll be employed indefinitely as my new live in maid and sex slave. You’re exactly what I need to help me prepare for my upcoming wedding.” Abigail said callously as she put on her designer sunglasses and her driver headed towards her mansion.

THE END

[alsanderecho]

Fake Week

“What kind of sicko are you Kane? I will not wear this… this butt plug. Its bad enough I have to pretend to be your girlfriend for a month so you’ll stop bullying Kevin but I’m not going indulge you in this sick game and wear some lewd sex toy of yours. I don’t care if this is what all your exes did! You’ll knock it down to just a week if I do? Alright fine but I’m cleaning it first. Maybe cleaning it more than once.”

“Are you happy now Kane? No you don’t get to check it! No wonder you’re single, you’re such a creep! Oh sure you wanted to see it was fitting fine and not hurting me? Yeah right how stupid do you think I am? And besides it fits perfectly, like really perfect actually. I uh got to go.”

“Yeah so what if I’m putting on makeup? I figured if I’m going to sell being your girlfriend I should probably start looking like those vapid bitches you are used to dating. Plus this is so easy, don’t know why I didn’t try it before. It’s just an act, you’re still a creep and once today is done I’ll be one day closer to not having to pretend to be your girlfriend!”

“It’s called yoga Kane. All you exes are flexible, athletic bitches so I thought I might as well act like I care about this stuff. I have to say though I’ve seen such a crazy improvement in just a few hours. It’s like magic! I can stretch and twist like never before and I’ve seen improvements in other areas too. Areas I see you’re checking out you cheeky bastard. I guess it is a pretty amazing ass now so I’ll allow it but don’t get any ideas, I’m just your fake girlfriend for 5 more days.”

“I never noticed how long my hair had gotten lately, it was getting in my face all the time during yoga so I decided to put it into a high ponytail, you know like one of your exes, and it’s so freeing. I used to think it was so bitchy looking but now honestly I think it’s sexy like this don’t you think? Of course you agree, I can see that bulge in your pants ‘babe’. Hmmm it’s kind of hawt seeing someone other that Kevin be turned on by me. Even with him it’s so few and far between lately. Maybe in four days when I’m back to being his girlfriend he’ll like this new hairstyle.”

“Ugh why are my so called friends so annoying today? They were complaining that I was saying mean things about Margo. All I said was if she wanted to ever get a guy she should maybe lay off the ice cream once and awhile. It’s not my fault the fatty started to cry. She should thank me for being honest with her. I should be more honest with the lot of them and kick them to the curb but they’re the only friends I’ve got. You’ve heard Amber and Mercedes want to be friends with me? The two biggest bully’s in school, but they are pretty cool and fashionable unlike these other dweebs. Maybe I’ll give them a text, thanks for the encouragement…. babe.”

“You were right about Amber and Mercedes. We texted all day yesterday and met up at the mall and went shopping. They convinced me to throw out all my lame clothes and buy a totally new look. It’s mostly pink and tight and sexy as hell. They also convinced me about something else. About you. I’ve been such a brat to you these past few days and you’ve been nothing but a gentleman to me. It’s time you got some sort of reward for your troubles. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t going to be a reward for me too. Just stand there looking handsome as hell and I’ll do the rest.”

“Hey baby, last night was mmmm really hawt but don’t tell anyone ok? I don’t want Kevin to know that I cheated on him last night… or this morning… or in your car later today. I can’t help it if you can’t keep your hands off me. I mean who can blame you? Plus you are MY boyfriend for two more days. Of course I told Amber and Mercedes though, they’re my besties, I had to tell them. Plus they were so impressed by what a bitchy thing my cheating was that they made me their new leader. Wasn’t your ex their old leader? Well I’m going to being even badder and bitchier than she was. Mmm that’s making me so horny. Fuck it let’s go to your car now.”

“Last day of our ‘relationship’. It’s only right that we get all the fucking in that we can. Glad to see your stamina is up to the task. Kevin wouldn’t last a fraction that you are capable of. What a fucking loser, can’t believe I have to go back to him tomorrow. Why am I doing this again? To stop you bullying him? He deserves to be bullied and you’re soooo hawt doing it. I never admitted since putting in the butt plug I’ve been touching myself at night thinking about you wailing on him. You’re so much more of a man than he ever will be. You know what? Fuck him. I deserve a strong, mean, and hot as hell boyfriend and you deserve a bitchy queen bee of a girlfriend. Kevin deserves to be the victim. Forgot our deal, I’m yours for good now and Kevin is all yours.”

“Oh the jacket? It belongs to my boyfriend, Kane. You know, you’re bully? Me date you? As if loser, I’ve always been Kane’s girl and always will. It’s like I was made for him. You’re just some simping creep who’s wanted in my panties for years. Everyone knows it, because my beta besties Amber and Mercedes are telling them right now. Those two can spread news like wildfires. You’ll be a pariah by the end of the day. Kane will be cheered on for bullying you. Mmmm speaking of which here he comes. Don’t forget to cry, it makes me so wet when you do.”

[alsanderecho]

The Vault

Sophie had always believed that money was the root of all evil, that it could corrupt the good into being a twisted and dark version of themselves. Now after taking a job cleaning the mansion of Bentley Thomas she had proof.

She had the job of cleaning the vault that stored all his ill gained fortune and had watched as Bentley would return from a day of work seeming worn down and weak and would submerge himself in the vast sums of money and reemerge looking fresher, stronger, more handsome.

He would be more ruthless too and she had to sit idly by as he bought more and more of her town and turned it into his play thing.

Finally she had had enough when he bought the last playground in town with plans to demolish it and turn it into a park celebrating his own accomplishments. Marching up to him as he emerged from his latest dip in the money, she threatened to expose the evil vault if he didn’t stop his takeover of the town.

“I see, and you believe that a man with my vast wealth and resources couldn’t make a lowly maid like you disappear forever?” He said menacingly as he towered over her, causing her to walk backwards towards the vault until finally she slipped and fell into the pile of money.

As her body became enveloped in the wealth she felt a tingle course through her from her head to her toes. Her body began to glow as her humble maid outfit grew tighter around her body, its material turning into an equal part shear and sequin black elegant dress.

Her body reacted to the dress by slimming up to fit its proportions, her breasts growing large to meet its ample bra size, and her skin taking on a gorgeous tan to give her a mysterious but intimidating presence.

Her mind fought the changes at first, knowing what the power was capable of doing to someone but eventually she just couldn’t fight it any longer nor did she want too. Why shouldn’t she be beautiful, bitchy and rich?

Her lips plumped up and grew into a cold smirk as she let the opulence wash over her and turn her into a heartless rich bitch. Her hair unfurled from its practical ponytail and grew thick, long and luscious. Perfectly applied makeup appeared on her face cementing her cold demeanour as the changes finally ceased.

She lay on top of the money and groaned to herself as she stretched out her new body and felt deliciously evil. A new sensation washed over her though as she looked up at Bentley standing feet above her. His arrogant superior gaze that once disgusted her now turned her on to no end.

“Are you going to stand there all night dear or are you going to come in here and fuck your wife?” Sophie said playfully as she started to touch herself, teasing him.

“Oh you’re my wife now?” He asked with a grin.

“Of course, Sophia Thomas, the gorgeous trophy wife of Bentley Thomas, a couple both envied and feared. I am wearing this after all.” She said holding up her hand to show a large diamond ring adorning her finger. Bentley recognized it as one of the vast pieces of wealth he had dumped in the vault. She must have found it during her transformation, or it had found her.

“So how about you stop talking and come here and use you mouth for something else before I divorce you and take half this lovely fortune for myself.” She said with a cheeky smile. She was going to love being a hot rich wife but a part of her was wondering would it be even better to be a hot rich divorcee.

[alsanderecho]

CORROSION

Alanah was home alone and looking forward to watching her favourite TV shows without any distractions. Her boyfriend, who usually criticised her TV choices, was currently away on a work trip and so she'd fired up the pop-corn maker, snuggled into one of her favourite sweaters and stretched out on the sofa. She could watch whatever she wanted tonight and no-one was going to stop her.

Alanah definitely deserved a little bit of TLC. Work was a killer at the moment. She worked for a charity that supported homeless people and some of the things she'd had to see recently were pretty harrowing. Her boyfriend always said she should get a better job that paid more, but Alanah liked to contribute to society and help others more than selfishly earn lots for herself.

As it went, Alanah was pretty humble and selfless most of the time so the job suited her. Unlike her boyfriend Max, she didn't like to be the centre of attention. She looked reasonably attractive, dressed nicely and lived a good life - but she was hardly going to make an impact on the world.

Such weighty thoughts were hardly on her mind as she picked up the remote and prepared to turn on the TV. A little bit of harmless distraction and fantasy would suit her perfectly tonight.

She pushed the buttons.

Nothing happened. The remote was dead.

Cursing, Alanah dragged herself to her feet and went into the kitchen to the drawer where they kept all the batteries. Rummaging inside she cursed again. There didn't seem to be any in the drawer.

No... wait. There in the corner of the drawer. Two corroded, rusted batteries with a pink shell casing were lurking at the back. As she touched them, the hairs on the back of Alanah's hands rose up and she felt a strange magnetic jolt pulse through her body, making her nipples harden in pleasure. She cradled the strange batteries in her hands feeling a compulsion to use them that overode her every sense.

Where had these strange batteries even come from? Why had they bothered to keep hold of two such obvious duds? It didn't make any sense.

The batteries were clearly of no use, but the sudden urge to try them was overwhelming. It was like the batteries WANTED to be used. Pulling out the old ones from the remote, she slowly slotted the corroded, pink batteries into the remote and clicked them into place.

Pink lightning engulfed the plastic remote and Alanah gasped in amazement. Luscious pink light crawled and sparked over the cheap plastic and it seemed to blur and transform before her eyes. She watched in amazement as the remote changed shape and colour, transformed by the batteries.

In moments a shiny silver chrome remote lay before her, with an entirely new set of buttons. How... how was this possible? Was this a trick?

Reaching out, she picked up the strange new remote and felt the same erotic jolt and throb of pleasure course through her body as when she had just held the batteries. She peered at the buttons in amazement.

They were now labelled with strange titles such as 'Age Control', 'Time-Freeze' and 'Rewind'.

Walking over to the mirror, Alanah shook her head gently. "I must be having a hallucination or something. This... this can't be real."

Pushing the age control button, she aimed the remote at a banana hanging from a hook on the cupboard next to her. Instantly it began to ripen and mature... then turn to black sludge and rot away. Pushing the button down in reverse, she watched as the processs reversed and then went further - the banana turning green and beginning to shrink back to a seed.

The remote now appeared to have powers over time. This was like something out of a science fiction program!

With this remote, she seemed able to control time. Seeing her 31 year old face reflected in the mirror, she suddenly paused and then hesitantly pointed the remote towards herself. What if...?

"Ohhhh fuck," groaned Alanah as she hit the de-aging button and she felt the power of the remote blast into her. Her skin tightened, her slightly saggy breasts firmed up, her buttocks tightened. Youth and vitality flowed into her and it felt so good. As she stopped pushing the button, the effect finally ended and an eighteen year old version of herself looked back in delight.

"This is incredible," she breathed. "I'm young again!"

Turning the remote over, Alanah popped open the battery panel and pulled out the corroded batteries. There was a flash of pink light and now once again she held the normal plastic TV remote in her hands.

She deserved to be young again. This was a gift that she was never going to reverse. Why shouldn't she have some extra life and vitality and be young and free again?

The remote was back to normal, but she wasn't. She was still young and full of vitality. The de-aging effect was obviously permanent until she used the remote again.

For a moment, she pondered putting the batteries back in and changing back immediately.

As she did so, she barely noticed that crackle of pink energy that briefly flared over her own body as she thought of reversing the effect and immediately decided not to.

The uncharacteristic feeling of selfishness felt good. She groaned and her nipples got even harder than they had earlier. She felt... good. Being selfish felt great!

"Hmmmm, these batteries are incredible. They changed the remote into an upgraded version of itself. I wonder what happens if I put them into other objects?"

Enjoying the feeling of her tight young body, Alanah whistled happily as she picked up one of Max's Xbox controllers. Sliding the batteries inside - she gasped as the same pink lightning engulfed that too and in moments the controller had changed.

It still had the same basic shape, but it was no longer for controlling video games. As she switched it on, Alanah saw the TV flicker into life. She was now looking at a birds eye view of her neighbourhood. Fascinated, she pushed the control sticks and flew over to Max's hotel where he was staying for his work conference.

Inside his room, Max was lying on the bed watching TV. Alanah giggled as she saw that she could select him like he was a character in a game. Menu's and options appeared and she saw that she could now adjust and change Max's mental attributes as well as pilot him remotely.

Pushing start, she grinned as she now realised she was in control of her arrogant boyfriend's mind.

A whisper in the back of her head seemed to tell her that she should get her revenge on her boyfriend for the way he always treated her. She hesitated. That seemed wrong.

On the bed Max groaned as the changes took place and his body posture changed. He now looked anxious and worried, no longer the confident business man but a scared little loser. Alanah liked seeing him squirm - this was fun... and horny.

Pink lightning crackled un-noticed over Alanah's body and she relaxed. No... it would be fun to manipulate and control her dumb boyfriend for a change.

An uncharacteristically bitchy grin spread over her lips as she began to decrease Max's confidence and intelligence. She could always put them back later, but let's how he liked being a dumb, subservient little simp.

Wait...

Alanah's panties were wet as she pushed the control up to make Max totally devoted and enslaved to her will. His obsession to please her and serve her would now be unstoppable.

When Max came back from his trip, he would be her subservient little toy. Her grin grew wider. What else could she make him do? Or who else could she transform?

Oh fuck, why did this feel so good?

What the fuck was she doing?

"Noooo what did I just do?" she sobbed, disgusted at herself. "Those batteries... they're... they're doing something to me. Something bad. I... I felt so fucking turned on when I began to dominate Max's mind. This isn't me, I'm not a bad person."

Her grin fading, Alanah felt a rising panic. She loved Max, he was her boyfriend and she'd just violated his mind and fucked up his personality. Looking down she saw a flash of pink electricity run across her hands and into her body and she suddenly realised she was being affected.

With a sudden sobbing gasp she turned over the controller and ripped out the batteries. Pink lightining flashed as she threw them across the room and they hit the wall.

Alanah took a deep breath to steady herself. "I have to destroy those batteries - but... but I need to reverse these changes first. Ohhh shit, why am I so horny?"

Looking down Alanah could see her pussy was soaking. She had been so turned on manipulating Max and her new eighteen year old body felt so good, she had never felt this turned on. Even now - disgusted by her actions - she also couldn't stop thinking how hot it had felt to control Max and have such Godlike power. Part of her wanted more.

Her nipples were errect and her body ached with desire. She had never felt so fucking turned on. Pink lightning crackled over her skin. She needed... mmmmmh... she needed release. No... she needed to deal with these evil batteries.

Crawling over to the batteries she carefully picked them up in her sweater, trying not to touch them. She had meant to go over to the Xbox controller with them, but instead she found her feet carrying herself up to her bedroom.

Alanah could barely think straight. The urgent heat in her loins needed to be dealt with. She could turn Max and herself back later. First - she needed to let off some steam. Urgently.

Ripping down her panties, she urgently slid her fingers into her wetness and began to hump herself like a nympho. It felt good... but not good enough. For some reason she needed more.

Opening her drawer, she pulled out her bullet vibrator and pushed the button. This would do it.

Nothing happened.

"Nooooo I need... I need it," groaned Alanah as she shook with lust. She had never needed anything so badly. Her fingers pumped in and out of her pussy, but the release she needed was lacking.

Her horny mind craved the vibrator. She needed to feel it pulsing against her clit. She NEEDED it.

Wrenching open the battery case she tossed the duds aside. Strange, she'd only changed them recently. She needed power and rapidly her eyes fell on the pink corroded batteries nestled in her sweater.

Yesssssss.

She knew this was a terrible idea, but it seemed so hot. The batteries had already made her do bad things, putting them in her vibrator was surely asking for trouble. Mmmmh but it was also such a deliciously naughty idea. She wanted to be good, but now she also wanted to be bad. The evil side of her was becoming stronger and she wanted to know how it felt to get even worse. She giggled as she wondered what the batteries would do to her tiny vibrator.

Picking them up, Alanah moaned as she pushed them in and let the pink lightning crackle over both her and the vibrator. Giving into the batteries, to the corrosion... it felt GOOD.

"Yessssssss," she hissed as her tiny vibrator began to swell and grow. In moments it had become a sleek chrome wand, with a new row of buttons on.

Slut mode. Bitch mode. Goddess mode.

Intrigued and desperate for release, Alanah pushed slut mode and the vibrator buzzed into life. Large and powerful, it hummed with obscene power as she brought it down between her legs and screamed in ecstasy.

"Yessssss!" she hissed as pink lightning crackled around her body and she humped the vibrator with a wild grin on her face. She could feel the corrosive power of the batteries throbbing into her body, changing her and corrupting her.

"YESSSS I LOVE IT!"

She screamed, quivering and shaking as pleasure stronger than anything she'd ever felt before pulsed through her.

Alanah's small breasts began to swell and grow and she moaned as she pushed the vibrator hard against her pussy. "Yessss make them BIGGER," she cried. She had always been jealous of girls with big breasts, now she would be the one to make others jealous.

Lightning crackled over her body, each surge bringing her closer to orgasm. Each throb and buzz of pink power was corrupting her, improving her, making her better.

"Yessss give it to meeeeeee!"

Her face became sluttier and prettier, her once innocent features now those of a porn star as her hair grew even blonder and her skin became softer. Her ass was now bigger and rounder, her waist slimmer but her hips wider. She had the body of a fuckdoll now and she liked it.

Being an 18 year old blonde slut felt good.

Alanah grabbed one of her now impressively large breasts and squeezed it in pleasure as she rode her vibrator. She felt so good, but she needed more.

She didn't want to be a slut. She wanted to be a bitch.

The vibrator had given her the perfect body but her mind didn't quite match. She was still a goody goody in part. She needed to go deeper.

Her thumb slid up the vibrator to the next setting.

"Noooo, I can't. If I push it... I'll become evil. This fucking thing will destroy my mind and turn me into a total bitch. Ohhh shit why does that sound so hot?"

If she could just cum, she could fight this terrible temptation, but she couldn't. The only way she could cum was if she became a bitch.

She thought about Max... how much she loved him, even if he often was an asshole. She thought about her job, about the homeless people who relied on her. She tried to fight it.

Mmmmmh but why fight it?

A slutty smiled spread over Alanah's face. Wouldn't it feel good to become a selfish, wicked bitch who never had to care about anyone but herself? It's not like she would ever regret this decision once she transformed.

This was her chance to have everything.

"Yesssss, make me into a fucking bitch," she groaned pushing the button for Bitch Mode.

The vibrator intensfied and throbbed even harder against her pussy and Alanah's eyes rolled up into her head as the orgasmic pleasure took her to a new plateau.

The pink lightning intensified around her body and she moaned and gurgled as it crackled into her brain.

She was being rewired... corroded and corrupted. All her decency and kindness was being rewired to cruel-ambiton, selfishness and pleasure.

"YESSSSSSSSS. Ughhhh make me mean, make me fucking evil! Turn me into a bitch!"

Alanah shook and moans came out of her mouth as her head rolled in pleasure. It felt so good to have her entire personality rewired.

She no longer felt any guilt about controlling Max and making him a simp. She loved dominating others and manipulating men. Lying, cheating, seducing, corrupting... these were the things that brought her pleasure. Along with expensive clothes, fine wines and hard nasty sex of course.

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile... a permanent resting bitch face. Cold blue eyes flickered with pleasure as the new bitch luxuriated in her superior personality and looked back at her old life with contempt.

Alanah... such a weak pathetic girl. Her lips curved into a malicious grin as she thought of all those pathetic homeless people who would no longer have any help now that stupid goody goody Alanah was no more. She was a new bitch now - she was Lana.

Lana stretched her body, pushing the vibrator harder against her pussy and sighing in contentment. She was all that mattered. Her tight perfect pussy couldn't take much more. Only one thing remained to do.

Lana pushed the button for Goddess Mode.

"Ohhhh fuck yesss, give it to me," she hissed. "Make me fucking cum and destroy every last ounce of goodness in this body. Finish my transformation into Goddess Lana.

The vibrator throbbed with unholy power and Lana arched her perfect body into the air. She screamed in lust, her angelic, yet evil features a mask of ecstasy as her pussy began to cum.

She squirted hard, juices blasting out as she screamed like a banshee. "OHHHH MY FUCKING GAWDDDD. YESSSSSSS!"

The batteries throbbed with power as they pumped energy into Lana... bolstering her narcissim, increasing her libido and her desire to dominate. She was now the ultimate bitch and the most powerful Goddess.

With a bang the vibrator overloaded and the evil batteries melted in a flare of pink energy. Lana screamed as the last of the unholy energy surged into her body and her corruption was completed.

She orgasmed one last time, another spray erupting from her pussy as she collapsed onto the bed and panted and moaned in satisfaction.

"Mmmmmhhhhhh oh yessssss," she groaned as she removed the ruined vibrator from between her legs and giggled at the drenched bed underneath her.

Standing up, she walked to her mirror and admired her new body. "Mmmmh I truly AM a Goddess now."

But what about her batteries? Her wonderful batteries were ruined.

Walking to the bed, Lana picked up one of the drained batteries that had orginally been in the vibrator. As she held it between her fingers, pink sparks arched between them and she watched with interest as the battery corroded and turned a bright vibrant pink.

"Looks like I have the power now," purred Lana as she charged the other battery and laughed evily.

"I can now corrupt as many devices as I like. Mind control, time control... who knows what else I will be able to do when I try other devices? I truly AM a fucking Goddeas now. This world will be my plaything and I'll do whatever the fuck I want."

Her soul, body and mind corroded - the new Uber-Bitch walked off with a clop of high heels to go find the Xbox controller.

She had even more changes to make to Max... and then the rest of the town would follow.

The whole world was her toy now. It was easy, when you had the power...

THE END

[alsanderecho]

The Grind

Todd really did enjoy working from home. He loved the perks of getting to roll right out of bed when his alarm went off, and he loved not being stuck in traffic every morning and evening on his commute. But recently, he was starting to feel like he couldn't focus. It was important to him to succeed at this job, so he could keep rising in the ranks at his ad agency, but there were too many distractions that weren't allowing him to prove himself: chores to do, food to eat, noise from his neighbors. Dear God, the noise!

The window of his home office opened right out onto the alley behind his apartment. It was summer, so he needed the windows open in order to snag that cross breeze and keep from boiling to death, but the teenage skaters that seemed to swarm the alley during summer break were out and about in full force.

He tapped his chin with his pen, trying to come up with a good word that a cat might use to describe the delicious new treats Todd's client was going to feed him, but he found himself distracted yet again by the noise from the skaters outside. He wondered how they didn't get bored, with their endlessly repetitive roster of lame-ass tricks that all sounded the same.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That's all Todd heard all day, over and over, with metronomic regularity. If he could harness one-tenth of the passion that these burnouts used when trying to learn ollies or whatever, he would be CEO within the week.

God, if only. He felt like he was working himself to the bone, with no results. A mighty headache was threatening to rear up and throttle his brain, too. He had been chugging Pedialyte, hoping to at least make it to the end of his shift. If he used even one sick day, he worried he'd seem like a slacker who wasn't committed.

OK, staring at his laptop screen wasn't working. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Sometimes physically writing things down helped his creative juices flow. He tapped his pen on his chin with a maniacal rat-a-tat rhythm. It didn’t help. He sighed and hung his head in his hands. He just wanted to rise in the ranks. To get a better life for himself. Why was this so difficult?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd tapped his pen on his chin more slowly. Was it just him, or were the skaters kind of perfectly timing their tricks? It sounded almost like the percussion on one of his favorite classical compositions. He strained to listen.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, there was definitely a meter to the noises, so precise that his brain felt like it could slot perfectly into them. He realized the predictability of the noise would be beneficial in terms of helping him ignore the skaters and focus back on work. As long as he internalized the rhythm, it would just fade into the background.

He pulled the paper toward him and began tapping with fresh vigor, trying to let the noise sink into the back of his brain.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound was still present, but it was already becoming more like a gentle hum he was only vaguely aware of.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That’s right. He felt the noise begin to flow through him. It was just like living in an apartment by the freeway, he thought. You can ignore any noise if it becomes familiar enough.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Familiar… Familiar… Family! He scribbled on his notepad. “Your cat is a part of the family…” He sucked on the end of his pen. He couldn’t figure out what to put next, but it was a start. He stared at the paper for what felt like another ten minutes, continuously drawing a blank. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck, that headache was building again. He knew he was only feeling bad because of stress, but how was he supposed to de-stress when he had a deadline? He stared at the paper intensely, willing words to appear on it.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

A particularly loud thud jolted Todd out of his reverie. Fuck, he was getting jumpy. Maybe he should take a ten minute break. As soon as he figured out the end of this tagline. He sucked on the end of his pen once more, but as he did so, something weird happened. There must have been a hole in the clicker of his pen, because he felt it break open, releasing a hot, gaseous substance into his mouth.

He gasped in surprise, accidentally forcing the gas into his lungs, which began to feel like they were burning. He gave a panicky cough and a plume of smoke trailed weakly from his mouth. What the fuck? He closely inspected his pen, but everything looked totally normal. Perhaps the end was a little damp from him sucking on it. But he saw nothing that explained what had just happened to him.

The burning sensation still tickled his lungs, but it was quickly mellowing into something… something quite nice, actually. His toes felt a little tingly, and a sense of calm washed over him. He felt his muscles relax somewhat as he slumped back into his chair. His headache was even receding a bit. If he could get it to go away entirely, maybe he could finally finish…

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, fuck it. He was gonna try again. He put the end of the pen in his mouth and took another deep breath. Once more, the top of the pen opened up and expelled smoke, which he took into his lungs and held there, enjoying the warming sensation before blowing it out in a tight stream.

That’s the ticket. He felt the headache recede entirely. He finally felt well and truly relaxed. He flipped his hoodie up over his head and drew the drawstrings. Wait, he hadn’t been wearing a hoodie, had he? Fuck it, he didn’t care. He was now warm and cozy, inside and out. He felt better than he had in a long time.

But it was still too hot under the hood. It felt right to be wearing it, even in summer somehow, but he could feel sweat glistening on his forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, but he still felt himself grow hotter and hotter, yet strangely lazy and unwilling to actually do something about it because he was SO relaxed.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He began to sweat so much that his perfectly coiffed hair started to wilt, dangling down in front of his eyes. It then just… kept going. It extended down over his face to the point that he thought the sweaty strands might poke him in the eyes. His normal instinct would have been to sweep it back, but in his addled state, he instead gave a practiced flick of the head, gathering the hair at one side. The color began to change from a strawlike dirty blond, to brunette, to dark brown, to a black so concentrated it must have been dyed. But he never dyed his hair, had he? He liked being a natural blonde.

Fuck, it was SO hot. Why had he chosen to wear this hoodie? A memory blossomed of him putting it on that morning. Well, of course he had worn this hoodie. It was his favorite hoodie. He wore it every day, whatever the weather. Sure, he could do to wash it. It stank of sweat and pot smoke, but it was his and he loved it.

He needed to cool down something fierce, though. He made a move to pull the hoodie off from around his head, but his hands unconsciously ignored his intention, opting to flip up the collar of his open button-down instead. As he adjusted the collar to look perfectly mussed and careless, the material of the shirt turned coarse and thick as it became a battered denim jacket.

He was totally unaware that he hadn’t perfectly executed his plan, still feeling relaxed and a little fuzzy from his vape pen. That’s what it was, of course. A vape pen. He wasn’t sure why he'd thought it was an actual pen, like for writing. He chuckled softly. Suddenly, being confused about things felt like it came more naturally to him, somehow. At first, he was confused about that, but then he wasn’t. Being confused isn’t confusing, is it? Is that confusing? Shaking his head and laughing, he took another hit off his vape pen and blew a perfect smoke ring, letting the warm fuzziness flow through him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He decided to return to his brainstorming. Although he was hot and not entirely clear-headed, he felt a burst of creative energy all of a sudden. He began to scribble on the notepad, working furiously as sweat began to pool on his forehead once more. He only noticed when it began to trickle down his face, tickling his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto the page. He scrubbed his face with his hand, not noticing that, as he did so, the hairs of his neatly trimmed beard were wiped entirely away, vanishing into thin air.

As he continued to scribble, his newly clean-shaven face grew pockmarked and yet more youthful and supple at the same time. His mustache, the only thing unaffected, began to recede into his upper lip, slowly shrinking back until it was just a dotting of stubble that suggested he’d been trying to grow one out but this was as far as he ever got. As if to compensate, his eyebrows thickened, darkening to a deep brown that better matched (but not entirely) his new hair color. He didn’t even notice the dark black strands hanging down over his eyes anymore, or the careful flick of his head that he gave periodically when he needed to concentrate.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The warmth around his head eventually made him feel sleepy and dull, and he couldn’t stop yawning. So, after a couple more minutes, he sat back and looked at the perfect tagline he’d been working on, only to realize that he’d just been doodling little cartoons all around the edge of the page instead of actually focusing on work.

“Dude, get a grip,” he said out loud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dude? Since when did he say dude?

He decided to take a break, cool down, and grab a Perrier sparkling water. Returning from his fridge with the green bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. His tongue was suddenly awash with the taste of sugary battery acid, and he had to fight not to spit it out. What the…?

He looked down and saw that he had accidentally grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew, not Perrier. He didn’t remember buying Mountain Dew, but maybe his nephew had left one behind when he had come to visit last? He thought about going back to the fridge to swap out the drinks, but it suddenly seemed so far away. And now that he knew what flavor to expect, the taste wasn’t all that bad, actually.

He took another swig of the soda, the sugary concoction lighting up his insides.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His skin began to feel itchy. Was he having an allergic reaction to the soda? He lifted up the hem of his hoodie and scratched at his stomach. As he did so, he felt the light blonde hairs of his treasure trail wriggling back into their follicles, leaving him perfectly smooth. What the fuck?

Finally, the shock of what he had just felt pierced his newfound love for the hoodie and he ripped it off, along with the denim jacket. He rushed into the bathroom, arriving in front of the mirror just in time to see his sparse blonde chest hair receding back into his skin. He ripped off his chinos as well, panicking as he saw the hairs on his legs vanishing into thin air. He did a quick 360 and checked in his underwear, noting that the only hair that remained on his entire body was his pubic hair and armpit hair, both of which seemed thicker than usual and were quickly darkening to a deep brown as though they were in a time-lapse video.

He watched this happen in horror, but even with his hoodie off, his head still felt warm and sleepy. His senses felt dulled, and he struggled to think of what he could possibly do next. He began to breathe faster in his panic, his belly jiggling slightly as he did so. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe… Nothing.

As he watched, his soft tummy had begun to recede as well, revealing cobblestone abs like the tide pulling out over a rock formation. His doughy chest began to firm up as well, shrinking into a pair of lean pecs, his round nipples shrinking and popping out from their perches on the hardened mounds as soon as they were finished forming.

“Holy shit, dude, I’m ripped!” he said, letting the slang tumble breezily out of his mouth without a second thought while he rubbed his abs with both hands. The ridges of his stomach made his fingers tingle and his arms shrank, lean muscles emerging from the surface while his legs followed suit, the thighs shrinking into the perfect fit for skinny jeans - where had that thought come from? - while his calf muscles rippled and stretched, their new bulging shape accentuated by his hairless, pale skin.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd felt the noise from the alley reverberate around his head. It sounded like someone out there must have fucked up a crooked grind real bad. ‘Gnarly,’ he thought, imagining how much pain they must be in. His mental image grew more and more clear and vivid. Somebody falling onto the asphalt on their elbows.

He felt a slash of pain across his elbows and held them up, seeing red in the mirror before it faded into a pair of scarred, scabbed patches that he felt like had always been there. He returned to his reverie. Somebody skinning their knee after narrowly avoiding hitting a tree. Another slash of pain and the skin on his knee suddenly looked knobbly, like it was still healing.

As potent mental images flitted one by one through his brain, scars and scrapes began to dot his body. Slash, slash. Two more long scars on the left knee. Slash. A long red scrape along his right pec that looked dope as hell. Slam. His palms became pockmarked and gravel-scraped.

Not even noticing the pain anymore as his skin toughened and ever-so-slightly tanned, he stood up straight to his full height, admiring the effect of his newfound musculature. He was too busy trying (and failing) to pop his skinny pecs to notice that his “full height” was a couple inches shorter than it used to be.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound of the skaters outside brought him back to the present. Wasn't he supposed to be doing something, other than checking himself out in the mirror? He got dressed, throwing his hoodie and jacket back on. He could have sworn he’d been wearing a different pair of pants earlier, but all he found crumpled on the bathroom floor was his favorite pair of joggers. Oh well, he threw them on too.

He was halfway out the door when he remembered he was supposed to be doing something at home. Where the hell did he think he was going? He shook his head, trying to remember. He still felt sleepy and slow, his thoughts inching along as he tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

He reached into his pocket for his vape pen and realized he’d left it on his desk. His desk! That’s what he was doing! He was still on the clock! He needed to work!

He wandered over to his desk, took a drag from the vape, and stared in consternation at the notepad in front of him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He knew he was supposed to care about this dumb shit about cat food or whatever, but he really wasn’t feeling it. Something in the back of his mind told him that he’d get money if he finished it though, so he decided to give it a shot. He sat back in his chair and found himself falling, the chair’s seat vanishing beneath him. Before he hit the ground, however, he was caught with a soft flump in a squishy, slick mound.

He looked down and saw that he was in a beanbag chair. Something was wrong here. He could feel his brain slowly whirring. Was it the chair? No, it’s the one he’d brought from home when he moved in. He saw his initials carved crudely into the fabric on his right side.

What was wrong, then? Was it his desk? No, he didn’t have a desk, did he? He looked up and saw his entertainment unit in front of him, his XBOX still glowing green because he’d forgotten to turn it off earlier. No, all that looked normal.

So what was wrong? Was it the fact that he was worrying about money?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His parents paid for whatever shit he wanted as long as he kept his community college grades up, so there was no need to worry.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No need to worry at all, really. About anything. Or think, even. He barely ever went to class. He just wanted to hang with his friends at the skate park. But as long as he flirted with his professors the right way, he passed with flying colors. He was a studied flirt, even if he wasn’t a studied anything else.

Anyway, his parents would let him drop out once he proved he could make money as an X Games champion. He rubbed his dick through his joggers, not noticing as it plumped up a few extra inches while he fantasized about all the tail he’d get once he was a skateboarding champion with endorsement deals and shit.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No, he had all the money he needed. He just wished he was 21 already, so he could buy weed for himself at the dispensary. Then everything would be perfect. Just two more years, he reminded himself. He could survive on stealing shit from his older brother's stash at home until then.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd leaned back in the beanbag and reveled in that sound. His favorite sound. He loved it so much. He never wanted to stop hearing it. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice the rest of the room change around him. The tasteful Pier One art being swapped out for posters of busty babes and retro Tony Hawk video games sloppily scotch taped onto the walls. The cream-colored couch he’d saved up for was now scuffed, stained orange in patches from crushed Cheeto dust, and stank of weed.

The wall that formerly held potted plants was now devoted to a rack of the sickest custom boards anyone had ever seen. Not that he’d made any of them, he didn’t have time for that shit. He just paid other people to bring his dope-ass ideas to life.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd was rubbing his dick absent-mindedly again and came in his underwear. Fuck. He hadn’t prematurely ejaculated in months, now. As he changed his underwear, leaving the cum-drenched boxers on the floor by the beanbag, he worried about doing that in front of a babe he wanted to score.

He needn’t have worried. Todd didn’t know it, but he would never have worries again. Inside that underwear, which would remain on the floor forgotten for the next two weeks, contained the last vestiges of his previous life, expelled through pure pleasure at the life he got to live now. What he left behind was a person he would never remember and who he would shudder to think had even existed in the first place.

No, he was destined for a dope life. In a clean pair of underwear and his favorite kicks, he wandered his way into the back alley, watching his friends Tate and Landon practicing tricks while offering them tips and taking a hit off his vape. The grind was over for Todd now, though that word already meant something entirely different to him at this point.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

[alsanderecho]

Lit Gud Streamin

With much encouragement from @dumb-and-jocked

>First Time Streamin’ bro?

The house husband blushed at the first comment coming to respond to him.

Carson Green was anxious…he’d heard of streaming but never tried it until some pestering from his Gaymer group as of late.

The stay at home husband wanted to help with the finances, hence why he even considered it in the first place. Sure it was nice being a homemaker, and definitely had a flair in cooking, but he wanted to do something different.

“Y…Yeah, it’s my first time.”

>LOL K

He was relatively unsure of this, but he had known and spoken to several of the guys a week ago, and though he could have sworn they talked about a different topic entirely, he recalled about many of them bragging about ‘raking in the dough’ for gaming.

True enough, many of them are not only being paid handsomely in royalties for streaming, but they have a surprisingly large fanbase!

Admittedly, he was sort of shocked…and sort of jealousy that many of them are quite popular online, almost like they reached stardom within a week or less.

But regardless, his group also promised that they will help out with ‘assimilating’ him into the platform and moderate his stream. So surely he would reach a certain level of success with their guidance.

Though he’s still unsure how exactly will do they so.

“W…What games will we be playing?”

>Dis the game dude

>Ur in it, brought in da Boiz to watch the stream.

With that, the number count rose exponentially, from single digits, to doubles.

The house husband blushed, twiddling his thumbs at being watched by wide audience. Is it like a reality show game? Or is it something different entirely?

Granted, there weren’t any instructions or briefings given about it. Maybe it is a more on the spot, spontaneous kind of thing?

“D…Do I need to do anything in particular?”

>Just be yourself , LOL

>You gotta impress us Noob.

He…kind of doesn’t like being called a noob, but he is new to streaming after all. So he ought to listen to them, no matter how they are like.

>Dude, ur Tagline?

Tagline…?

Oh yeah! All the cool streamers he watched had one.

Wait? Since when did he watch…well he is a gamer after all, so it’s only natural that he DID watch streams, at least some of em by proxy. He is rather connected to the other guys.

“Ummm…ok LOL, what kind of tagline. Do you all have any suggestions, dudes?”

>Just Lit Gud man.

>Yeah RAT

He thought maybe it’s tough love or something…though it really feels extremely rude. Almost draining even, like yeah it was exhausting trying to keep up with his group’s gaming shenanigans, but even in their streamin’ advice?

C’mon Man!

Plus he’s just got married not a while ago! They could’ve at least be NICE to him since he’s now tied down! Like don’t get me wrong, he loves his husbro, but when all is said and done, he does miss the glory days of being with the rest of the guys.

“Look, I-D-K if Lit Gud Noobs is such a nice tagline?”

Desperate for a win here. Yeah, he may be getting quite aggro. But it’s justified! Bro.

“And who you callin’ Rat, RATZ!”

His mouth slurred at that remark, a very sleazy…immature slur as he quickly covered his mouth in that regard.

Though admittedly, he kinda liked that.

After all, if he was the rat, then these noobs are his goons. And while he usually isn’t the dominant one in his relationships, admittedly he kinda liked roleplaying as one of the typical bros, even if he wasn’t THAT asian compared to them.

>RAT BOD

>You lift Bro?

“My body…its not that well off-“

>Get lit or get Shyt on

He’s gotta get LIT.

Watching as his weight sizzle away down, melting away the bubbling tummy fat into a faint trail of a six pack, straining loosely on the shirt being his college grad pectorals.

Gotta show off after all. Specially during the bachelor’s party!

His diet consisted of pizza, soda and chips. And so ducking what? Body trim as DUCK, that’s how he lived and how his rats loved it. Some people said it was his GENE-tics or some shit that he had this bod, but you know what he says to em’?

Get lit or get Shyt on!

But even so, da shyt? Why did these bastards gotta treat him like that? Weren’t they all buds or somethin’?

“You RATZ are always so rude.”

>We rude? KAPPA

>Haha Noob!

With every interaction and vocabulary pollution, hunching lazily towards the screen, eyes entranced by the masses of comments.

LIGHTING and EMPHASIZIN’ random words, like an obnoxious mixture tainting his patience. Persistent name calling and being on the receiving end of the relationship kinda pisses him off.

>LOL K, How’s the stream?

But admittedly, a growing part of him is really getting pumped, while irritated, a small part of him liked broadcasting to these gamers.

If only they had some MAN-NERS, sheesh!

“How the streamin’ goin? Dude IDK, just a Jerkin’ stream today, nothin but insults.”

> Git Gud

> Just Git Gud

> Noob

Chat, filled with your run of the mill, cloned responses. Your typical mocks and insults, passive threading onto aggressive, a fine balance of being slightly very aggro but chill, producing RUDE DUCKIN’ INSULTS.

Each one after another, a shytposting blend that makes the stupid obnoxiousness rise higher and higher. Calves toning out from jumping upwards in sports as his body shrunk downward, making sure he sees eye to eye with dem BOIZ.

One liner aggressiveness alongside swarms of memes and complete nonsense. Idiotic behaviour, fitting a ‘RatChat’. Blending in with the other dudes, speakin’ their language, participating campus exercises and roughing around with the other bros!

Like a game, course, they are gamers after all. They know the COMBO, dissecting their streamer bud like it’s nothin’! Insults kicking right from the beginning!

He wanted to beat them at their own game!

Be hetter-BETTER! Calson Greo wanted to be a PRO.

“Alright RATZ, What’ll make me less of a noob and g-”

>Git Gud Noob

“GIT GUD?”

His voice slurred, eyebrows raised as he slumped back in his gaming chair. Like a simple command burning into his skull.

He just gotta GIT GUD! No instructions needed, except you gotta be IN DA LOOP. At TOP! As his buttocks clenched at the refusal of being BOT! Cheeks meant for exercise and gamin’.

He had to GIT GUD! And that’s being on top of his game always!

>You gotta be LIT Fam

“LIT?”

A delicious fuming rage erupted from his screen, as a multitude of laughing frogs and emojis filled his entire chat.

Igniting a fire within, his skin tanning till its just RIGHT. Made for a BOI who spends time gamin’ both online and in sports. Just like every other of his classmates back on campus.

>Stop being such a QUEER

“QUEER? Da SHYT?”

SHYT, these men tryin’ to get under his skin. Really making him all pent and rock solid. NO HOMO!

Wait WUT?

DUDE! LIEK…man he’s really even sounding immature in his thoughts? Wasn’t he some sort of QUEER? DA FK? He was g…a…guy, A GUY! YEAH! He was a guy like em!

“Thought you all stand for GUY RIGHTS?”

HE ALWAYS TOPS! Yeah so maybe he had a PHAG, but it was clear they are ‘sabotaging’ his GAY STREAM and tryin’ makin’ it the way it ought to be!

Full of SHYT-talkin’, assholes are dragging him down to THEIR level. A more rodent, nastier bunch instead of friendly GHEYS! But alright! If these idiots want to game, then they gonna-

>Look PHAG, if you want to WIN you gotta stop sucking

“SUK DEEZ NUTS!”

GOTTEM

An obnoxious Tenor bursted out from the man, retaliating like an immature douchebag as he finally sunk to their level. Height stooping at an average 5ft 9, GPA scores barely scrapping by the median. A fellow backslider like the crowd.

And HE was going to let these DOUCHEBOIS get it HARD!

>Just Chillax Gay Boi

“I AM CHILLAX!”

He sneered, as his voice rose into a stupidly obnoxious loud tenor, allowing that youthful tone engulf him in an asian tan like his peers, makin’ sure he is part of the Hivemind that is Snitch culture.

“No Sweats allowed…Just CHILLAX man…”

Feeling his mind sinking into the mass rebellious conformity that is his gamin’ community, his voice cooled slightly, gifted the flexibility to yell when he WANTS to BOIIII!

His buttoned down fused, as the simple white tee clung over his frame with slackened glee, bluntly accentuating his pectorals, as a typical print was plastered over like another typical meshed up shirt that the zoomers would wear.

He was NO SWEAT, Trousers shortening up to his thighs, lightening up into a more mesh, flexible material. Hanging loose L-sized on his waist are his flaming red basketball shorts, stickin’ out like a sore thumb whenever the dude stands up or goes for a bathroom breaks.

>Yo streamer, you a player?

“Am I a play-yer?”

The young man slurred, smirking as he acknowledged that remark, teasing those thirsty PHAGS and RATZ like he always does.

ResidentSnorer and various funny frogs spammed the chat box like no other, skyrocketing his view count to the thousands.

The young Boi loved every minute of it. He was getting the fame, boi.

“Course I am, ain’t easy being this good…”

>u dating someone?

“DAY-TING?”

Slippers took a hit in their quality, soft material becoming a pair of stretchable basketball shoes. Made for the kind of guy who keeps his options open.

Both in da basketball court, and in da bed. And yeah, it was technically his home. Well, he and his GAY fiancé’s. But it’s mostly a BRO thing! Roommates with benefits!

“Boiz, I have a fiancé , but..”

>Sounds Sus

>you gay or what?

His eyes widened, SHYT, he wasn’t supposed to say that. Not that he minded the older man…except when he was being GHEY-but weren’t they a couple…of MEN.

But aren’t they together? Da SHYT! He was a playah! BUT what about that time when they cuddled-BRUH that’s GHEY! BUT WHAT ABOUT-YOU GHEY BROSKI? BRO? B-

“BUTT-FK! I mean…I MEAN my BOI-FRIEND!”

>MEGAFAG

Fiddling the ring, the band stretched beyond the size of his palm, turning into pure eleastic as it slid down his right wrist, loosely fitting like its part of some showoffy trend.

As the chat continues to spam various emotes, including a distinct rainbow head, don’t these douchebags know he’s single and ready to mingle? Why are they thinkin’ he’s gonna be bangin’ it with some dude?

“Who you noobs calling GAY? It’s just ONE night!”

> QUEER ALERT!

> GAY GAY GAY

One hand palming below, the other one flippin the stream. Colson Groh’s darkened hair flicked down the side, his new asian ethnicity fully taking hold without remorse, blending in with the group of bullies pickin’ on him and his-FAG!

“One night of PRANKIN FAGS!”

Picking on em hard, he wasn’t one of em, but man is it HOT setting them STRAIGHT! The twenty two year college dude smirked, as PHAGS couldn’t resist starin’ at his clean-shaven slack-jaw and risen cheekbones till they get completely RAT PRANKED.

GGEZ

>Ayyy LIT

>Lets go BOI

>AFKin’ RAT!

“Bet you all can’t get ladies to your doorstep.”

>Check GayPay

GayPay my arse, StraightCoin’s the deal bro.

Though speakin’ of ladies. Hot damn…is he THAT dry? Cause he’s having that fantasy every straight, gamin’ charged college guy’s has.

Surrounded by hot ladies.

Then again, he’s always THIRSTIN’. Course, a guy like him can get a bunch of women in a flash. But he totally can jerk like a maiden-less douchebag like a bunch of the idiots watchin’ him.

Makes him relatable to his RATZ, yeah? Sides, nothin’ wrong with a lil jerkin’ on cam, nothing GHEY bout it!

>Yo RAT, check out your numbers

>BRO past 7k

>NO CAP

LIT_GUD: +7k subs

“Nggh!”

Rapidly vibrating his 7 inch joystick, brows raised as they thinned out. The last bit of hesitation melting away, making way for youthful gamin’ bravado as a seedy wide grin beamed in the stream.

“How to LIT GUD getting chicks?”

>PRO-DUCTION BRO!

>GIT LIT STREAM!

>YEEEEAAAAH BOI!

Comments flooding all over his stream, a mass mindset and mentality calling all to pump. PUMP! Pumping his POG-O STICK to the MAX! The Go-To-Game for men of his kind.

The HIGH score, as his eyes narrowed in utmost dumb simplicity, tilting his head upward to the ceiling as he grinned wildly as he thought bout’ that simple fantasy!

All da LADIES comin’ at him. YAAA BOIII!

“JUST LIT GUD BOIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Colton Goh no scoped all over his boxers, slumping back as drops of youthful rebellion spluttered all over, mucking it with obnoxious bully testosterone like he always does.

Feels so LIT! Being able to climax whenever the heck he wants, why abstain when he can just LIT GUD MAN! All those goody two shoe brethren back at campus grounds are really missin’ out.

But of course, he’ll scoop the remaining wads of mayo to his jerk off bottle later. He may be a backslider, but he gotta be up in his production game, beat his last record and all that shiz.

Speakin’ of which.

“E….Z….”

7k’s still just rookie numbers for a guy like him, but considering he got it all in a bunch of hours, he’s as good as the pros like the rest of em’!

“Yo…and that’s how you dudes get the ladies, man.”

>AYYYOOOO

>MY STREAMER!

>YA BOIIIIII

“Boiz, if you see any gays going all homo on ya. You gotta give em the LIT GUD!”

Normally he would collab with his streaming buds, but he really oughta help his Bromies out by teachin em.

Especially ratting out GHEYS until they turn into a couple of rats like he is. And what better way than to create his own Streamin’ channel? All he got to do was be himself bro.

Brings in the subs, and sides, hot chicks dig him, and fags thirstin’ over him get weeded out until they are a bunch of rats like he and his gamer crew.

‘[TOP] Gay Dude Joined the stream’

Speaking of fags…

“Ayy, a new fag joined the stream, sweet.”

Not sure how did ‘Gay Dude’ squirmed into his ‘TOP’ friends list, but he must’ve added him during that stupid RNG game he tried last night while he drank Heteroade with the bois.

But honestly, heh, he doesn’t give a Rats arse bout em’. After all, he needed someone to dunk on to celebrate his 7k Subs, so why not make sure the fag gets the whole RatChat streamin’ experience?

Heh, this will be hot.

“Give em a couple of Lit Guds in the chat, noobs.”

[alsanderecho]

Totally Normal

The things @sjw-publishings brings out of me

“Welcome back to Totally Normal, the online show where we narrow down the one thing that makes us all meet that standard!”

The host then hit a button on his laptop, releasing an audio for an uproarious round of applause. With his entire audience streaming in live, he had to make due with tracks. He didn’t mind it though; he could always predict what his viewers were thinking. It was like they shared the same mind.

“My name’s DJ, and before you ask, yes I have a side gig in music.” A laugh track obnoxiously inserted itself. “I don’t dabble in the typical jazz; I remix these men back to the tunes they oughta be singing.”

Another fake round of applause. The host smirked before continuing forward with the rules.

“The point of the game is simple: Figure out that one thing that makes someone totally normal. Through a series of questions, I’m going to chisel away at our contestants until we get to the base. For every wrong answer, a vibration will be sent out to their device until they head back on the right track. We want to find out that one thing that solidifies them as an average joe, but we don't exactly know what that thing is."

The host then took a scripted pause. "Well, I know what that thing is.”

Another laugh track entered before the host silenced his imaginary audience. “So, let’s get down to it. We have our men here, but ARE THEY NORMAL?”

The last three words were all enunciated with the typical gameshow pazazz. The host even had an accompanying audio that made it seem like there was an audience chanting it with him. 

On cue, the livestream booted up a panel of the three contestants. The first was a shy young man, who by his age looked to be in college but by his height possibly younger. The second was the typical corporate homosexual, the breed who was already happily married and wore tight, designer clothing. And last but not least, the third looked just a little older than the first with an office that displayed the inner workings of a minor start-up.

“Help me welcome our first contestant, coming from the cool waves of Cali, here comes Cody!”

Corey opened his mouth to kindly correct the host, but was immediately silenced by the massive track of applause. A small and nervous 20-year-old, Corey was an academically-fine student at a state school. He worked as an IT intern, helping others work through their issues in a manner where he didn’t have to fully engage. Yet he knew he would probably have to work through this introvert problem if he ever truly wanted to make a loyal boyfriend from the crop of surfers across the street.

“Up next is our cowboy-tootin’, bullet-firin’ family man, Norman!”

Nolan made a face of disgust, but he too didn’t stand a chance against the fake cheers. He’d settled down with his husband just about 10 years ago in the suburbs. Working for a Fortune 500 company, he had everything a man of his caliber could want. Great company, great style, great pets instead of real children. Nolan loved his little metropolitan life.

“And finally, the privileged heir to the corporate throne, it’s Asher!” 

Aaron rolled his eyes as the artificial eruption burst through his speakers. He assumed that this narcissistic jock host had gotten all of the contestants names wrong. Aaron had built his own business up from the ground, an independent hard-worker with no one tying him down. It wasn’t that Aaron didn’t want a boyfriend, he just needed to focus on himself. That’s why he was keeping it casual, hooking up with boys a little younger and less responsible. He absentmindedly pawed at his crotch a little as the douchebag DJ started the game.

“Now,” the host cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Let’s start off with some easy questions, just to make sure those devices are working after all. Cody, you’re looking comfortable out on that beach!”

Corey looked around the library he was sitting in confusedly, neither comfortable nor on a beach.

“I think you’re mistaking me for the surfers across the street,” Corey tried to joke, but his feeble demeanor spoiled the comeback.

“Men…you all ought to be where all the other guys of your kind are at.”

All three of them put on bewildered faces.

“Cody, what’s holding you back from embracing that Cali life?” the host asked.

“I…I mean there’s the obvious fact that they aren’t keen on ga-”

BZZT

“Ah!” Corey ripped his hand away, the "vibration" more of a literal sting.

“Cody, what’s holding you back?” the host asked again.

“Dude,” Corey uncharacteristically responded. “I don’t know if they will accept me, man.”

“Bro, what’s there NOT to accept?” the host chuckled. “You fit right in!”

Corey looked over his short frame, his pale skin, his shrimpy figure. He appeared better fit for the library than the bea-

BZZT

“You’re right DJ! I'm a gnarly guy like them brahs! They’ll totally accept me!”

Corey looked over his tall frame, his tanned skin, his toned figure. He appeared better fit for the beach than the library–that’s why he was on the beach after all!

“Alright alright,” the host nodded with approval. “Now Norman, let’s talk about your life in the countryside.”

“‘Countryside’?” Nolan interjected. “Do you consider Houston-”

BZZT

Nolan flung his hand back, “HOWARDWICK the countryside? You bet! Population 402, the two being me and my husband.”

“And what massive land you got behind you, I’m assuming you and your male fling built that together.”

“My what?” Nolan peered behind him, noticing his garden he’d built with his hus-

BZZT

-the ranch he’d built with his hustle. Well, not technically–this land had been managed through the traditional good ole ways of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. He’d just been fixing it up here and there.

Nolan stretched his thickening fingers, hoping to desensitize them from the pain. “W…What in tarnation is goin' on ‘ere?”

The host continued on, mocking the Southern accent he’d implanted onto the second contestant. “A place fittin' for a cowpoke like y’all’s self! Ain’t no city folk allowed; you don’t want nothin’ queer intrudin' your property, right?”

“Queer?!” Nolan spat back. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’-“

BZZT

“Darn tootin’ straight! Ain’t nothin’ strange gonna be happenin’ on this ‘ere land.”

With the second contestant’s location rightfully reoriented, the host moved onto the third.

“And onto our Ivy League, let’s discuss ascension…I mean, ‘climbing the corporate ladder’.”

Aaron shot the host a dirty look through the screen. “You don’t think I worked hard to earn this position?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t do it all yourself.”

Aaron held his breath. He was a decently attractive man with his slim figure and responsible will, and even his anger made him appear wiser than his years. But Aaron's best feature was his independence, and he wasn’t going to let anyone taint his name over that.

“What, do you think my current boyfri-”

BZZT

“-my dating his-”

BZZT

“-my friends with benefits were involved?”

Aaron’s fingers tingled with energy. His body tingled with fury.

“Well,” the host snickered. “If by benefits, you mean…”

“What’s all this!” Aaron flipped. “This is simply…p…preposterous!”

“What are you talking about?” the host egged on. “It's simply normal for a man with your caliber to have such an ‘inheritance’.”

The other two contestants watched on with intrigue.

“I…I may have a b…benefactor,” Aaron suddenly revealed, as if something had just been placed upon his chest. But he was still independent, right? “But that has nothing to do with it!”

“Benefactor? Do you mean your DADDY?”

The fake audience suddenly burst into a chorus of shocked “Ooooohhhh”s. Aaron’s usual calm nature was flatlining, being replaced by a more quickly-agitated behavior.

“We may be really closely acquainted!” Aaron backpedaled. “But it’s nothing of that kind of sort!”

The other two contestants smirked as the growingly-pompous bastard was taken down a peg.

“Sounds pretty queer to me, man,” Corey interjected confidently, scratching at his defining abs.

“Yeah, Ah reckon that fellas a little less normal than us folks,” Nolan added, adjusting the large hat that had secured itself upon his head.

“SHUT UP SWINE!” Aaron spat, his face gaining back a little of his baby fat as he absorbed more child-like aggression. “I'm perfectly normal!”

The two men laughed alongside an obnoxious laughter track.

“He’s right folks, we men are on the right side of history.” The host knew he needed to move on, the show only had so much time of course, but he was having fun. “Surely that father-figure is just some kind of…relative?”

“Just a relative, brah?” Corey asked as his trim cut bloomed out into luscious blond waves.

“Seems closer than that, partner.” Nolan quipped as a graying stubble crawled upon his widening jaw.

“A….A relative?” Aaron stammered, a higher youthful pitch lightening his tenor as this benefactor became clearer in his head. “He’s…he’s someone who I f-“

BZZT

“Father! He’s my father: Asher Osvald the Third!” Aaron screamed, his blond locks gelling up into a refined style that didn’t match his own personality. “And you all better remember it when you see our company in the headlines!”

Both Corey and Nolan took their respectful back-offs, but the host could only smirk with pride. After a moment of self-congratulation, he noticed some slight hesitation from the first candidate.

“Dude…” Corey started. “Can’t you just see he’s messin’ with us, man? Don’t you guys feel kinda strange-“

“Aren’t you supposed to chill, dude?” The host immediately cut him off.

Corey’s mouth went flat, his chin taking the opportunity to curve out a little further. “How can I chill with-“

BZZT

“Without the support from my brosettes across the screen, duuuuude!”

The host watched on with glee as the female portion of the livestream burst into a flurry. Lots of hearts and kisses and even some eggplant emojis were flooding the chat. And the comments were getting suggestive too. One chick wanted to know why he was wearing a dorky button-up, and she was soon exposed to his lean bod and treasure trail. Another suggested he should flex for the camera, and Corey was happy to oblige, each of his muscles pumping larger as he did so.

“Now, Cody,” the host coyly asked. “I’m sure the fans would like to know what you do for work.”

“I uh…I work with coding.”

“You are studying IT?” the host replied, incredulous. “Sounds complicated man.”

Corey beamed at the compliment, an excited fever entering his voice. “Yeah, but I sort of have a gift for-“

BZZT

“IT...like as in ‘it’ man...not ‘eye-tee’ or whatever.”

“But it has something to do with a code, right?”

“Well…yeah man…” Corey’s lifeless vocal fry responded. “But it's not that nerdy crap…something more…uhhh…”

The host graciously provided the answer, “Manly?”

“Yeah man….’it’ is the uh…bro-code brah.” Corey fiddled with the cross necklace that had materialized around his neck, trying to structure his thoughts. Corey felt like his head was spinning in a light vertigo, but not out of stress. Rather, a pleasurable confusion. Cali dudes don’t think that much right? They just go with the flow, so why shouldn’t he man? Wasn’t that what was normal?

While Corey processed his internal dilemma, the host reconnected with the second contestant, noticing he too was becoming a little self-aware.

“Hey Norman, you’re really rocking that fit.”

Nolan was honestly surprised at the comment. He knew he looked good in his tight, patterned three-piece, but he didn’t think the ultra-straight host would notice that too.

“Those shoes must be great for the ranch.”

Nolan laughed. “These ole’ things? They’re Prada from last season-“

BZZT

“Uhh…Ah mean these boots are from that one brand-”

BZZT

“Ah’ve had these kickers for years, fella!”

The host observed quietly as the rest of the second contestant’s clothes altered. The suit jacket and vest disappeared completely. The pants grew out into a straight pair of jeans that had been worn continuously for many seasons. The shirt rolled it sleeves and loosened some buttons, darkening to a dusty black that was meant for hauling hay rather than implying gay. But as the outfit masculinized, there was one item that stubbornly fought back, unlike the man who wore it.

“And that belt, how long have you had that?”

Nolan evaluated the expensive snake leather. “Oh yeah, this ‘ere was a gift-“

BZZT

“What in TARNATION was that for?!” Nolan yelled, the vibration noticeably more painful than the previous blasts. The material of his belt quickly grew cheaper, a massive longhorn buckle blooming forth above his blooming pouch.

“S…Sorry y’all,” Nolan collected himself. “Ah don’t know what’s gotten ovah me, or why Ah’m speakin’ so-“

“Enough apologies,” the host gagged. “You are a man, are you not?”

“Yessiree, but that doesn’t mean we men ain’t got to be sens-”

BZZT

“Ah reckon yer right there, partner!” Nolan puffed out his chest, carrying his emerging muscle gut with him. “We men oughta be tough! The MAN of the household.”

The host snickered, his eyes meandering around the second contestant’s body as additional muscle and bulk was piled onto his frame. “And men like you ought to have a body like that, don’t they?”

The cowboy huffed, his torso heavy with Southern pride. Nolan had worked his muscular frame up over all these long years, from sunrise to sundown. At 6’4, his big hearty body was always devouring meat to stretch out everything from his big strong biceps to his huge Size 15 clompers!

With the first and second contestants almost there, it was time for the host to catch his third man up to speed. He had already advanced mighty far, his skin having cleared up a bit and a few arrogant gold trophies having appeared in the office background, but the host had some additional notches yet to secure before the final round.

“Now Asher, let’s get real here.” The host put on his classic douchebag smile for the audience. “Any ladies tickling that fancy lately?”

“What?” Aaron scoffed. “Are you dense? I'm into g-”

BZZT

“Girls…no…wait what?” Aaron felt strange. Why did the host ask if he liked…girls? And why was the thought of girls suddenly something he…liked?

“Listen ere’, partner,” Nolan suddenly interjected. “Yer talkin’ 'bout women like they’re nothin’!”

The host, displeased, fought back. “Aren’t you married to one, partner?”

Nolan couldn’t believe the disrespect. “Me? Married to a woman? Yeah right-”

BZZT

“-Ah am! Ah’ve been married to my lovely wife for darn straight twenty years! Ain’t nothing QUEER happenin' on this ‘ere normal ranch. I got youngins to raise after all!”

As Nolan became bombarded by memories of his new flock of children, the satisfied host switched back to his third contestant.

“Look, I think we should respect women.” Aaron tried his best to sound mature, now finding it extremely difficult to maintain. “In fact, I think we should respect all others appropriately-“

BZZT

“And by appropriately, I am referring to overlooking these swines of colleagues who cannot afford a top notch education adjacent to my own.”

The host queued up a laugh track for his next one-liner. “They weren’t kidding when they said someone with your prestige had everything handed down to you, including bad manners.”

Aaron felt his anger rising once again, it easily filling his shortening body as he squared out to an average 5’9.

“Well excuseeee me! I am my own person with-“

BZZT

“My father is a reputable man who would wish to-”

BZZT

“DADDY!”

Aaron stomped his foot, bewildered at this idiocracy. Why was he continuously interrupted? Why was he not given the required recognition? He was captain of the country club’s golf team, rowing team, youth league, and the youngest member on the executive board for Christ’s sake! He studied at an Ivy League! He was everything!

As Aaron tried to understand why none of these other men appreciated the absolute honors of his merit–which he refused to ever admit weren’t even his own–a small alarm went off from the host’s computer.

“Like what was that, mannnn?” Corey’s face furrowed into an all-too-natural look of dumbfoundment.

“Yeah,” Nolan reared. “What's y'all gonna do next?”

“I demand to know it this instant!” The host was surprised at the third contestant jumping in, but he assumed it was just his way of trying to maintain his (nonexisting) position on top. “Or else I’ll tell my father about this-!”

An insane uproar of artificial laughter echoed throughout their ears, startling and silencing them.

“Alright folks, you know what that sound means!” the host grinned. “It’s almost time to wrap up our show, and because our contestants still haven’t figured out what makes them 'Totally Normal', we’re going to have to speed things up!”

“But can’t there only be one winner?” Aaron whined.

“Technically, no,” the host responded honestly. “All of you can be winners if you find out what makes you totally normal.”

For the first time since the game had started, all three of the contestants fell silent.

“I mean, let’s look at our surfer stud Cody,” the host started. “You are almost there, but you gotta loosen that one thing that’s still pent-up, man.”

“Brah…” Corey complained. “What else is there?”

As if by some subconscious command from the host, Corey began dumbly palming himself, a light drool dripping from the edge of his lips. The constant cycle of tits and feminine bits in his mind bombarding all over thoughts.

“A totally gnarly surfer focuses on working out, banging chicks, and chillin’ dude.”

Corey guffawed with a stupid relaxed expression, casually groping as the host moved on.

“And Norman, you’ve worked hard for your position in life, haven’t you?”

The Texan father nodded in cold agreement.

“So what would pride a totally traditional cowboy more than his ranch, his woman, and his legacy?”

Nolan groaned as he instantly unbuckled the massive lock hiding his mighty steed. Huffing loudly, the Southern Baptist’s lil’ pony was wrangled into a full-fledged stallion, the kind that was built to produce offspring. And the kind that got worked up over anything that could threaten the generational uniformity his family, religion, and nation he swore to protect.

“And you, Asher,” the host swiped over to the final contestant. “What’s stopping you from becoming the total Harvard bastard?”

Asher’s face went red and his cock went hard.

“I’m talking complete corruption, pure privilege, Daddy’s little-”

The host was suddenly cut off by a loud holler, the exclaim like the crashing waves of the ocean. Immediately, the comment section blew up as the host, players, and audience watched the surfer jock release a blast of his sea salt spray.

But before the host could congratulate the first winner, the southern father turned around the corner. With one hand whipping his meat and the other held tightly onto his hat, it was only mere moments until the inevitable:

“YEEHAW!”

Once again, the audience burst into merriment over the propagating blast. It was then that Aaron’s anger truly took the best of him. He couldn’t be beaten by two no-names! He was the top of his class, an heir to a Fortune 500 company, and a totally normal man for Christ’s sake! Gripping his pecker and shining it furiously, Aaron accepted his heterosexual rage and vowed that he would win and please his…please his…!

“F…FAAAAATHERR!”

A loud, pretentious yell echoed out of the Harvard student, an endless splurge of funds dumping out of his mighty account. It was just one of the many things his heritage’s estate had granted him.

The host didn’t try to hide his devious sneer as the viewers erupted once more. He’d loved his job because everyone won every time. And now, seeing all the new stereotypical straights he’d created, the host couldn’t help but feel his own massive sausage chub. But he laughed the feeling off, knowing beating off over these other men wouldn’t have been “totally normal.”

“And it looks like with just a minute left on the clock, all three of our contestants will be going home as winners today!” The host then added his artificial rounds of applause. “So, did you three ever figure out what makes you ‘Totally Normal’?”

“Isn’t it obvious, brah?” Cody replied, the typical airhead more sure of himself now than when he had dropped out of high school. “It’s that we’re straight, mannnn…”

“He’s right, partner!” Norman added, his fatherly conviction always strong and steady. “Ain’t none of us are them faggots. If Ah do say so myself, we are all what the mighty Lord named men.”

“Well, if that is what common plebians such as yourself are called, then you shall address me as ‘I-V’,” Asher Osvald IV’s voice was doused in entitlement and a lack of understanding for anyone but himself. A pair of offscreen hands adjusted his tie just to prove his privilege. “After all, I do attend Harvard. I guess you could say I was destined for greatness since birth.”

“Yes, Asher, everyone here knows you are a prick.” The host immediately followed up his quip with a laugh track. “But that’s all we have for today’s show. Signing off, this is Host DJ!”

“Hang ten and surfs up, dudes!”

“The biggest rodeo’s the family and kids y’all!”

“I’m probably way richer than you vagrants, so don’t bother.”

“And don’t forget to ask yourself,” the host winked before adding in the final audio. “ARE YOU NORMAL?”

[alsanderecho]

Bro-Job

This lovely piece was brought on by the equally lovely @sjw-publishings

BRRRRRRING!

Rodney paced awkwardly in front of the door, two voices in his head battling viscously for control. The first, which begged the question “Why am I here?!” over and over was the more persistent. A 5’5 skinny gay psych major on Greek Row? Yeah, that voice was definitely winning. The other however, the one prompting the single response of “Money.”, was enough to make Rodney stay.

“Hello?” Rodney called out, his bright tenor a little too nasally. He had come in response to a job offer put up on campus. He didn’t actually know what the job was, but it promised “All dudes welcome, free food and drinks.” The free amenities would certainly help pay for his student housing.

After still hearing nothing, Rodney decided to investigate. Someone had to be home, it wasn’t like all the frat boys would already be out and about town. Actually, that possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched. With a huff, Rodney marched his way around the massive frat house, following the driveway to the backyard. Three frat boys were parked by the detached garage, their muscly forms on full display.

“Uh,” Rodney started out. “Excuse me?”

The three men, in a heated argument over big tits or big butts, turned to face the boy half their size. Two of them wore a face of disgust, but the third popped a smile of delight.

“What can we do for you, little man?” the third greeted with two Natty Lights in one massive mitt.

Rodney gulped, noting the major size difference between him and them. “I’m uh…here for the job opening?”

The other two frat boys smirked at that response.

“Hey Chet, looks like someone finally replied,” the first chuckled.

“Cheers to that, broski!” the second, who would make any excuse for a celebratory swig, cheered.

The third, Chet, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright little man, let’s head in the frat house and get this interview started.”

Rodney nodded, surprised at how simple this whole ordeal was. The much larger jock tossed a bulky arm around the gay nerd and led him to the mansion. Rodney tried to hide his blush at the physical touch, praying that the frat boys wouldn’t see his small, but very present boner.

“First things first bro,” Chet started, tossing Rodney a beer. “We gotta get you a little more comfortable.”

“'Comfortable'?”

“Well sure dude,” Chet laughed, falling back into a crusty couch behind him. “I’m already four deep, so we gotta catch you up.”

Confused, but desperate enough for a job, Rodney cracked open the cold one. He took a timid sip, much to the disapproval of the frat boy.

“Nah bro, don’t be a fairy about it.” Chet shook his head as he patted for the nerd to sit behind him. Trying his best to ignore the previous comment, Rodney placed himself beside the jock. Immediately, Chet grabbed the can and lined it up to Rodney’s mouth, forcing the smaller boy to chug the rest of the beer.

“What the…!” Rodney sputtered, catching his breath. “What was that for?!”

Chet handed the kid another beer. “That’s how you smash, bro! Alright, next one.”

Rodney hated this situation, but he knew he would more despise a situation with no money. After some slight hesitation, Rodney pounded the second beer. Chet made him move through one more, joining the nerd with his own can, tacking their totals to three and five.

“Ahhh…” Chet moaned, patting the stacked eight abs underneath his sweaty tank. He then belched proudly, letting the alcohol take its course. Rodney could only watch on in amazement and an embarrassing amount of arousal.

“Now,” Chet tossed his meaty arm back around the nerd. It took Rodney a second to realize the warm, wet liquid coating his shoulder was sweat from the frat boy’s jungly armpit. “So the job-”

“Oh yeahhh...” Rodney followed with a short giggle. He guessed the alcohol was beginning to assimilate into his system.

“That’s what you’re here for!” Chet exclaimed. “It’s so easy, there’s really only so much you have to know and do.”

Rodney took a swig of his fourth beer, copying the movement Chet had displayed with his sixth can. “Well, what’s to know?”

“There’s that confidence, bro!” Chet took the arm wrapped around the nerd and gave him a playful noogie, the tangled mess cropping up into a neater bro cut. “I was wondering how long it would take for that beer pressure to start hitting you!”

Rodney wanted to correct the jock’s expression, but instead he let out a solitary hiccup. That was followed by a second swig as he watched Chet open into a grand explanation of the job’s responsibilities. 

There was a lot to take in, more than Rodney had thought there would be. The exercise standards, the room-and-board requirements, the daily bonding with bros. And while Rodney listened to everything Chet said, he didn’t realize he was also paying attention to the frat boy’s mannerisms. Rodney was so entranced at every movement of the broadcast. Every scratch, every subtle flex, the way the Adam’s apple bounced with every chug. Even Chet’s dazed-out dumbness and increasing amount of slurring was absorbed by the nerd.

What Rodney didn’t realize however was that each time he picked up on one of these moments, he mimicked it as well. The behavior was being digested into his psyche, the frat boy’s macho ideology sinking down into his core with each new swig of beer. 

While Chet discussed the height requirement, Rodney’s frame shifted underneath the jock’s grasp to notch him up to a proper 6’3. When Chet mentioned the necessary sizes of the biceps, triceps, and quadriceps, Rodney failed to notice his own arms and legs bloating out to gigantic muscular portions. And with each and every swig of beer Chet took, Rodney copied and pasted.

BUUUUUUURRRRRP!

“Ah yeahhhhh!” Chet proclaimed, dropping his seventh empty can. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, bro.”

With a hearty swat, the frat boy smacked Rodney’s small gut. His torso immediately deflated under Chet’s touch, sharpening out into eight stacked abs that fit perfectly underneath his cushy pectorals.

Buh-UUURRRP!

“Huhuhuh,” Rodney chuckled, not noticing his voice was morphing into Chet’s silky-smooth baritone with every syllable. “Like…that felt sooo gooood.”

“Of course it did, bro!” Chet obnoxiously replied. “That’s how frat life always is!”

Rodney watched as Chet groped himself with his free hand. Although it was more than that really: tugging at his massive cock and balls. Rodney then noticed the swath of pubes spilling out over the waistband of Chet’s tiny shorts, realizing the frat boy was going commando.

This typically would’ve excited him, almost to the point of bursting right there, but Rodney's meager dick had surprisingly gone dormant. Rodney rationed it was the alcohol, noting that he’d already started his sixth can. And he was thankful for the lack of attention anyway. If Chet would’ve seen him get hard over another dude, that would’ve been awkward. Yet Rodney couldn't exactly figure out why...

With one hand still handling his boys, Chet suddenly grew quiet and leaned in close to Rodney. His breath was warm and laced with alcohol, each tickling Rodney’s neck before climbing down his shirt, the shirt that had removed its buttons, expensive material, and sleeves.

Rodney watched as Chet got his hand out of his shorts and began feeling up Rodney, piece by piece.

“These arms, brochacho…” Chet murmured, wiping his ball sweat across Rodney’s thick, tanned canvas. Small hairs poked up in Chet’s wake. Chet then lifted one of Rodney’s arms and took a sniff, as if inspecting for quality. Sure enough, a rotten smell emerged from the chestnut groves that had erupted within Rodney’s pits, yet that was the fresh quality Chet had been looking for.

After a quick swig, which was repeated on Rodney’s part, Chet’s massive hand swooped down towards Rodney’s legs, evaluating the meat. Rodney only watched on with a lazy smile, propping his legs out into a typical, bro-ish manspread to accommodate. Without warning, Chet’s hand then launched underneath Rodney’s buttocks, giving one of his cheeks a sharp pinch.

“Hey! Watch it, homo!” Rodney shouted, not catching the slur or the fact that his exclamation had come out with complete clarity.”

“Woah woah, broooo…” Chet slowly pulled his hands back. “I’m just checkin’ if we’re sealed shut dude, wouldn’t want the fairies intruding.”

Sinking immediately back into his drunken haze, Rodney nodded along pleasantly. He thanked his bro for watching out for him, his hole silently shutting tight in response.

Chet let another belch loose before continuing, “Minddd if I tell you a secret, brooo?”

Chet got closer to Rodney, even going as far as to place his sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet on top of Rodney’s.

“Yyyyyeeah dude…” Rodney slurred back.

“Huhuhuh,” Chet started. “See the sorority…rity next door brah?”

Rodney shifted a bit in his seat, slightly turning his own sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet.

“I just banged like…” Chet had to take a second to count. “Ten…eleven…eleven…twelve of those chicks last week. I set…like…a completely new record brochacho!”

The pair burst out into a massive drunken laugh fest, tossing their heads back in an exaggerated manner. Rodney chugged the rest of his beer messily, some droplets splashing onto the bushy mustache crawling over his upper lip like a caterpillar. They both tossed their sixth and eighth behind them.

“Nowwwww…” Chet slowly started again. “We’ve discussed the bro-knows, but now we oughta get to the bro-dos of the Bro-Job.”

“Brahhhh…” Rodney echoed. “The way you’re sayin…sounds kinda gay man…”

Rodney didn’t even consider why this could be a problem.

Chet moved on, “Brah, how I handle my initiations…it's gotta be personal.”

“Init…inuiti…initiations?” Rodney tried to ask, struggling on the word.

“These Bro-Jobs dude…” Chet tried again, screwing off his backwards cap before fixing it onto Rodney’s head. “They're serious busy-nesss….”

Rodney snickered at the odd pronunciation, his jaw and browline growing more pronounced after each chuckle. He then tossed back the rest of his beer, crushing it in one of his massive paws.

“Brah…I need more beeeeerrrr, stat.” 

“Heh, don’t we all bro,” Chet crushed his own empty can before adding it to the disarray of the messy house. “But you gotta pass the initiation man! Your next beer can is your own!”

The frat boy said it in a way where even though the statement made no sense, in their drunken comradery it held like a secret code. 

“Wha…bro…arrrrre you sayin’-?”

“No homo man” Chet immediately quelled the alarm that had been arising in Rodney’s system. “It’s just a part of the Bro-Job…gotta…gotta add more of that frat sauce to the brew or somethin’...”

Both of them stuck their hands down into each other’s packages through their tiny shorts, which Rodney didn’t remember his own had been long slacks before. Or that he had been wearing underwear before. But what did strike Rodney as odd was the manner of this exchange. It still felt off.

“But…” Rodney tried to find the clarity he needed through his drunken incoherent mass of thoughts. “Kinda...gay brah?”

The not-so homosexual man flinched, his lingering sexuality slowly succumbing with the strangely tough pulls that enlarged his precious tap forcefully. It wasn’t long until Rodney’s pride and joy were surging with the same potent and propagating brew of the frat boy who was pumping him. His manhood was now a giant spout, with his swollen balls filled with the pure, raw hormones that ensured his kegs were always juicing.

“Dude…” Chet chuckled. “It’s not gay if you’re thinkin’ of all the chicks that will be beggin’ to ride this thing.”

After a hefty amount of thought, Rodney realized Chet was right. He wasn’t thinking about dudes or bros or nothing. None of the homo crap was even in his mind. In fact, the very idea of being a faggot disgusted him. All Rodney could think about was chicks. Tits and pussies and breeding them one by one with his vaccination shots. Except these shots weren't protecting these babies from anything. Rather, he was contaminating them. And that made Rodney feel good. Absolutely frat-tastically good.

“Ahhhh….brooooo…!” Rodney moaned. “I think I’m gonna blow!”

“Then do it, dude!” Chet replied.

“NO HOMO BROOOO!!!” The frat boys shouted in unison, their gigantic splooges pouring out into their bro’s hand. After the ecstasy had released, they both removed themselves from the other’s shorts and returned the babymatter to their owners, wiping each other’s work on the other’s tank top.

“God dude,” Chet replied. “Nothin’ beats THAT part of the Bro-Job.”

The newly-minted frat boy could only guffaw. His dreams, aspirations, and uniquities were completely gone, let alone his intelligence deteriorated down to the bare minimum. He was now only gifted with the simple desires of a sexually-overdrived culturally-accepted delinquent.

“I never got your name by the way,” Chet laughed. “I’m gonna need it for the prez so he can register you for the frat.”

“Hot Rod,” Rodney replied, the nickname coming out as if it was a programmed response.

Chet gave Hot Rod a brotherly swat before lifting him up off the couch. “'Hot Rod', huh? I think that will suit the other bros well once you finish the last part of the job.”

“There’s more, dude?” Hot Rod asked, following the other frat boy out to the front yard. “We both know I’m perfect for the frat life!”

“Well of course!” Chet then grabbed a computer and handed it over to Hot Rod. After looking for a little too long, Hot Rod eventually realized it was an online job board.

“I gotta get a job, bro?” Hot Rod asked, somehow making the dull timbre of his tone sound even dumber.

“No, dude!” Chet rolled his eyes. “The last part of the Bro-Job is recruiting the next member.”

Hot Rod’s empty expression signaled his lack of understanding.

“I just completed the Bro-Job,” Chet explained. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, after a little too long of a pause, the pieces finally managed to place themselves together in Hot Rod’s head. With a thick guffaw, he made the job opening available once more before closing the laptop. He then placed the device behind him and took a seat at the end of the driveway, twisting his cap and assuming a cocky pose.

“What are you doing, bro?” Chet laughed.

“Sittin’ pretty, brah,” Hot Rod shot back. “Wanna make it easier for the next fag that rolls around.”

[alsanderecho]

Assimilation

You blinked and stared. It was getting harder and harder to tell your roommates apart. When you first entered the apartment there were clear differences. Amy had long dark hair and much paler skin. Matt was skinnier with a flat butt and chest. Their faces, the way they talked, the way they moved were different. You were all unique individuals...right?

As you all assimilated to the new space and each other, the similarities began to grow. Your roommates started working out together. Going to the salon for a similar hair style. Sharing each other wardrobes. Even their bodies began to bond and build towards a signature shape, starting with those big juicy booties that you were all so proud of. You did love your ass, right? Whenever you questioned it your head got all fuzzy.

So now as your stare at your roommates, your head hurts trying to remember who is who. In fact, if you looked in the mirror, you might not even recognize yourself with your white blonde hair with dirty roots, white lingerie, and bootilcious backside. You look like your roommates. Your roommates look like you. You've all assimilated to the same look...with emphasis on the 'ass'.

That thought causes you to giggle. You remember their names. It's Bambi...and Bambi. Gust like you are called Bambi. They are your sisters in the dollhouse. You share everything together, from names to bodies to thoughts, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

[alsanderecho]

Commitment

"I thought you liked my body." Peter said with a slightly hurt tone of voice into the phone as he looked at the photo of the overly muscular man that took up most of the flyer advertising a personal training studio that had recently opened near his apartment.

"I like babe, but it's just that you spend so much time at work and... well... I'll be honest, I've always liked your appearance... but in the last few months you've been growing a belly. It's no big deal ...but you know how much dedication I put into my body, just for you. A little reciprocity would be nice. Do this for me baby, I've already scheduled an appointment for you." Concluded the voice on the phone, belonging to Julia, Peter's longtime girlfriend.

The two met while still in college and he always wondered what she, owner of a sculptural physique and a beauty worthy of the catwalks saw in him. Not that he wasn't attractive, with his elegant face and slim body, coupled with the air of class and sophistication that many rich people seem to carry with them without even realizing it. Still, the difference between the two in terms of attraction was huge. Which made many people whisper that she was nothing more than a gold digger. But Peter preferred to turn a deaf ear to those comments because he really loved Julia and wouldn't accept that kind of conversation. In fact, he loved her so much that even against his nature he found himself putting on gym clothes and going to the address indicated in the pamphlet. Furthermore, Julia knew him very well and had pressed the right button to force him to do what she wanted, appealing to his commitment to their relationship.

Arriving at the indicated location, Peter realized that the studio was a small room with some equipment and thus understood that Julia was thinking about his inhibitions when choosing that place. Despite coming from an influential family and being forced to participate from an early age in the most different social events, he had a real horror of exposing himself. Therefore, a small studio like that would be the place where he would feel at least a little more comfortable. But perhaps she had purposely ignored another of Peter's horrors: intimidating muscular men, which was precisely the case with the gigantic guy standing with his arms crossed in the center of the room. Peter justified to himself that this would be the standard expected of a personal trainer, but that didn't change the feeling of absolute fear that had overcome him the moment he laid eyes on that figure.

The monstrous guy opened a smile that exuded so much self-confidence that it was overflowing with arrogance.

"Hey man, I'm Dan, you must be Pete, right?" The instructor asked as if he were intimate with Peter and making the mistake that was perhaps the only thing that gave him the courage to speak out, calling him by his diminutive.

"Peter. I'm Peter Wexhan and I like to be called by my name."

"Wow man, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I just wanted to break the ice since we're going to spend some time together." Dan said without letting his smile falter.

"I-I don't know if we'll go... I just thought about taking a experimental class." Peter replied.

"Nah, you'll see, once the iron bug bites you there won't be any return. So, the girl who arranged the class for you mentioned that the goal is to lose some belly fat, is that it?"

"Julia, the girl's name is Julia. My girlfriend and that's what she would like..."

"But what about you, what would you like? You are my client!" The truth is, Peter would rather be home. But he didn't have the courage to say that for fear of the big man in front of him and of disappointing his girlfriend.

"I...that's what I want."

"Dude, you need to learn to assert yourself, man. And you know a great way to assert yourself, grow up!" Dan said, flexing his powerful muscles.

"I... I.." Peter began, not knowing what to say as he looked at that pile of stacked muscles with wide eyes.

"I'm kidding Peter. Who am I to say what you should or shouldn't do? Although I think a real man needs to know how to impose himself, I also think he also needs to know how to please a woman."

Once again, not knowing what to say, Peter preferred to remain silent. Giving Dan space to ask the question he would know was coming.

"So, Peter Wexhan... any relation to Senator Frank Wexhan?"

"Yes, I am his son."

"Wow, one of my first clients will be someone important."

"My dad is important, I'm just a regular guy." Peter replied, knowing that as much as he wanted it to be real, it didn't actually match reality. After all, besides his father being a senator, his family was extraordinarily rich and Dan certainly knew that. But demonstrating more professionalism than the interaction between the two up until that moment made it clear that it would be possible, the instructor did not comment anything about it, preferring to continue the class.

"Let me work with you for a while and you will be anything but regular. And the best time to start is now. He responded with a new smile before putting Peter to perform the greatest physical effort of his life up to that point.

While helping him, Dan tried to start a conversation with Peter. He talked about cars, football, parties, all subjects with which the other had no affinity whatsoever.

"What do you mean you don't have a football team? Not even the one from your college?”

"It was never something I was interested in, sorry."

"Stop apologizing for everything man, although really in this case you have to apologize. Just kidding!!! But weren't you at least going to see the cheerleaders?" Dan asked, delving into another delicate subject, women. Julia had been the only woman in Peter's life and he adored her. He saw no reason to look at or even think about other women. So deep was his commitment.

Upon hearing this, Dan just smiled again and corrected Peter's posture, resuming his focus on the exercises. Making the latter amazed at how good the other was at his job and how quickly this was showing. At the end of the session his arms, shoulders and legs are looking slightly bulkier and he can't help but give himself a self admiring look in the mirror at how good looking he was making his opinion of Dan improve a lot. Sure, he was the kind of guy that Peter preferred to stay away from all his life, but now he saw that he could be someone fun and with whom he could interact.

So much so that he ended up scheduling a new session for the following day. Saying goodbye to the other man with a hand shake and going home with the impression that in the end all in all, that was a great decision.

Upon arriving at the simple but comfortable apartment he shared with Julia instead of his family's currently uninhabited mansion, he found himself invaded by a hunger he had never felt before. Looting everything he had in the fridge and cupboards, he took off his t-shirt, leaving only the shorts he had used for training and without taking a shower, he lay there devouring everything he had looted while flipping through one channel after another on the television until finally stopping at a game of university football for his college team, which he began to watch with deep interest. And that's how Julia found him two hours later when she arrived home.

"Hey babe... what's that smell? What's going on?? Peter you stink!" That was her comment when she saw her boyfriend lying on the sofa in the living room, which at that moment was infected by the pungent smell of masculinity.

"Sorry babe, I got home from the and lost track of time." Peter replied as he smelled his own armpits and made a face. "Eww, I really stink."

"Peter, I can't believe you sat all dirty on my couch!"

"My couch, the apartment is mine and I can lie on my couch and watch football however I want!" He responded aggressively, scaring his girlfriend and himself in the process."

"Sorry babe, I don't know what came over me, let me take a shower and make up for it. I'll cook your favorite dish for you." The rest of the night passed without any major incidents, with the two having dinner and making small talk and ending up in bed where he rewarded Julia with the best sex she had had in a long time.

The next morning while Julia was still sleeping, Peter admired himself in the mirror as he tied his tie. It seemed impossible that a single session would make such a difference, he thought, watching his biceps stretch the sleeve of his suit to the limit. Well, if it seemed impossible it was because it was, as good as Dan was and Peter would have to admit that he was excellent despite his douch style, it wasn't as if Peter was a stranger to training, as his lean but defined physique demonstrated.

After getting ready, he picked up his backpack with his gym clothes and headed to work. He was rising through the ranks at a law firm specializing in environmental causes, something that had displeased his father, a Republican senator with contacts in the oil industry. But he had long been accustomed to being a disappointment to the old man. Despite his good physique and liking to follow the NFL, he had never competed in any type of sport, he was also never the womanizing type, which could please his father's conservative audience, but the choice did not please him, mainly because behind the facade Senator Wexham had a bunch of beautiful lovers and had expected his son to do the same. In such a way that the choice for a sustainable lifestyle was the final nail in the coffin of a long-dead relationship.

The work went well, although the more the hours passed, the more Peter became anxious about his second session with Dan, with the last few minutes seeming to drag on for hours. When he arrived at the small studio he found the teacher finishing his own training and he couldn't help but be impressed and even envious of his gigantic physique, making him wonder if he could one day reach that size.

"Hey Pete, I'm almost done here, why don't you go get changed so we can get started?"

Peter was so shocked by his own thoughts that he didn't even correct Dan when he was called the abbreviation of his name. After putting on his training clothes he met the teacher who quickly started with his work and small talk, the difference is that this time Peter had the previous night's game to comment on, he didn't know what had gone through his head when he said that He wasn't interested in football, perhaps it was the fear of being asked to play at some point that he justified to himself. But the subject quickly moved back to the topic of women and as much as Peter tried his best not to respond to those comments, he no longer felt so uncomfortable. After all, it's not as if he'd ever do anything to betray Julia, it was just a conversation between friends. And after that the subject turned to video games, something that was also never of interest to Peter, which again surprised Dan who invited himto play with some of his friends. Which again highlighted how different the two were even though the sessions were going well.

In fact, so well that after taking a shower in the studio's small bathroom, Peter stopped to admire himself in the mirror. His arms are jacked, his shoulders are large and he had a growing six pack. Getting a physique like that was worth overcoming any differences he had with Dan.

"You were the last customer Pete, I'm going to close here and as soon as I get home I'll call you so we can play, so there should be time for you to eat something first"

"Hum .... ok." Peter replied without really understanding, he thought he had made it clear to the other that he didn't have a video game.

Upon arriving home, any thought about the strangeness of Dan's comment immediately disappeared from Peter's head as his sense of smell was hit by a wonderful aroma coming from the apartment's kitchen. When checking the origin, he discovered Julia preparing dinner, something unprecedented in the couple's life, as she had always been averse to any role in the kitchen.

"I'm glad you're here babe, I'm preparing roast beef with mashed potatoes so I don't take you off your diet."

"Hmm... thanks babe... but what's the occasion?"

"Ocasion? None…?"

"Well, I'm usually the one who cooks."

"I didn't know I was dating some jokester. Peter, putting packed lunches in the microwave doesn't count as cooking."

"What are you talking about? Last night I made you a lasagna, there must still be some leftovers in the fridge." Said Peter, opening the refrigerator door and finding only a few bottles of milk and lots of eggs.

"Babe, enough cutesy, why don't you get changed and go to the living room and play some video games with your friends while I get everything ready here? Ahh, I left a protein shake ready on the table."

Peter, without knowing what to say, took the shake and went to the couple's bedroom, but not before going through the living room and seeing a PlayStation 5 next to the gigantic flat screen television. While drinking the shake he tried to rationalize the situation, perhaps this was a joke that Julia and Dan were playing with him, after all the two had talked to schedule his first class. This would justify his girlfriend's strange behavior. Maybe the video game was a gift from her to him. Still, it was a strange gift. And what about her subservient behavior? Very odd, he thought as he put on a tank top and shorts and walked into the living room. As he stared at the console controller held in his hands, a text message from Dan arrived on his cell phone.

"We're online, all you need to do is log in."

So with a familiarity that he shouldn't have, Peter turned on the console, which in turn had his account logged in, with several games downloaded, as if he had the habit of playing frequently. Which increased the strangeness of the situation even more.

However that line of reasoning was interrupted when he saw Dan's invite appear on screen and he put on the headset before joining, hearing his personal trainer voice.

"Hey bro, how are things at home?" Dan asked.

"They're ok, thanks, Dan." Peter replied, preferring not to think about all that strangeness.

“Hey Dan who’s this?” came a voice as douch sound as Dan's.

“Hey, Trav! This is Pete, he’s a friend from college. We met again this year and he recently started training with me and we started playing together after work and he's great so I invited him to play with us."

Peter listened to that with a frown. What the fuck was Dan talking about? Apart from the training part, the rest was all a lie, he opened his mouth to deny the other but was interrupted by Dan before he even started to speak.

"Trav, it was Pete who gave me the loan so I could turn the studio into a real gym. He likes to act humble but he's full of money, isn't that right, Pete?"

"I thought we were here to play Dan, let's see how Trav does, because I'm tired of humiliating you!" Pete replied, suddenly remembering all the games played against his old college friend.

"Ouch, that one hurt. But I'm going to get my revenge tomorrow Pete, it's going to be leg day, I'm going to make you beg like those college girls begged for the senator's son's attention."

"Your threats won't do anything like their pleas."

"Wife alert in the area! His girlfriend must be nearby Trav. The good guy facade increases in her presence. But make no mistake, this guy is a beast."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you're dead, asshole." Pete added while his avatar ended up with his friend's.

"Ah, tomorrow you're going to be so fucked up Wexham."

"If you keep threatening me I'll come straight home from work and show up again just in time to finish you off at the game."

"Work? What work? I thought you were doing nothing until your father's next campaign."

What was Dan talking about? Of course he worked, he worked with... with... why couldn't he remember???

"Babe, dinner is ready." Julia warned, interrupting the growing anguish inside him and giving him an excuse not to answer Dan.

"The lady boss said the food is ready, see you tomorrow Dan. It was a pleasure Trav." He said, leaving the console and avoiding thinking about what had happened.

Dinner was excellent, but Pete ate automatically, much more to consume the amount of carbohydrates and proteins in his diet than to enjoy the meal. Something that did not go unnoticed by Julia.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine." He replied, still thoughtful.

"Peter it seems like you're in another world, I spend the day alone taking care of the apartment and cooking meals for you while you spend the day out at the gym or with your friends, the least I want is a little attention when we're together ."

"What are you talking about? Spending the day taking care of the house? You don't work?"

"It's funny that you think that what I do isn't work when you only work when your father forces you to by threatening to cut off your allowance." She replied, clearly hurt. Making Peter look at her with raised eyebrows for a few seconds while new connections and memories formed in his brain before he responded.

"I'm sorry babe, I didn't mean anything wrong, of course taking care of our home is something very important and that I really appreciate. The food is wonderful. But please don't talk about my father's allowance because it's what supports us both. "

"I'm sorry too Pete, it's just that I try so hard to please you and..."

"I know, so let me make it up to you how you like." He said, getting up and picking her up to take her to the bedroom for a night of wild sex.

Pete woke up around noon, in a king size bed in a luxurious bedroom where little light passed through. He stretched and looked to the side as if he expected someone to be there. Stretching again, he got up, grabbed the latest generation iPhone from the bedside table and went to the bathroom. After a quick shower he stopped to admire himself in front of the mirror. With his body still wet, he checked the dozens of unviewed messages, stopping to take a selfie and forward it to several of his contacts. Taking care to send a private message to Julia.

"Thanks for the night babe. I was hoping you woke me up with a BJ before you left but you'll have the opportunity to redeem yourself tonight."

He put on gym shorts and a tank top and went down the long stairs of the mansion and headed to the kitchen where the breakfast table was still set out waiting for him. He poured himself black coffee while he waited for the cook to bring a generous helping of scrambled eggs. After eating, he went to the house's entertainment room, where there was a projector with state-of-the-art sound and his Playstation with countless hours of saved games. After playing for a few hours, he took a pre-workout, got into his Porsche Cayenne and headed to Dan's gym.

His friend's gym covered two spacious floors full of the most modern equipment, with rooms dedicated to different types of exercises and training, from dance classes to martial arts, as well as a space dedicated solely to lifting free weights. When Pete entered the reception he was greeted enthusiastically by the two beautiful receptionists who had curiously received his selfie that morning and were devouring him with their eyes. He naturally flirted back, although they didn't know that would be the most they would get from him. Flirting was one thing, cheating was quite another. After a few minutes of conversation Pete found the person he was looking for. Facing him with a smile was Dan, ready to supervise his workout, one of the few that the busy owner of one of the city's most famous gyms still personally conducted.

"Pete, my man! Ready to pay for last night?"

"Give me your worst." He replied smiling.

The training was intense but smooth. Pete and Dan had known each other and trained together for years, so much so that Pete himself spotted Dan at his exercises. The conversation between the two flowed naturally, ranging from the football season, to cars, to video games, and of course what was most abundant around them, the absurd amount of hot women in the gym.

"Emily and Rachel are dying for a piece of you, bro."

"You know I'm with Julia, bro. We might not be serious enough to live together, but she's still my girlfriend and I need to respect her."

"Respect her? Pete, you send nude selfies to half the women at the gym!"

"As far as I know, this doesn't constitute cheating, besides, a little propaganda doesn't hurt if things with Julia have any problems."

" And do you have any problem?"

"Ah bro, she pressures me to live together, to leave my parents' house. But why would I do that? With them in Washington I have a beautiful mansion with servants at my disposal. The only thing I'm not allowed to do is bringing a woman to officially live with me. My father and his rules, you know the man. But between having to live in a suffocating little apartment or having all the space and comfort that I'm used to... It's not a difficult choice, besides, I don't ready for that kind of commitment."

"I would never put you and commitment in the same sentence, bro."

"Asshole, don't forget where the money came from to finance all this here."

"I'll never forget brother, but I already paid everything for your father and in reality he's thinking about expanding the gym, turning it into a network, if you join as my partner."

"I don't know man, that's not really my thing."

"Dude, you practically live here."

"Yeah, but this business management thing, I don't know."

"I can take care of that part brother. Think about it. A chance for your father to get off your back."

"I'll think about it, I promise. But how about now you focus on helping me with these squats and clearing my view of that hot blonde on the treadmill?" Pete replied, smiling mischievously.

After finishing the training, one of the most exhausting of Peter's life, just as Dan had promised, the two stopped to have a protein shake in the gym's cafeteria, where once again Pete was the target of the attendant's gaze.

"And you still want to tell me that you never cheated, okay!"

"Looking doesn't take away anything, much less being looked at."

"You're not fooling me, Pete. But tell me, what are you going to do now? Any projects on the horizon?"

"You know I'm between jobs."

"To be between jobs you first have to have had a job at some point, Pete."

"Asshole, you know I've been helping with my dad's campaigns since I was a kid."

"Ah, I'm sorry. I meant some real job. It must be really hard to smile and show off."

"Hey, it's a lot more tiring than it looks and if there's someone who should know that, it's you, since you need it for your own work."

"Touché! But again, you don't fool me. I know very well how much you like to showing off to others, especially to the female voters.

"I said it was tiring, brother, not that I didn't like it." Peter concluded, smiling and being returned with a laugh from his friend.

"Fair enough. But then what are you going to do with the rest of your day?"

"I’ll play a few games with Trev as soon as he gets off work, which should be in about an hour and then I thought I'd take advantage of the afternoon sun to improve my tan in the pool at home and in the evening Julia should come over so we can do something . And by something I mean fuck until dawn."

"It's no wonder your father came after me with this society project, brother, you live like a teenager."

"I just take advantage of what life offers me, anyone in my place would do the same. In fact, why don't you let the hired instructors take over here and enjoy a pool with me later?"

"I'll think about it, but I don't like leaving the business in other people's hands."

"Look at you all responsible, you don't even look like the guy who did the craziest things in his college days."

"No really, because that guy was you!"

Dan replied, making Pete smile!

"That's you saying, not me. I'll see you later brother!"

After eating a wonderful meal prepared by the house's cook and playing some online games, Pete found himself on the edge of the mansion's luxurious pool, dozing while sunbathing, enjoying the best that life had to offer. Until he was suddenly woken up when someone knocked him into the pool.

"Motherfucker!" He said after recovering and getting up irritated in the pool. Only to be greeted by Dan's smiling face.

"You piece of shit, you almost scared me to death. I want to break you all apart!"

"You can try brother, but you need to be a lot bigger if you want to hit me."

"Big enough, bro!" He responded by flexing his biceps.

"You can't resist a little show, can you? That way you'll make the girls go crazy!" Dan replied in turn, with a malicious expression on his face.

"Girls? What girls?"

"Hi Pete!" Said a beautiful young woman while another as beautiful as her giggled next to her.

"Their shift at the gym is over so I invited them to come along. Don't worry about Julia, they'll behave, right girls?"

"Yes Dan, we won't do anything Pete doesn't want." Emily replied with a smile.

"You will pay me for this you asshole" Pete whispered to his friend.

"Hey, aren't you the faithful guy? Just stay that way, brother." Dan replied, his mischievous smile widening.

Somehow Pete managed to hold on, despite the advances from the women. When the situation became too difficult to control, he left the pool and went to Think of a way to send them away before Julia arrived. While he was swinging his long, thick cock, he was surprised by Emily who pushed him, still naked, against the wall and gave him a professional-level blowjob. So professional that he found himself unable to protest and after all it was just a blowjob, it's not like it was a terrible betrayal.

He was already looking for justifications for the fact that that blowjob had ended with him fucking the woman right there in the bathroom, when he heard his cell phone vibrate and received a message on his cell phone from Julia saying that she was already at the front gate of the house. He quickly freed himself from Emily and instructed Dan to hide with the two women in one of the guest rooms. While he himself ran to his suite to take a quick shower and wash the smell of sex off his body.

When Julia arrived at his room she found him naked on the bed waiting for her smiling at her.

"Hey babe, how about that blowjob?" He asked with a smile, as if nothing had happened.

Pete woke up the next day terribly early by his standards. But it was his own fault for having accepted that partnership with Dan and now having to work helping to organize the new Dan's Gym units around the city. Just having to think that they would still have to find a new name for the franchise almost made him want to not get out of bed. But he still forced himself to get up. As he passed the living room on the way to the kitchen he saw a flyer on the living room coffee table. Picking it up and sitting on the couch to read the text that accompanied a photo of the owners of the new gym chain that would soon be opened.

"I personally thought the final result of the project was very good." Said the voice Pete had expected to hear, making him look up.

"I agree. And I see you're quite comfortable as a guest." He replied with an indecipherable expression.

"Brother, I've been going to this house for years, your parents consider me a second son, I'm much more than a guest."

A smiling Dan replied, really comfortable wearing only underwear and holding a cup of coffee.

"I agree. And I see you're quite comfortable as a guest." He said with an indecipherable expression.

"Brother, I've been going to this house for years, your parents consider me a second son, I'm much more than a guest."

A smiling Dan replied, really comfortable wearing only underwear and holding a cup of coffee.

"What's more than I can say about that woman you brought home last night, scandalous in bed and when she left. Who was the diva?"

"You don't know her,she's just a girl I picked up at college, we met again recently and I decided to do a little revival, but it turns out she expected a lot more from me than I had to offer. She wasn't very happy when I told her I had called a car for take her home."

"You know, for someone so rich, you lacks class, bro!"

"Look who's talking, I heard very well what you did to that girls in the guest room."

"But I'm not the senator's son." Replied Dan with his usual smile.

"It was my fault. I should have ignored her advances and stuck to my policy of no repeat women. I don't want any kind commitment in my life."

"A great thing to say to your best friend."

"Dan, if there's one relationship that I'm fully committed to, it's our friendship."

"I know that brother, and I'm grateful for that, my life wouldn't be the same without you!"

[alsanderecho]

Titz

Bryan huffed as he locked the door behind him, “Finally…”

School had been as insufferable as always, constantly surrounded by dickwads and idiots he’d grown up with for the past 18 years. Bryan was smart, but not at an Ivy League level or anything. However, he was just smart enough to be recklessly harassed by the popular crews. As in the backwards-cap, crotch-grabbing, fag-bashing, athtletically-inclined Brosephs of high school. And it only got worse when Bryan’s mother had remarried to one of the football coaches right before his freshman year, granting him a stepfather who not only supported these arrogant pricks, but defended them as well.

But now, Bryan had the whole weekend to himself. His mother had planned a romantic getaway for herself and her second husband, leaving Bryan the entire place until Sunday evening. Bryan barely had any homework, so the next 48 hours were going to be spent doing what he knew how to do best: lounging. Playing video games, watching television, mindlessly eating. That’s what the pudgy high school senior was most excited for. His mom had stocked up before leaving, and with no one to physically impress, Bryan planned on stuffing his 5’6 frame to the limit.

After dumping his belongings in his room, Bryan entered the kitchen with full anticipation. Still wearing a nicer shirt and khakis from the school day, he decided he should start with something that wouldn’t cause such a mess. After investigating through a couple of cabinets, his eyes eventually landed on a box of crackers. Everything about them followed the Nabisco branding guidelines he and the rest of the world were so accustomed to, but one thing in particular stood out.

“Titz?”

Bryan blinked, but the “T” still stood proudly where the “R” should’ve been. Bryan didn’t really know what to make of the situation, but he also didn’t care. He just assumed it must have been some random one-in-a-million processing plant error. It was ironic really. Bryan was gay, but it wasn’t like he was forcing it on anyone. The harassment at school probably would have been far worse if he had come off as more flamboyant. That being said, his flamingo-print socks probably didn’t help his case.

With the box of crackers and an energy drink in hand, Bryan jumped onto the couch and turned on the television, switching to his favorite documentary channel. A two hour-long special on World War I artillery was about to start, and Bryan couldn’t think of anything better to do than to lay back, absorb, and munch away. He quickly ripped open a sleeve and grabbed his first Titz, the cracker gone in just two bites.

The documentary started off a little slow, but Bryan knew they always tended to–especially the longer ones. He couldn’t help but continue eating the crackers one by one, not even registering each Titz that went through his teeth, down his throat, and finally landing within his stomach acid, digesting before assimilating into the environment around it. 

After about five minutes, Bryan found himself unusually impatient, absentmindedly scratching at the itchy material of his button-up shirt. His fingers graced along some Titz crumbs that had begun to accumulate onto his bloated stomach. The teenager was not at all bothered by this development. His attire and figure however were. 

The program droned on, with Bryan’s eyes fixated elsewhere as his stomach began to gurgle within his outfit. The Titz crackers had begun to process and were incorporating their intoxicating, American-made chemicals into the 18-year-old’s system. The standard blue button-up began to soften and lighten in color and material, the buttons popping out as a seam brought together the two edges. The generic color was replaced with a designer teal, brought along by the new logo fixing itself right above Bryan’s left pec. The sleeves shortened as well, morphing into the perfect tee for his tightened upper arms.

Left pec? Tightened upper arms? Those descriptions would’ve never been given to Bryan’s previous chunky frame. Yet the Titz crackers weren’t only having an effect on the high schooler’s clothes. As his stomach continued its light grumbling, the fat began to wash away. It was like each wave pushed a little more off into the distance, never to be seen again. Underneath it all lay the beginnings of an excellent six pack, a set of two powerful pectorals, and the beginnings of powerful pairs of biceps and triceps. A little more masculinity was bestowed upon the burgeoning man as well, with his pits puffing up with hair and veins crawling along his youthful arms.

“BUURRP!”

Bryan wasn’t usually one to belch so easily, yet nor was he one to not be invested in a documentary. Especially one that should have been as captivating as the war it was explaining. But Bryan continued watching along, unknowingly growing more uninterested by the second.

That wasn’t the only thing he didn’t realize was growing however. His legs, one propped up while the other stretched out, were each pushing a little further with every passing moment. The Titz crackers were accumulating and making space by elongating the bones and tendons along them, moving Bryan’s height up inch by inch. Before long, Bryan now stood (or lay) at a solid 6 feet, yet he would later claim an extra inch when asked.

With the legs at their full capacity, the Titz crackers continued their work on the 18-year-old. The quadriceps were first, shaping the thighs from full fat to full musculature while maintaining their cushy size. Calves built for running distances across soccer and lacrosse fields, followed by feet plumped up to generous Size 13s to better fill out the socks-and-sandals look. 

Speaking of clothes, the square pants Bryan once wore had crawled all the way up his legs, leaving only a 5-inch inseam left for the world to imagine what hid underneath. At least the obnoxious boxer briefs gave a clue. And as for the once flamboyant socks, those had dried up into a starch-white pair meant for any typical jock, now even adorning the same certifiable-douchey logo of his tee.

“BUH-UUuurrrp!!”

Bryan followed up the more deep and guttural belch with a little guffaw, feeling slightly impressed at his own work. He was not however impressed with this documentary. It was so stale and boring. This war happened like a gajillion years ago…who cares? Grabbing the remote, he switched channels until eventually landing on a game. Right away he could tell it was a rerun for a football match, even though this knowledge had never existed to him before. But Bryan became much more invested in seconds, satisfied and crunching away at the Titz crackers.

As more of the crackers entered Bryan’s system, their alterations began to work elsewhere. After lengthening out the neck a smidge to make room for a more prominent Adam’s apple, Bryan’s head began to undergo its own miraculous improvement. First, a good chunk of his baby fat was stripped away, leaving him with the more typical facial structure of a high school jock: young, privleged, and undeniably attractive. Longer nose, duller eyes, and a voice now much more suited for the syllable “uh”. As a finishing exterior touch, Bryan’s hair grew out and flopped neatly underneath the backwards cap that had secured itself upon his head, a different logo matching his energy drink visible next to the strap.

Before long, Bryan grew tired of watching the game play out for him. Although he didn’t remember when, he knew he’d already seen this match-up. And thanks to the Titz crackers he’d been chowing down, his attention span was rapidly decreasing. The external cranial work had been finished, allowing for interior revision to begin. Bryan picked up the remote and began flicking through the different options. While every channel number went up by one, his intelligence inversely went down.

A news segment on sunscreen? Nah, Bryan didn’t need that junk. He loved his hard-earned tan lines from the many afternoon practices with his bros. A commercial for a scented detergent spray? Pfft, that wouldn’t do anything against Bryan. His teenage-boy funk was an unstoppable force (not like he wanted to get rid of it anyway). A lesbian porno? How could that-

“Mmph…” Bryan grunted, his now deeper, lackluster timbre fully apparent. With a Titz cracker in one hand, Bryan was surprised to find his other underneath his shorts fondling his dick. His massive dick. While chipping away at his psyche, the crackers had made two final physical adaptations. First, a perky bubble butt that would forever entice the wrong audience. Second, a pair of fertile, sweaty balls with 8 inches of young man meat to match. A set that would certainly entice an audience. And by the way it was reacting to the porno, that audience was women.

Bryan rolled his eyes back into his head, a surge of pleasure enveloping his system as the compounding effect of the Titz crackers annihilated what was left of Bryan. The individuality, the integrity, the intellect, and even the homosexuality were etched away, leaving only the most basic of materials behind. As Bryan felt himself coming to an edge, the Titz crackers took everything with them to his churning testicles, leaving only the stereotypical husk of the common high school jock.

“BRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAP!!!”

The belch wasn’t the only thing released from the 18-year-old’s system. Not even bothering to adjust himself, the high school senior felt the warm, sticky goo slowly sink into his boxer briefs and shorts, marinating his awesome pouch. 

“God, these aren’t cappin’ bro!” Ryan exclaimed, taking another Titz cracker from the sleeve. Suddenly, the front door unlocked and opened from behind him. Ryan didn’t even bother turning or changing the channel–by the heavy footfalls he already knew who it was.

“Forget something?” Ryan called out to his stepfather. The coach entered the room from behind, his smile widening as he slowly took in the scene around him. The voice was the first clue, but the open sleeve was the confirmation. 

“You’re mom noticed I forgot the condoms,” Ryan’s stepfather chuckled in his bass register. "We weren't too far yet so I decided to swing back and grab them."

“Hope they aren’t too old.” A smirk fell over Ryan’s face, “Gotta replace 'em every now and then cause they can get holes.”

Ryan's stepfather couldn’t help but beam with pride when he noticed the slightly tampered box placed proudly on the dining table. When he’d planted the crackers, he knew it wouldn’t take long for his stepson to get to them. He hadn’t planned for an immediate success however.

“Wish me luck, kiddo,” Ryan’s stepfather replied as he made his way out. Ryan only released a farewell fart, its poignant odor not at all muffled by the couch cushions beneath him. He really did hope his stepfather got lucky this weekend. And after grabbing his phone, Ryan realized he ought to too.

[alsanderecho]

Another Experiment

Trying out this format again. Different Subject, Same Result

[alsanderecho]

Simply-Driven

Part 2

Thanks to the splendid @sjw-publishings

Find Part 1 here!

Obviously, sharing a meal with his roommate and all the neighborhood dads had been a mistake. Actually, if Mickey Hockley fully considered it, coming to this festival had been a mistake. He didn’t fit in at all with anyone in the neighborhood. All identical to one another in their painfully average, simply-driven ways. In fact, Mickey couldn’t even explain how he had ended up rooming with the walking-Asian-American-dad stereotype in the first place. But there was one thing for certain: he was regretting it.

Luckily, the festival had finally come to an end and all the fathers were heading back to their quaint, stepford neighborhood. It took a bit for Mickey to drag Joel Huang out of a conversation around sports and jorts (a favorite among these men), but eventually they had hopped into the sedan and were on their way home. Once Mickey got back, he planned on hiding in his room for the rest of the night, maybe even bagging a twink if he was lucky.

“You’re awfully quiet back there, kiddo,” Joel chuckled from the front. Ever since Mickey had moved in, Joel and his wife had always referred to him as “their kid”. Mickey took it offensively every time.

“Tired, I guess,” Mickey blew off, feeling a little angst.

Joel looked through the rearview mirror and tried to meet eyes with the younger man. “Son, you should get a haircut.”

Mickey frowned, meeting the older man’s eyes. Why did Joel suddenly have an opinion on his brown wolf cut? He’d had it for a few years now after all. 

“No Joel, I like my hair this way.”

A slight breeze went across the back of Mickey’s neck, causing him to shiver a bit.

“Well, Asian-American men look nicer with shorter hair.”

“I…umm…” Mickey was at a loss for words, deviant of his usual quick nature. He rubbed a hand behind his head subconsciously, feeling the short follicles tickle his fingertips like a cheap rug.

Joel’s tone grew a little more stern. “It needs to be short.”

“It is short, mister!” Mickey shot back, surprised to hear himself add a title.

“Short as your good ol’ man’s?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. That was another thing, Joel always wanted Mickey to follow in his footsteps. His plain, unremarkable, heterosexual footsteps. Sure, his hair might have been the same length, just fluffed differently in the front, but that was about as much in common that the two men shared.

“You need to drop that complicated attire too. You don’t need to be dressed weird to get my attention.”

Mickey wanted to make a more progressive point, but for some reason a more immature answer came out. “Guys can dress well too if they want!”

“Not a boy of mine, so drop it.”

Mickey could practically feel his clothes shifting to a blank black tank top underneath his d...the older man’s direction. Rolled up to his thighs were a pair of mesh red athletic shorts like many in his closet, and down below were his trusty pair of well-worn sneakers. Mickey kind of understood Joel’s point…it felt easier just blending in, nothing too complicated. Plus, it was simpler buying clothes like these seeing as how his favorite department had plain and simple men’s clothes. Maybe men didn’t have to stand out anyway?

“But Joel-”

“No butts son, or else intruders will enter your behind.”

Mickey flinched, the blatant homophobia always caused him to react as such. But the thought of his behind being pierced did unnerve him. He was the one who liked to do the penetrating after all, so underneath it all Joel did make a point.

Seeing he had won that battle, Joel moved onto something a little more cheery: “Now sport, did you see my friend invite on Humblr?”

“Humblr?” Mickey questioned. “W…what’s that d…mister?”

A flash of embarrassment crossed Mickey’s face, but luckily he had been able to catch himself before he actually said what had almost come out.

“Haha!” Mr. Huang heartily laughed from the front. “Good one son! Everyone knows Asian Americans your age use Humblr!”

“W...What? But I'm not an…”

But the words from Mickey’s mouth stopped as he spotted his reflection in the rear view mirror. His fair, yet distinctly Eastern hue shone forth, alongside the dark, Asian-genetically coded bangs like every other man of his kind. He had the almond-shaped eyes, the deep raven hair, the soft boyish looks. Mickey guessed he could be considered Asian-American.

The more Mickey thought about it, the more it made sense technically. Technically, regardless of how different they were, he and Mr. Huang were related biologically, although he couldn’t exactly recall how. That was the only plausible reason as to why he would even be living in the same house with this man, right? For some reason, the thought of living in that neighborhood seemed foreign and yet still, like home?

Though then again, were the two really that different? Checking his phone, Mickey noticed the boring yet essential Humblr app plastered at the top right of his screen. It was one of the most essential apps after all, beside his online Bible, his school portal, and a calculator. Wait…a school portal? Wasn’t he in his late twenties? Why did he have a school portal?

Suddenly, a bright red notification popped onto the screen. Mickey’s thumb instinctively pressed the app and, forgetting his previous train of thought, accepted Mr. Huang’s family request. On cue, Mickey’s feed launched into action, displaying family photographs, Bible verses, and the “Dad Joke of the Day”.

“How was soccer practice yesterday with your friends?” Mr. Huang asked, bringing Mickey out of his concentration.

“Soccer practice?” Mickey questioned. “My friends don’t play soccer.”

“Stop pulling my leg, kiddo!” Mr. Huang reach back and patted Mickey’s leg to emphasize his point. With each contact, the fatherly hand strengthened Mickey’s thighs and calves. “Asian-American sons always play soccer, which also happens to be all of your friends!”

Mickey scoffed. He could’ve sworn he had a larger variety of friends. But as he imagined all of their faces, he realized it was like looking right into a mirror. A crew of Asian-Americans with no particular member having characteristics that could be differentiable from the rest. Everything was normal as Mr. Huang has said. 

Mickey began to wonder why he was questioning Mr. Huang so much. The older male obviously knew what he was speaking about, and he was the one who had put him on that team anyway. His relative had wanted him to be with the same kinds of men he was exposed to on a regular basis; in the house, in the streets, and at school.

“Well,” Mickey began, the practice suddenly coming to him crystal clear. “it was nothing special. Our team scored a couple of goal, but nothing as strong as our goal to get straight As!”

Mickey clasped his mouth, the lame pun unlike anything that had ever come out of his usual collected, witty being. Yet, he could barely hide his grin at the awfully weak remark he had made. For some reason, Mickey felt an immense elation in mimicking Mr. Huang and his horrible, clean and catchy humor.

All Mr. Huang could do was throw his head back and laugh. “Haha! Good one son!”

This accomplishment had Mickey feeling as if a major weight had been taken off his shoulders, both in progressive maturity and in independence. But hey, who cares man? He just turned 19 this year! Mickey still had a whole life ahead of him, so it was appropriate that he needed to chill out more. To emphasize that point, he spread his athletic legs apart and sat back in his seat, taking up far more space than needed. Mickey was related to this guy after all, so it was appropriate that he would take after him. 

Mr. Huang was practically a father-figure. He was stern at times, but he meant well. And as long as he kept up his grades, he didn’t have to worry about a social life. He already had enough like-minded peers, so Mickey didn’t need anything stressful or complicated. That’s what his Mr. Huang said at least; “Stick to the straight and narrow!”

“Any girls interesting?” 

“W..What! No I uh…”

Mr. Huang’s question popped Mickey’s bubble. For some reason, he wanted to protest. Something about that statement felt incredibly wrong. Yet at the same time, Mr. Huang was always on to something. Mickey just had to trust him with what he thought was the truth, right?

“I’m ga…g…a gu-?”

“Son…” Mr. Huang’s tone immediately switched. No more was the amiable nice guy. Now, it was only the firm discipline of a father. “Do we need to have this talk again?”

Mickey didn’t know what to do but blindly listened.

“You are not gay, just confused.”

Mickey sputtered a rebuke, but struggled. “But dad…! I’m…uh…?”

“Where did you learn that word again?”

“I…” It was like the word in question evaporated from his vocabulary. “Not sure man…but it does feel kinda wrong.”

“That’s good, kiddo,” Mr. Huang affirmed. “You don’t have to worry about it because you are into girls!”

“R…Really?” Mickey replied. A slight surge of energy pulsed through his meager package in response. Hadn’t it been larger, much larger? “I…I’m not sure. I guess some of them are cute though-”

“Precisely! You can’t stop talking about your girlfriend!”

Everything felt hazy. It was like Mickey couldn’t remember anything until the father confirmed it. With a smooth swerve, the family sedan was pulled into the driveway. Once the vehicle was parked and turned off, Mr. Huang turned to face the young man behind him.

“Do I need to teach you how to aim straight again, kiddo?”

Mr. Huang gripped Mickey’s pouch firmly. The warm, fatherly touch just about sent him over the edge. Mickey’s eyes slumped back as he became completely obedient to the father’s words.

“Now, I'm going to need you to repeat after me, kiddo.”

Mr. Huang kneaded Mickey’s pouch, garnering a groan of confirmation.

“‘I'm not gay, I'm just confused’.”

Mickey took an exaggerated breath of air before repeating.

“‘I'm into ladies, just like the other boys in school’.”

Mickey practically moaned on the word “ladies” and felt a wave of normality pass with “like the other boys”. Both him and Mr. Huang were surprised when he said the next phrase all on his own.

“...I have a girlfriend.”

“Yes kiddo!” Mr. Huang cheered, giving his son a congratulatory squeeze. “And how does it make you feel knowing you are ready to take the next step?”

Mickey could feel his breath quickening. “‘The next step’?”

“Well sure son,” Mr. Huang confirmed with a fatherly smile. “You’re going to propose.”

And with that sweeping realization came a rush of pure, unadulterated bliss. Although the rush itself was fairly meager, it still carried a massive wave of enlightenment.

“Now that looked like a big production!" the father congratulated from the front seat, causing the young man to blush.

“Thank the Lord it won’t show,” Micah Huang smiled. The Lord had a strange way of distributing his gifts. Micah was unfortunately blessed with muscles a little larger than his companions, a noticeable fault when regarding all the other 5’6-5’8 men. Fortunately however, he was blessed in his more private regions with extremely modest bearings, those of which were already perking up at the thought of his upcoming proposal.

“Are you ready, son?” his father asked out front as they entered the house. The smell of food cooking meant Micah’s mother was in the kitchen.

“Yes, but when do I propose to her dad?” Micah pleaded.

“Just let your instincts lead you son,” his father replied with a sharp spank.

Micah didn’t respond with anything fancy, just a polite nod before saying, “Ok dad.” In moments, he was already in his room and bashfully video chatting with his girlfriend. 

“Hey Jessie…” Micah was so anxious that he felt like he could explode. “I’ve got something to propose to you during service tomorrow…”

[alsanderecho]

Simply-Driven

Part 1

Thanks to the splendid @sjw-publishings

“Look, I’m gonna try and find the other guys, is that ok?”

“Sure babe, but don’t take too long.”

Jonathan and Mickey Hockley surely were not the favorite couple in the new neighborhood. When they had originally toured the place, they hadn’t asked much about the neighborhood. The president of the local association had said it was a great place to live, and they had taken the Asian-American dad’s word very seriously. What they hadn’t realized was that he had meant it was a great place to live for other simply-driven Asian-Americans. 

Jonathan and Mickey were the only white couple in the neighborhood, a surprise to the two who had primarily grown up without much minority exposure. They were excited for the opportunity to grow and learn though. They were also the only gay couple in the neighborhood, but that didn’t come as much of a shock. That being said, the backhanded comments and not-so-subtle homophobia were quite the displacement. None of the neighbors seemed to enjoy their company no matter how hard they tried. So when they were invited to the local festival in the neighborly newsletter, that was what shocked them most of all.

And now Jonathan and Mickey were here. Jonathan, the obvious physical top but once-you-got-to-know-him obvious bottom wasn’t able to see any of the neighborhood dads through the crowds even with his tall stature. If he was being honest though, most of the other men were of Asian-American descent. It was almost like a Comic Con for boringly average dads. Mickey, the obvious physical bottom but once-you-got-to-know-him obvious top needed to use the restroom badly. So the two split with Jonathan quickly finding all of the other neighborhood dads. They stood just outside of the festival by the food court, all in their matching patterned button-ups forming a line for a picture.

“Oi Brother!” one of them called.

Jonathan immediately recognized it to be Brian Wong, one of the younger fathers in the neighborhood. Self-consciously, Jonathan felt his heart flutter at the adamantly-normal-yet-unusually-attractive dad asking for him. “We need you for the neighborhood dads photograph, stat!”

The gay guy wanted to politely decline, but he had to admit, all the men–while seemingly carbon copies with slight variations in attire and features–were ever so hot. He knew his short-shorts and easy tank (and white skin) would make him stand out, yet he couldn’t help but feel drawn in. He just had to grab Mickey first. Before he could make a move however, a couple of dads paternally guided him over to his spot.

“But wait…” Jonathan protested. “What about my hus…hus…”

Brian patted him on the shoulder, helping him sink into the crowd.

“Dude, just think of me as your best man, bud. Everything will clear up in a moment.”

Jonathan shook his head, “What?”

Suddenly, Brian flashed his camera. The light disoriented Jonathan, causing him to forget what he had been talking about.

“Brotherly group hug, men!”

The neighborhood dads immediately slung their arms over one another’s shoulders. Jonathan could feel the body heat being transmitted throughout the connection to him. Gentle yet tight grips onto his shoulders, back widening to accommodate the fatherly mass placed upon him, shoulders rolled back at ease like another man of the crowd.

They were all side by side, and for some reason all this homoerotic heterosexual energy incredibly aroused the gay man. But he rationed it was nothing special. Returning the grip onto the men to the left and the right, sharing his own warmth with thicker digits and averagely-muscular arms.

“Think of a handsome pose any woman would like!”

The camera flashed, shortening the time Jonathan was allowed to be mad at the comment. His hair was also shortened, the blond bangs being carried up as they were slicked with gel on the top. The follicles darkened too, becoming an exact replica of the casual-yet-professional cut atop of Brian’s forehead.

The sleeves of Jonathan’s tank did the opposite of shortening however, growing outwards as his tank lost its skinny appeal. Buttons popped in along a split that formed down the middle, creating a summery shirt akin to what all the other men wore. It was practically their uniform anyway, and Jonathan did want to fit in.

“Alright now men!” Brian cheered from behind the camera. “You are proud fathers of society, built to run the neighborhood and take good care of the wives and children.”

All the men around Jonathan shifted their positions, straightening out their backs and puffing their chests out. Jonathan didn’t know what else to do but follow along.

“That’s it! Normal and nothing special.”

Once again the blinding light, this time hindering Jonathan’s sense of individuality. He had just wanted to fit in with these men, hadn’t he? Maybe the neighborhood would accept him if he just took to their ways, not exactly him and his partner conforming per say but-

Wait, where was his boy…friend? What was his name again…Mickey? Was it bad that he had momentarily forgotten his friend’s name? Or his friend entirely? Jonathan shook his head and asked himself the real question. Why was he worrying about another man? If he was to be like these neighborhood dads, then he ought to act like one. He shouldn’t be caring about another man when he was a man and a father himself. Hold on…’a father himself’?

“Now pose like the members of your favorite soccer team!”

Jonathan powerfully stretched his legs with the next picture, yet they didn’t extend as far as usual. When he stood flat again, he just about reached a solid 5’11 like the other dads. Jonathan didn’t want to STAND out in the crowd after all. Sure, most Asians are shorter, but his size was the Asian-American standard. Even though he only had a some Asian blood, right? But anyway, no more no less. Just enough to stand taller than the Asian-American standard for women…which Jonathan did not know why that mattered.

Brian peered behind the camera to do a quick check. With a hidden smile, he continued, “Pose like you’ve proud of your pants–bought during a clearance sale!”

Jonathan’s shorts became tackier and covered themselves with pockets. Their color washed out as if he had them for over years. Jonathan had bought them a while back when that store had a huge sale. Yeah they were still a bit big, but Jonathan knew whenever he’d get that dadbod like some of the older dads in the neighborhood that he’d grow into them. There was no point throwing away good clothes, especially if they were practical! How else was he supposed to hold all his knick-knacks?

“Now imagine you’ve scored a goal during father’s day!”

Jonathan kicked a leg up merrily like the rest of the neighborhood men, noticing his feet were a little bigger than the rest of them. Then again, it might just have been the shoes. His beaten-up New Balances were probably just a little chunkier because he had bought them years before the thinner material was in style. Looking again, he was proud to see his lemony legs and smaller foot matched all the others.

“Before we continue with the photographs,” Brian smirked. “Do remember that this is an ‘Exit-Only’ gentlemen's club.”

Jonathan cocked his head, not knowing what the other dad was referring to.

“Check if there are any intruders in the blind spot of your brethren!”

Jonathan leaped a bit as he felt a smack on his buttocks, sending a rigid spark across his body. The tight fatherly spank set him straight, the flash of the camera sealing the deal. For some reason, Jonathan thought this type of action would have excited him. But that didn’t make sense; he didn’t have any of that queerness in him! His roommate may be one of them, but Jonathan was a man of morals and principles.

Brian couldn’t help but take another glance at the progress before continuing. “Now imagine carrying your kiddos! Whatcha gonna need for that to happen?”

Jonathan and the men stretched their Asiatic muscles in unison. He gulped down as his vocal chords deepened with manhood. Jonathan’s jaw twitched and squared out with a manly aftershave that all these kinds of men used every morning. Yeah, it was one of the neighborhood dads who had gotten him hooked on this brand. Another one had Jonathan shopping at the same outlet malls for clothes. And, as Jonathan now remembered it, Brian Wong was the first to personally come over with his family to greet the new family.

Well, maybe “family” wasn’t the right word to describe Jonathan’s situation. Sure, he and his roommate had known each other for almost 20 years. They weren’t really that close however, not like brother to brother. No, Jonathan was older, enough so that he was practically an uncle. Or maybe even...a father?

“One last picture, brothers!” Brian called out. “Pose like you're producing with your wife!”

With a grunt and powerful thrust, all of the men drove their pelvises forward and released the tension that built up from the thought of their simply-driven heterosexual marriages. For the first time, Jonathan was able to do the same in full body and mind rather than mimic the other men. His serum splashed upon his boxer shorts as he finally became just another one of the neighborhood dads.

After a breath, the men began conversing with each other merrily. Sports, barbeque, church–the usuals.

“Whoa,” Joel Huang patted his average package, noting a certain dampness. “Must be missing the wifey more than I thought.”

Brian shuffled his way into the crowd of lookalikes and gave Joel a quick pat on the back. “Looks like the neighborhood get-togethers have influenced you quite well.”

Joel smiled excitedly as the pair led themselves over to the massive feast spread before them. “What can I say, Brian? It feels good to fit in."

As they took their seats, a shorter white male approached. A worried expression had fallen over his face, clearly lost. 

“Excuse me, have you seen a…” Mickey paused, the words having momentarily lost him. “A man that had walked in this direction?”

“‘A Man’?” Brian chuckled. “Of course! We have plenty, right brothers?”

All the Asian-American dads confirmed with a solid: “A-MEN!”

Joel couldn’t help but laugh with them at such a silly question. Of course they were all men, fathers even! This younger guy could be a man too, if he got rid of that queer vibe to him.

“But my hus…band…” Mickey once again struggled with his words, an anomaly to his usual confident demeanor. “He uh, walked over here?”

“I think the kiddo must be confused,” Brian tossed an arm over Mickey’s shoulder and led him to the seat across from Joel. A flash of disgust crossed the father’s face as Mickey sat, noticing the younger man’s package getting excited. Joel didn’t know what caused him more displeasure–the fact that his theory was true or that the younger man was abnormally large.

“Why don’t you take a seat and join us for our meal?” Brian persuaded. “I’m sure some food will help you calm down.”

Mickey frowned but decided to accept the offer. Free food wasn’t such a bad outcome, and neither was sitting across from the oddly-attractive-for-no-apparent-reason Asian-American dad. 

[alsanderecho]

Tickle Me Funny

Trying something a little different with @sjw-publishings

Jake stood in front of the studio doors in disbelief. How in the world had he ended up here of all places? He had been podcasting for the past few years, basically blogging with short videos on daily topics and longer essays on more broad issues. His doctorate in Gender & Queer Studies and his experiences as a gay man had given him a lot to work with, and when he finally started gaining some heat a few months ago, Jake began to believe all the struggle was worth it.

Then Jake got a call from his agent, telling him that he would be the next featured guest on Tickle Me Funny. Jake was surprised when he had received the news; Tickle Me Funny was another podcast that was completely inimical of his own. The anchors, Joseph Manchester and Brock Williams, were also in their 30s, but that was where the similarities stopped. Tickle Me Funny was a podcast where the two douchebros discussed anything their bigoted minds could spew out. Homophobia, racism, and most prevalently sexism. It was everything Jake and his own podcast stood against.

Hence why his agent had gotten him a spot on the show, saying it was a smart political move and could gain him some coverage. Jake had never had an agent before so he didn’t know whether to trust this opinion or not, but either way he was already signed up to make a guest appearance. So now the 5’10 clean-shaven gay guy stood in front of the Tickle Me Funny studio. With a deep breath, he propped his head high and marched in.

The studio was about everything he expected. Basic masculine furniture, empty beer bottles and pizza boxes strewn about. The place reeked of ball sweat and flatulence, but Jake was strong and kept his mission at focus. Be confident, make your points, argue your side. After that was all done, he would be able to leave.

“Yo! Jakey Wakey, eggs and bakey!” Joseph shouted as Jake entered the studio. Joseph Manchester was a taller dude with glasses and a bushy mustache. His emerging dad bod was hidden underneath a fading blue tee and some dirty jeans.

“The Pridesmobile has entered!” Brock added in. Brock Williams was a little shorter than Joseph but still taller than Jake. His bulkier frame was covered in a cheap Hawaiian shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. Jake began to regret his own outfit as he took his seat on the teal futon beside them, his emerald button-up and black slacks a little more formal than he had been expecting.

“Alright dude, so you know the basics of the show?” Joseph started. Jake responded with a hesitant look. Brock in turn returned an eye roll.

“C’mon bro it’s simple!” Brock laughed. “We just talk about whatever we want. Chicks, politics, and never dicks–you get the gist.”

“But whenever we ask you something and you take too long, we tickle you to get an honest answer.” Joseph then motioned to Jake’s Size 9 loafers. “You’re gonna wanna remove those prissy kicks.”

Jake hesitated, but after noticing that both Joseph and Brock had their dogs free (which Jake couldn’t believe how big all four of them were) he removed his own shoes and socks. Cautiously, he propped his feet up onto the ottoman.

Joseph smirked and Brock grabbed his microphone. “Let’s get started, boys.”

In moments, the camera was running and the livestream started. Thousands of viewers began popping in, most of them fans of Tickle Me Crazy but also a good bunch of Jake’s own. After a few moments, Joseph begun the official podcast too, with even more listeners tuning into their rapidly growing crowd.

“Welcome back to Tickle Me Funny!” Joseph exclaimed, followed by some obnoxious techno music and brutish sounds. “I’m your host, Joseph Manchester.”

“And I’m your host with the bigger dick, Brock Williams.” The pair sneered at each other before moving on.

“Today we’re joined by a very special guest, and no, he’s not a she.” A few “boo” noises were added in before Joseph continued. “Jake Moulin from Pride Parade.”

“Is that French?” Brock's question was rhetorical. “Just when I thought he couldn’t get any gayer.”

A masculine laugh track filled the room. Jake watched on proudly as a flood of angry comments from his supporters filled the chat.

“That’s the real question of today’s episode, ‘IS HE GAY?’” Joseph enunciated the clickbait title repulsively. Jake couldn’t believe how offensive this was. “But we’ll get to that later, gotta start easy on the kid first.”

“You all know the rules,” Brock went over the basics to the audience before jumping right in. “Now Jakey, I gotta know why you think it’s ok for women not to know how to cook?”

Jake smiled, finally feeling in his comfort zone. He had this one in the bag. “Personally, I think everyone should be able to use a kitchen. Doesn’t matter what sex, gender, or background. Cooking is a practice that people should know, but not have to be forced into. It’s like riding a bike–I think everyone ought to know how to do it, but they should want to learn it on their own.”

Joseph shook his head in disbelief. “Yeah sure, but no woman is ever gonna learn how to barbecue.”

Brock nodded and quickly followed up, “When I told my wife to start the grill, I immediately stopped myself and said: ‘Nevermind, the apron can’t handle that’.”

The two hollered at that one while Jake sat there unenthused. 

“Pfft,” Brock huffed. “Those ladies just can’t deal with the humor of a real man.”

Jake decided to step in. “Ummm…I think that’s being rather misogyn-”

“HAHA!” Brock interrupted. “Well excuse me MISS! I'm a real man–D-E-A-L WITH IT!”

Joseph chuckled at that and quickly joined in by firing the next question.

“Do you find us attractive, Jakey?”

A furious flush of embarrassment immediately bloomed across Jake’s face. He couldn’t believe he was just asked that. Jake was going to-

“Too long!”

Joseph took out a feather from beneath his butt and immediately began tickling Jake’s soles. The sensation flew right to Jake’s head and caused the truth to come out.

“BAHAHAHHA! YEAH I CAN SEE WHY PEOPLE FIND YOU ATTRACTIVE!”

The feather was pulled away and Jake immediately shot a hand over his mouth. Joseph and Brock only sneered. Jake’s supporters in the comments tried to defend him, admitting they too could see the appeal.

“I…I mean you guys are confident,” Jake tried to recover. “And yet you’re so chill about it.”

The pair nodded in agreement. “You gotta do the same then, Jakey boy.”

“Why do you think we are so laid back bro?”

Jake hesitated on his answer, causing the feather to attack again.

“AHAHAH STOP! B-B-BECAUSE YOU ARE WHITE MEN. YOU HAVE EVERYTHING!”

“You’re a white man, dude,” Joseph laughed. “So doesn’t that mean you can chill too?”

A sudden breeze of ease sunk Jake back into his seat. For some reason, Jake couldn’t process that the two men had completely blown past their acknowledgment of privilege. They were just simply right, he needed to chill out a bit more. They didn't need a fancy education to make a good point.

“Yeah man, that’s it,” Brock coaxed. “Kick it back in those sweats.”

Jake placed a tilted smile, a little confused at what Brock was talking about. He looked down at his legs and noticed he was wearing joggers. Some super comfy joggers that hugged his meaty legs well. Had they always been that long? And what was that smell?

“Oh you guys out there are lucky you ain’t smelling this!” Joseph snickered. “Our boy Jakey just crapped himself!”

Jake was appalled. Was that funky smell really coming from him?

“Alright dude, admit it. Are you the cause of that manly musk?”

The feather was already dancing around his soles before he could reply, that twinkling sensation sparking inside him once more.

“YEAH BRO! HAHAHAHA THAT STINK IS ALL MINE!”

Jake took a few gasps of air as he recovered from the tickling, allowing him to fully take in his stench. He wasn’t one to really take to hygienics, only really cleaning himself whenever gir...guys requested it. Plus, Jake liked his natural aroma. He was always working hard at the podcast or in bed, so he didn’t have time anyway! He was a man after all, why should he care how he smelled?

“Well now it's obvious,” Brock pointed to Jake’s pits. “This guy’s sweatin’ a storm!”

Jake lifted his arms in response, the sleeves of his beaten green tee that gripped tightly to his muscular arms lowering just enough to spill out some wet, hairy jungles of hair. Their new exposure allowed them to release even more body odor. A loose chuckle escaped Jake in response, one a little duller than usual.

“That funk is basically disrespecting women,” Joseph commented. “Which we are supposed to be the best at!”

The chat blew up with laughter from the Tickle Me Funny fanbase. Jake’s own group took a different angle than he was expecting. Why were they saying Jake was better?

“Disrespecting women?” Jake countered, but was unable to find an offensive point. Instead, he took an easier route. “Dude…I’m a nice guy!"

“Whatever man,” Brock stopped him. “I'm the nicest guy on the podcast! Just ask YOUR MOM!”

Joseph threw his head back. “HAHA GOT ‘EM!”

An audio of a deep voice shouting “Burn!” with a couple of air horns filled the room. Jake couldn’t help but laugh along. Their energy was contagious. He could now see why these two had such a large audience; Jake was warming up to them quickly.

“Well exactly!” Jake added in. “Sure you are both nice guys, a couple of douches bu-HAHA-!”

The feather immediately swiped itself across Jake’s exposed feet, erasing the intelligent, boring answer before it was even uttered.

“I’VE BEEN IN BED WITH BOTH OF YOUR MOMS–HAHAHA–SO WHO’S THE NICEST GUY NOW?!”

Jake was panting, the tickling torture was really starting to get to him. But at the same time, it felt like things were clearing up. He was really beginning to see the pair’s point of view.

“Sorry dude, had to ‘Tickle You Funny’ there,” Brock explained.

“We could feel something un-funny coming,” Joseph affirmed.

But as much as Jake was starting to like the guys, he couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t reach outside of their comfort zones. That was something Jake took pride in after all, spending time to get others to feel comfortable where they may not be. Like women, or chicks, or ladies, or…well…uh…no matter how much he spends time with these two dudes, he feels comfortable here. Or whatever he had been thinking before he’d lost his train of thought. Something about community and pride, right? It was ga…GUY PRIDE!

After a casual grope, Joseph lamented, “Dudes, I don’t like catty sluts, but I could really smash some PUSSY right now…”

Brock nodded along in agreement, grabbing his own pouch.

Scratching his scruffy stubble, Jake wasn’t really able to empathize.

“Oh uh…that’s not really-HAHA! DUDE I’M CRAVING SOME AWOOGA-AWOOGAS!”

Joseph pulled the feather away proudly as Jake readjusted his larger body in the seat. Yeah, he was getting a dad bod, but the chicks…the uh chic…the dicks loved it? Nah, that didn’t sound right, did it? Speaking of dicks, was his a little smaller? He cupped his own pouch continuously, but totally just to confirm.

“So man,” Joseph taunted. “That brings around the question the chat’s been wondering this whole time.”

Jake peered over to the screen to verify Joseph’s point. And he was right, everyone was asking the same thing, all united on the same front.

Brock was the one who asked it aloud: “Is this guy GAY?”

Jake paused briefly, his eyes staring blankly into the monitor and his mouth agape at the absurd question posed to him at the moment. He was…was…wait, did that not make sense? 

Wasn’t his fanbase ga…guys? But the chat seemed like a bunch of poggers and bros at the moment…a collective mass of memes drowning out anything not toxically dudebro. And wasn’t his platform based around pri…pussy? Like wasn’t he all about being a man and getting to bed women? Wasn’t Tickle Me Funny’s homophobic, racist, sexist, extremely backward and overly masculine and incredibly ignorant nature completely inim-

“-HAHA! AIN'T NO WAY DUDES!”

The tickling was finally too much, causing the microphone hidden underneath his sweats to spurt into his boxers. Jason didn’t mind though. When his Size 14 stompers got the attention they craved, he always got excited. It was basically natural–a compliment really. Jason was a man after all, so naturally his cock was connected to everything. 

Jason knew his viewers loved it anyway. All the dudes in the chat were egging him on about it, applauding him for “coming” forward as a straight alpha male. The Tickle Me Funny and Pussy Parade crowds got along real well. Jason couldn’t believe he hadn’t collaborated with Joseph and Brock before, their shows were completely identical.

“By god, he’s done it men,” Joseph cheered. “Our very own ‘run of the mill nice guy’ Jason Miller’s just proved himself.”

“No kidding bro,” Brock said. “Ain’t no way a fag would have the balls to do that on our show.”

“Ain’t no way the fag would have balls!” Jason snarked in the same dull, dumb, overly-cocky voice the other two had. 

All three of them burst into laughter, the chat exploding with the same response.

“Ain’t no way fags would be on this show!” Joseph was able to add between the breaths, only spurring the privileged masculine hilarity further. 

“Dumb faggots,” Jason chuckled. The pair quickly agreed.

Once they were all able to calm down, Brock quickly ended the show.

“Thanks for tuning in to today’s episode of Tickle Me Funny. Remember guys, hit that follow, hit that like, and hit that-”