amendingreality

[amendingreality]

Daddy 🥰

www.suiteddaily.com

[amendingreality]

“Can I become your cock?”

“Sure, jump in”

“…….”

[amendingreality]

There he was, my highschool crush all mine and maluable. I still couldn't believe it, even after that creature basically lived with me for weeks as my dad...

[amendingreality]

Tristan journey continued

"Good morning Mr. Brown,"

"Can't you see that I'm chilling? Who are you and what the fuck do you want?"

"I want your time, because I'm about to show you what I know about you. Follow me, or else,"

Confused yet intrigued, you followed the pudgy hotel employee that clearly mustered up all his courage to greet you and delivered what he thought as a blow to your cover. You sensed the direction of the conversation you'll have, but you let him play around with his games first and see where it will get you

His access card allowed him to enter any spaces he wished for, so, by several minutes, you already lost in the maze of this expansive resort. You followed him all the way to this quiet lounge as he then faced you with his phone unlocked.

"You see, I never came out about my.....practically illegal activity of recording some of the rooms, to anyone. You can probably tell that I don't get a lot of actions so might as well enjoyed the sight of realistic actions of some of our refined guests. But, you did something interesting last night. Aside from kicking your date out of your room, which I have to say, masterfully handled your massive cock and really took it like a champ as you stretched his boycunt, you then vomited like crazy before.......he appeared once more from the puddle of your own vomit. Everything is captured from the tiny cameras here, here and here, so, care to explain how the fuck you did that?"

Stunned silence for a moment to let Tristan respond, yet no reply, so he continued

"Are you not even from this world? Heck, are you even Tristan Brown? Because if I proceed the video to........here, yup, care to explain why the skinsuit is alive and well while you slumped in the sofa? Yet here you are now,"

Caught red-handed. A deer in the spotlight moment. This human is a threat that should be eliminated!

"Aye.....by the way, if you think to do anything crazy to me, I already set a scheduled release of all the footage to some websites and my friends. I can cancel them though, if you help me and then in-turn, let me help you,"

"I cannot be your wing-man or become your PT or even make girls want to sleep with you, if that's what you implied,"

"Oh, but you can. Well, not you per se, but this skin you're wearing. Let me be him and I can help you harvest more humans that you can use as future skinsuits. In the meantime, go slip back into your latest creation as I hunt down more bodies for ya. Heck, you can even watch or we can make it an exciting threesome or something,"

As twisted as it sounds, this guy seemed to understand the mechanic pretty well of the entire scheme, plus he's not weirded out with the whole thing. You did slip into your last night fuck-buddies replica in your original slimy form and then, feeling a bit adventurous, you slipped back out from him and squeezed the entire 6'5" frame of Tristan into the 5'9" mold of the fuckbuddy while the real one already kicked out and probably cried all the way out after the breeding session, discarded like he meant nothing. And while the rest of the colonies indeed just use the skinsuit you garnered so far as vessels and then leave you to dust with a mere "thank you for your service" as this has been designated as your duty, this dude seemed to appreciate your work genuinely. It's like as if he's spell-bound by the whole revelation of the existence of extraterrestial life plus his mind raced with possibilities of reaping something out of this. Hence, your agreement to his proposal, which caused him to grin like a maniac, the smile plastered on the nerdy pudge even more unsettling due to the almost pitch-black lighting of the room

---

As you slipped out from Tristan and let his body flopped to the sofa, he watched in awe as you slithered through your room and then started to enter the empty clone of your last night's, a guy named Jesse, from his bulbous ass. A quick seconds later, Jesse-clone is alive and ready to serve its purposes, but the one in the driver's wheel is you as you try to adjust to the way the world filters out through a completely different lens

Meanwhile, the pudgy perv starts to also squeeze himself inside the-now-empty Tristan's skinsuit. He's bare-naked when he slipped himself in through Tristan's mouth and despite having not much problem to insert the legs, problem started to appear when his love-handle stuck and have quite a tough time to get in. Stretching Tristan's mouth further and pushing himself deeper into the void, his bigger waist and belly eventually slipped inside and quickly suctioned to fit into Tristan's muscular yet hourglass-like form. He let out a rather audible gasp when his legs now fully in control of Tristan's and his belly managed to move past through the expanded throat and redistributed to align with Tristan form. It's an alien clone of Tristan Brown after all, so it also managed to reshape the pudgy perv to fit the mold perfectly as he found himself feeling numb in regards to his physique yet at the same time his senses started to merge with the clone Tristan's.

As he stands with his powerfully carved legs with the bulging muscles that emphasized his thigh and calves prominence and hard work it endured, he then adjusted the floppy loins that soon perked to an incredibly hard 9 incher, brown-ish monstrosity. It's veiny, almost even thickness throughout the entire length and supported by two massive balls only seen in someone pumping shit-load of testosterone across their body. It started to leak pre from excitement, his puny 4 incher getting such massive upgrade clearly elicited a cooing response, yet he keep himself focused with the task at hand

As the torso now merged, the ridged, slick abs and the juicy pectoral muscles feels totally his while the gorgeous, well-defined back also starts to absorb and re-arranged all the fat he used to have as supporting tissue of Tristan's form. The suit managed to shrink his belly and turned the jiggli-ness of his man-boobs into a set of pecs and abs only the most dedicated gym douche can ever achieve. The arms are equally erotic, the way his weak flaps now seemingly gloved by a powerful set of biceps and triceps that extended into a massive callouser mitts to indicate the hours spent in the gym caused him to absent-mindedly explored his new form with the new hand.

That new hand of his eventually used to push his own head into Tristan's and once locked in position, everything just feels incredibly right for him as Tristan's long dark lock, intense gaze, full lips and prominent nose now all become his form, which he then manipulate to showcase the obsessed lunatic now in control of this powerfully irresistible form. The self-worship instantly started as all the senses eventually align and his own reflection, his smell, everything about him now makes him the perfect copy of Tristan Brown! He grabbed a handful of his wet hair and then sniffed his own arm until his eyes fluttered before then started to vigorously sniff and try to lick his hairy pits. He almost gets off due to the climax of sensation that hit him but he managed to ride through it as his cock just simply leaking pre but the big spurt can still be contained. He grinned at the fantastic sight in front of him, the grin looks malicious even from the get go and the eyes clearly looked like someone that just hit the jackpot of a lifetime and about to splurge with it

"Bro, this is crazy good. But you know what's even crazier? I have it all in here, everything Tristan and everything you did while you look like this. Fuck......we really were crazy last night, I bred that ass of yours good,"

Much to your surprise, your cock gets hard and "Tristan" noticed it right away as he licked his lips

"Mmmhhh......damn right, boy. So fucking irresistible, just the sight of me drives everyone nuts. Hmmmm.....ffuucckkkk....this scent too......damn I smelled delicious. What about we re-created last night's action from memory before I start hunting for your first one? Consider it a test drive, what do you think? I know you want to take a slurp out of this meat, boy,"

So you kneeled, obediently, as you look up to the towering form of your former skinsuit as he used you like a fleshlight for the day, believing in his promise to help you getting more bodies faster and at the same time, following his calls since he can jeopardize your entire operation if he ever decided to let the whole world know about your existence through his pervy hidden camera

[amendingreality]

http://truzas-off3.tumblr.com

[amendingreality]

Thought we give you a little show after switching into those boys.

Cute, right?...

[amendingreality]

Stuck

I found out when I turned 30 that my family had some long decent from the Salem trial witches… apparently when any male in our family turns 30… this magic activates. I tried it a few times, as the weeks went on I was able to swap people’s body, swap myself into others… take people over etc. They say everyone’s ability is different but mine happened to be controlling of peoples body’s and appearances.. I also found out the magic line goes down the men not the women because if the women were to get pregnant, they’d lose their power.

That leads us to me finally wanting to reveal my power to my friend kyle… I had the perfect idea too.. see kyle HATES Bryce Hall… yes the Bryce hall… tik toker influencer, whatever you wanna call him, kyle especially hates Bryce’s little dances…. This is what made me think to swap kyle into Bryce for the day…. Make him do the little dance.. it was all in good fun, but in order for me to be there I had to swap into someone Bryce was with… of course when I used my magic to find Bryce he’s on vacation in the Bahamas with his gf, shit… didn’t plan on becoming a girl… but I already had the plan set might as well.

Unfortunately the only issue with my power was one of the swapped parties had to be looking at the other, even a picture… so I sent kyle a tik tok of Bryce, waited for him to watch it and bam I swapped them.

Kyle woke up in a strange room, overlooking the beach, confused he gets out of bed and stumbles a bit, being a little shorter than before. Kyle rubs his eyes and looks down, nearly passing out… his legs aren’t his legs, or his feet. Looking down he sees Bryce’s thick tree trunk legs, Bryce’s snake tattoo, wolf tattoo and Bryce’s feet. Kyle instantly recognizes the tattoos and realizes he’s in Bryce hall… what the fuck… in Bryce hall?!

Kyle quickly runs to a mirror and gasps, looking back is Bryce, shirtless… staring with a shocked look on his face. Kyle touches his face, Bryce does the same.. “shit this is real” kyle thinks and without thinking starts to feel Bryce’s body up. Bryce didn’t have the best body but it was damn fine, big arms, big legs… tan… kyle’s mind starts to get foggy… horny even. He hesistates… trying to be rational but reaches in his shorts and grabs Bryce’s member. Kyle gasps, it’s about the same size as his old dick, it just feels different it’s someone else’s.. kyle pulls his hand out, looking at bryce’s arms he decides to flex.

Kyle then hears the bathroom door and sees what he remembers is Bryce’s Gf walking out, smirking

Mika walks up giggling.

M: hi Bryce

B: uhhhh hey uhhh babe.” Kyle stutters, admiring her, Bryce’s body making his cock rock hard, wanting to destroy her.

M: Aw what’s wrong kyle… don’t like your body?

B: k…kyle?! Wait… you did this?

M: it’s be bro, it’s Rob.

B: rob?! You… how the fuck are you her and I’m

Bryce?!

Rob chuckles “I’m magic.. that’s all you gotta do… now dance Bryce”

Rob’s magic makes Bryce’s body start doing all the fuck boy Tik tok dances.. hopping around, rocking his hips etc.

B: ok cut it out!!!” Kyle try’s to stop but can’t, your body starts to get wet seeing Bryce’s get sweaty from the dancing.

Rob laughs at kyle, after a few minutes she finally lets him stop dancing.

B: your such a dick…

Kyle looks annoyed, grabbing the water and having a drink. What Rob didn’t realize but making “Bryce” do the dances broke a barrier between Bryce’s mind and Kyle, as kyle stands there his brain is flooded, infected with the worlds biggest fuck boy. Bryce Hall takes over almost instantly, kyle’s no match for how cocky, arrogant and dominant Bryce is.

Bryce smiles

“Hey baby girl”

M: ok kyle your being weird now

B: who’s kyle babe?”

Bryce walks over, kissing her and sliding his hand down her pants, his fingers go right inside her slit.

Rob’s mind feels, the pleasure locking his body up, he try’s to move but this body.. it’s so hard to resist, she’s so turned on by Bryce.. it feels so good. Rob moans loud

B: that’s it baby girl… let me take care of you

Before Rob can respond Bryce has her on the bed, pants down, licking her clit. Rob screams, his first female orgasm washes over him… he can’t think, feels so good… needs to feel Bryce in there.

Almost on command Bryce pulls his shorts down, his cock pops free… Rob stares, a bit of fear and excitement washes over him

R: uhhh bryceeee maybe we shouldnttttt

Bryce starts sucking her neck and slides himself in, it’s like fireworks going off in robs head, his mind goes black, he can only think about Bryce’s cock inside him.

Bryce starts to make sweet love to his girlfriend, not knowing it’s a random guy in her body, or that there’s another guy locked in his body, watching. Rob feels Bryce’s cock starting to get bigger, he can sense that Bryce is close

R: bryceeee…. Kyle….. stopppp one of you!!! Kyle you gotta stopppp him

B: shhhh it’s ok baby…we talked about this…

Rob starts to thrash, an orgasm washes over him, the feelings insane with Bryce still hammering his hole.

There’s a primal grunt from Bryce, he’s close really close. His pre had been leaking in rob already for a while, but now the real deal.

R: pleesseeee donnttt… you… stopppp

B: don’t worry babe I won’t stop!!! Bryce grunts

R: nooooo donttt

Rob tries to turn on his magic he tries to escape, his magic starts to pull him out of Bryce’s gf but it’s too late.. Bryce slams in hard and then explodes, rob feels the warm seed shoot into him, he screams, orgasming but also a scream of terror.

Rob feels his magic fading rapidly

R; no no no!!!!!

He try’s to use his magic but it’s gone.. which means only one thing.. he’s pregnant..Rob starts to cry trying to get free.

B: baby what’s wrong? You just told me you wanted me to knock you up tonight…” Bryce looks concerned and starts kissing you all over.

You sigh… thinking to yourself that you’re fucked, literally. Kyle’s trapped in Bryce and you’re trapped in his now pregnant girlfriend.. with no way home. You look at Bryce and smile, atleast he’s hot and that sex was amazing… fuck it

M: better make sure you got me pregnant big boy” she slaps Bryce’s ass and he starts again.

[amendingreality]

Lust

It’s so hard living in a gayborhood in a big city. All the “important” and “popular” influencer gays were everywhere. Which was great for me to yearn for from afar but terrible for my self perception.

They were all perfectly plumped and muscle bound after countless hours in the gym and doctors office. I lusted after so many of them but they’d never look at me. I’m too normal for these guys.

One of my favorites was Alex.

I mean look at him. You would too. He was the epitome of a short king but damn was he built in the perfect way. He’s the kind of person that makes you question how you’re not living in the same world at the same time. And you can tell he knows he’s desirable. He’s become popular on OnlyFans capitalizing on his sculpted body.

One day I got caught slipping and he began teasing me from afar. First it was a wink or moving close to me as I struggled on my sets. Then it was doing squats showing off the goods. Eventually I wanted to cave and just approach him to tell him how hot I thought he was but I turned around and he was gone. I figured I missed my window and went to the lockers to get my stuff.

There he was. Taking selfies leaving nothing to the imagination. I felt feral and as I approached him he hushed me.

“I know what you want” he calmly replied to my eagerness.

“But I’m the only one that gets to fuck me. I want you to be a good boy and takeover my body. I’ve been eyeing this hunk that would be perfect for a collab. I think he’s straight but I can fix that.”

The plan trauma dumped onto me. I stood there confused and shocked by what he just divulged onto me.

“Ugh look the condensation is I can pull other people’s spirits into my body but I gotta go somewhere so I seek another vessel for myself while you’re in here. Two spirits in one body is way too cramped.”

The pieces were finally clicking and before I could ask anything, he hushed me again.

“Do you want to have sex, yes or no? It’s that simple, so be a good boy and answer.”

I nodded like a puppy big and doe eyed. Before I knew it I was being ripped from where I stood and then looked at my former light complected twink self seemingly asleep on the ground. I looked down at my new caramel colored hands, veins bulging out of my forearms.

I used my new calloused palms to squeeze my inflated and sweaty glistened chest. Lightly squeezing one pec at a time before tightly squeezing both at once. This is crazy!

I heard my phone buzzing in my bag amid my exploration. It was Alex from a random number telling me to join him at a nearby address. He works quick.

“Get here now if you wanna get down and be fast or I’ll punish you like a bad boy.”

My new junk was stirring in my tiny black underwear. I quickly rinsed off and changed clothes before hauling ass to the address. As I approached the condo, I nearly knocked when I got another text.

“The doors open. Come in and get down to your underwear.” It read.

I obliged and got down to my new crisp and clean white underwear. As I looked up I saw it l him. Alex was 5’6” and well off in his normal body but the hunk he now inhabited was 6’4, white, and stacked with muscle. While I wondered if that body was potentially doing steroids his creamy palm approached my comparatively tiny waist and yanked me closer.

I took a picture of us together in a nearby mirror. He then picked up my free hand and placed it down his shorts.

That has to be a tree trunk.

“How am I supposed to take all that?!” I whispered under my breath

“Because I’m telling you to.”

I blushed and nodded eagerly again

[amendingreality]

The Witch’s Easter Surprise - Training Season

Jake and Owen couldn’t have been more different.

Jake was a senior and the face of Elmsworth High—football captain, loud laugh, girls on his arm, and college scouts on the line. Owen, a soft-spoken junior in the drama club, was more likely to be found sketching in the back row than shouting in the bleachers. The only thing they really had in common was that they both ended up at the town’s Easter festival that afternoon.

They didn’t talk—not really. Just a passing glance at the craft booth and a polite nod when Jake picked up a strange egg a kid had dropped. It was purple, with glowing gold swirls that shimmered oddly in the sunlight.

Jake turned it over. “Looks kind of sick,” he said to no one in particular. “Might keep this.”

Owen, standing nearby, tilted his head curiously but said nothing.

And that was it. They went their separate ways.

That night, alone in his room, Jake finally took a closer look at the egg. It didn’t rattle like the others had. No candy inside. Still, something about it felt cool. Without thinking much of it, he cracked it open.

In his own room across town, Owen did the same. He’d picked up a matching egg from the ground, assuming it was a leftover part of the event. It looked the same—purple with gold swirls. Too interesting to leave behind.

Both halves popped open at the same time.

Purple mist burst out of both eggs, swirling across their rooms, filling the air with an almost electric hum. Each boy gasped as the magic hit them, drawing them into a vortex of shimmering light.

When the light faded… everything had changed.

Jake sat up in bed, suddenly shorter, leaner, and completely unfamiliar with the soft fabric of pajama pants that didn’t belong to him. His fingers were thinner. His voice, when he gasped, was higher. He scrambled to the mirror—and nearly fell over.

Owen’s wide eyes stared back.

Meanwhile, Owen stood frozen in front of his own mirror, his chest heaving as he stared at Jake’s tall, athletic frame. He ran a hand through Jake’s messy hair and blinked hard.

This wasn’t a prank.

They had swapped bodies and lives.

No one else noticed. Texts from friends addressed Owen as “Jake,” congratulating him on his “killer throw at practice.” Meanwhile, Jake’s phone was full of reminders about auditions and rehearsal schedules.

The magic hadn’t just swapped their bodies.

It had rewritten their lives.

[amendingreality]

Little Brother

With @next-pharaoh

“Eh, dirty Arab,” Markus muttered to himself, squeezing into the aisle seat next to the younger brown man beside him. He could only hope his suit would not get filthy while next to the fellow. Markus was on his way to a meeting across the country, hoping to be promoted to an associate at his law practice.

“I’m sorry, what did you say, zalameh?” Markus’s new acquaintance asked innocently. Markus grimaced at the hair that seemingly covered every exposed part of the young man’s body, and the musk that naturally wafted off of it.

“Nothing, nevermind.” Markus did not want to get into an argument. He was not worried about the other passenger’s size–Markus's hobby of weightlifting would definitely make it an even match–but he was on a plane. They were going to sit together for at least three hours.

“Picking a fight with me is rather bold,” the man beside him warned. “Just because we are in public does not mean your big brother Khalil won’t put you into place. I’ve had no problem doing that in the mosque, remember?.”

The second half of the comment caught Markus off guard. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Do not play dumb, zalameh,” Khalil smirked. “Although I guess skipping that post-secondary education may have slowed you down.”

“N-no, I’m smart…and I’m not Muslim.” Markus struggled to regain his footing, which was surprising for the lawyer of almost ten years. But then, something else began to alarm him. “Wait, what’s happening to my suit?!”

Right before the pair’s eyes, Markus’s suit had begun to dwindle away, pulling back towards his core. The jacket disappeared completely, while the starched button-up softened into a basic graphic tee. Markus’s pleading eyes searched for help but no one seemed to notice his pant legs curling up, becoming sweat shorts that reached halfway across the thigh. Finally, as his premium loafers morphed into beaten sneakers, Markus switched to the offensive.

“You’re doing this aren’t you, you camel-”

“Shh, brother,” Khalil placed a brown finger to Markus’s lips, shushing him. “You don’t want to make a scene, do you?”

Recovering fast, Markus ripped Khalil’s hand away, but then he noticed a new problem. “My-my arms! Why are they…”

“They’ve always been brown,” Khalil stated as they both followed the wave of melanin that flushed over Markus’s arms. “They’re as hairy as mine, but if you joined me in the gym more often than they’d be as buff and strong as mine too.”

Markus’s arms shrunk under Khalil’s comments, now more toned than muscular. “Wha-” 

“And that runner’s build too,” Khalil commented. “Sure you have abs and that thick treasure trail, but it makes you more boyish than man.”

“No, stop it!” Markus exclaimed. And yet no attention was given to him from the other passengers as his frame thinned out into a figure appropriate for a runner.

“At least you have that fat, bushy, Arab cock our family name takes pride in!” Khalil suddenly grabbed Markus’s crotch, both of them noticing the heftier weight. Markus did not understand how, but he could feel his white sperm rapidly evaporating within Khalil's grip.

“B-but I’m not Arab…and I’m a lawyer…and I’m-”

“You're my little brother,” Khalil finished, grabbing Markus’s face. “Praise Allah I have patience for your misunderstandings.”

Markus was going to comment, but instead was distracted by a foreign feeling on his chin, “Since when do I have a goatee…?”

“Since you could grow one, zalameh. You’ve wanted to be like me ever since you were little.”

Markus groaned. “I don’t...ow, my head...”

“By Allah you practically are like me at this point,” Khalil chuckled. “One could even confuse us for twins.”

“No…that can’t be…true.” Struggling, Markus got up. To his surprise, Khalil did not stop him–nor did anyone else for that matter–as he stumbled towards the bathroom. He had to see if it was true. Markus had to know if…

“Subhanallah!”

With the mirror in front of him, Markus was able to witness what Khalil had meant. Reflected back was a young Arab man, no older than 25. Attractive in a boyish way, but still held that Arab hair and funk that many brown men were proud of. Markus’s eyes began to water, but before he could cry his phone received a notification.

“Marwan, what’s taking you so long! We are about to take off!!"

Marwan shook his head, what was he just thinking about? It probably did not matter anyway. Luckily his older brother Khalil was looking out for him once again. Admiring his own brown, masculine beauty and quickly thanking Allah for it, Marwan left the bathroom to return to his brother. Khalil was beaming from ahead, eagerly awaiting him.

[amendingreality]

CYOC: Stuck as my little cousin (A Body Swap Story)

This story is based on the “Family Swap Tradition” branch up to the point of the chapter “Stuck as my little cousin”. All due credits to the anonymous authors and grayman. Added my own photos and twist to the story. But if you want to read the original, you can read it here: https://www.cyoc.net/interactives/chapter_162577/branch_171502.html Branches: 

Family swap tradition

Dylan’s perspective of the family swap tradition

Dylan is now little Kenny

Dylan and Kenny's First Night

Stuck As My Little Cousin

Reading the CYOC branches are not necessary and you can jump into the story here: 

Dylan and Kenny were more than just cousins—they were bound by an unusual family tradition that made their connection even more unique. Every winter, their extended family gathered at their old cabin in the mountains, a tradition that had been passed down for generations. It wasn't just a time for reminiscing and bonding over hot cocoa by the fireplace; there was something much more profound that set their family apart. Each year, without fail, every adult in the family swapped bodies with another adult, and every child swapped with another child. It was a secret they held close, a ritual as ordinary to them as opening presents on Christmas morning. It was said to strengthen the family, to allow everyone to see life from another's perspective—literally.

Ten years ago, when Dylan had just turned eighteen, he had been poised to join the ranks of the adults for the body swap. However, because he had only barely crossed the threshold into adulthood, he had still been considered part of the children's group. That year, his eight-year-old cousin Kenny was part of the lottery as well. As fate would have it, they drew each other's names, an event that hadn't occurred in a while. The family was thrilled at the coincidence, seeing it as a rare and special bond between the two cousins. Dylan, on the other hand, had his reservations. He had always looked forward to swapping with the adults, but instead, he found himself in the body of his younger cousin.

As the swap took effect, Kenny marveled at his new height and strength, eagerly flexing his fingers and running around in Dylan’s teenage body. He found immense joy in doing things he normally couldn’t—opening jars with ease, lifting heavier objects, and even reaching the top shelves without a stool. Dylan, however, was far less enthused about his new perspective. Everything seemed too big, too overwhelming. He missed his independence, his deeper voice, and the physical confidence that came with being eighteen. Despite his discomfort, he tried to make the most of it, knowing the tradition meant it was only temporary.

As the week at the cabin came to an end, everyone gathered in the living room to swap back to their original bodies. One by one, family members reclaimed their identities, until, at last, it was time for Dylan and Kenny. But Kenny had other plans. That night, while Dylan had fallen asleep, Kenny, still in Dylan’s body, carried him to the room where his younger self usually slept. With his father’s help, he tucked Dylan into bed and declared that the swap had already been reversed. His father accepted it without question, trusting the ritual to have gone as planned. In Kenny’s mind, he had just secured himself an entirely new life.

The next morning, Dylan woke up in a panic. He was still in Kenny’s small body. Rushing out of bed, he tried to explain to Uncle Frank, his supposed father now, that something was terribly wrong. But Uncle Frank dismissed his claims with a chuckle, patting his head and telling him that he should let go of his jealousy. No one believed him. They all assumed he was just a child clinging to the experience of being older, something that had happened before with other kids in the past. Try as he might, Dylan couldn’t convince anyone that he had been cheated out of his rightful life.

For the next ten years, Dylan lived as Kenny, forced to relive childhood, go through school again, and watch his former self—now Kenny—live the life that should have been his. He struggled academically, not because he wasn’t intelligent, but because he had already learned everything before. The frustration of redoing classes he had already passed as Dylan gnawed at him. He withdrew from extracurricular activities, lacking the motivation to repeat experiences. Socially, he felt isolated, unable to connect with his peers the way he had when he was truly a child. He lived in a state of detachment, simply going through the motions until he could finally reclaim his real life. Physically, Dylan remained relatively unchanged. His frame remained lean, his voice barely deepened, and puberty didn’t bless him with the same physical advantages he had once had. 

(Dylan in Kenny’s 18-year-old body) 

It was a stark contrast to what had happened to Kenny. Kenny, living in Dylan’s body, flourished. He embraced adulthood with vigor, excelling in college and later building a promising career. He worked out religiously, sculpting a body that exuded strength and confidence. He took on responsibilities Dylan would have had, networking, dating, and becoming an entirely new person. The family never suspected a thing—they simply believed Kenny had matured well and Dylan had taken a different path.

Each winter at the cabin, Dylan watched as his true body continued to change, growing further away from him. Kenny wore it effortlessly, almost as if he had truly become Dylan. Meanwhile, Dylan felt perpetually stuck, his aspirations put on hold, his identity in limbo. For a decade, he was trapped.

(Kenny in Dylan’s 28-year-old body) 

But this year was different. Dylan’s original body was now twenty-eight, and his current one—Kenny’s—was finally eighteen. As the family gathered for their annual ritual, Dylan’s heart pounded. This was his last chance. And then, to everyone’s amazement, Dylan and Kenny drew each other’s names once again. A rare stroke of fate had given Dylan what he had wished for all these years. The swap happened in an instant, and suddenly, Dylan was back in his own body.

(Kenny back in his body)

(Kenny trying to get used to being Kenny again)

(Dylan back in his original body)

 (Dylan trying to get used to being Dylan again) 

As they sat together after the swap, Kenny looked at Dylan with an expression that was both apologetic and uncertain. "I stole your life," he admitted. "I was just a kid, but I knew what I was doing. I got used to being you, and I—" He trailed off, unable to meet Dylan’s eyes. Dylan let out a slow breath, absorbing the weight of the words. "It’s been ten years," he finally said. "And I guess… it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re back where we’re supposed to be. That’s what counts."

But then Kenny hesitated. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something," he said carefully. "Would it be okay if we swapped again at the end of the trip? I’ve been you for so long. I don’t know how to be myself anymore." Dylan blinked. He wasn’t sure how to respond. A part of him wanted to shout no, but another part of him understood. He left the question unanswered, letting it hang between them like the snowflakes drifting outside the cabin window.

Over the next few days, Dylan struggled to reacquaint himself with his original body. He felt unfamiliar in his own skin—too tall, too muscular, too hairy. His movements felt heavier, more deliberate. He had spent so many years as Kenny that being Dylan again felt alien. He caught his reflection in the mirror and barely recognized himself. Meanwhile, Kenny, back in his original body, wrestled with the same feeling in reverse. He missed the confidence of his old self, the maturity, the strength. Looking at Dylan, he felt like he was staring at a stranger inhabiting the body he had called home for ten years.

(Cousins trying to adapt)

By the end of the week, Dylan made his decision. After several deep conversations, both he and Kenny realized they had fully adapted to their switched lives. "Let’s do it," Dylan told Kenny. "You feel more like Dylan, and I feel more like Kenny. We’ve been each other for too long to go back now." The weight of the decision settled between them, but rather than hesitation, there was a shared sense of relief. Kenny’s face broke into a wide smile, and Dylan felt a surprising sense of contentment. They performed the swap one last time, and when it was done, there was no regret, no confusion—only peace. From that moment forward, Dylan thought of himself as Kenny, and Kenny thought of himself as Dylan. They had lived each other's lives for so long that, in the end, it only felt right. They embraced, not as two people returning to their old selves, but as two men who had found where they truly belonged.

(The new Kenny enjoying his permanent body)

(The new Dylan enjoying his permanent body) 

The End.

[amendingreality]

Ahmed and Khalid sat side by side at a table in a bustling café, their bulging biceps straining against the fabric of their tight shirts. The clinking of glasses and the hum of conversations surrounded them, but their attention was solely on the photo displayed on Ahmed's phone.

"Bro, I'm telling you, we used to be them," Ahmed insisted, his eyes fixed on the Instagram photo of the effeminate white couple. He gestured at the screen with a determined look on his face.

Khalid, his arms folded across his massive chest, raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Come on, man. You're seriously telling me that we were once those guys?" He chuckled, disbelief evident in his voice.

Ahmed nodded fervently, his dark eyes wide and earnest. "I'm dead serious, man. Look at them, and then look at us. We were small, white, and... and not even remotely as jacked as we are now."

Khalid burst into laughter, his deep voice booming through the café. "Bro, we've been friends since we were kids. We've never been lovers, let alone small and white. We're proud Arab dudes, and we've worked hard for these gains."

Ahmed's conviction wavered for a moment, but he quickly shook his head. "No, no, I remember it now. We were together, and we looked just like them. It's like... it's like this isn't really who we are."

Khalid's laughter subsided, and he regarded Ahmed with a mixture of concern and amusement. "Man, you've been hitting the weights way too hard. We've been through thick and thin, always there for each other. We're the Arab gym bros, unstoppable."

As Ahmed's gaze remained locked on the photo, something strange began to happen. The figures in the picture seemed to shift and change, their features blending and morphing until they resembled Ahmed and Khalid themselves. Confusion flickered across Ahmed's face as he stared at the altered image.

"Wait... what's happening?" Ahmed muttered, his voice quivering.

Khalid leaned in, his eyes widening as he too noticed the transformation on the phone's screen. "Bro, I think you've been spending too much time in the gym and not enough time resting."

As if a fog was lifting from his mind, Ahmed's expression cleared, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're right, man. I must've been hallucinating or something."

Khalid grinned, clapping Ahmed on the back. "That's more like it, my dude. Now, let's order some more protein and keep building these gains."

Ahmed nodded, chuckling at his own momentary lapse. They both turned their attention away from the photo, their conversation shifting back to their usual gym bro banter. The café continued to buzz with activity, and the memory of the Instagram photo faded away, leaving behind the unshakable camaraderie of two best friends, forever bound by their journey of transformation.

[amendingreality]

ReQuest: Food for the Soul and Body

Note: If you’d like to see my other stories in its raw (NSFW) form with more photos/videos, you can join my discord server here: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

This ReQuested story and photos is from https://www.tumblr.com/cobraas-blog who also posts stories that you guys should read. Special thanks to them! 

If you have requests, prompts, photos you’d like me to use in future stories, feel free to message me and I’ll try my best to post them as soon as I can. 

Isaias was known for his soft features, wiry frame, and warm, boyish energy. His channel, Chef en Proceso, had built a cult following thanks to his delicate hands slicing shallots and his gentle voice cooing over simmering broths. He cooked with love, flirted with his audience, and wore every apron like it was a second skin. But lately, his metrics had cooled. So had the passion.

Andoni was the opposite. Towering, tanned, thick in the arms and chest. His platform, AndoniFitness, was all about strength, sweat, and aesthetic control. His body wasn’t just a temple, it was the whole religion. Clips of him flexing in mirror-light gyms and pushing through grueling reps once got millions of thirsty views. Now the numbers trickled, a drip where once there had been a flood.

They needed something new. Something bold.

That’s when Isaias slid into his DMs talking about a collaboration that both of their audiences would love. 

The idea grew fast. A collab video, but more than just two influencers side-by-side. A body swap recipe. “Food for the soul and body,” Isaias had called it. “Let’s give them something they can’t stop watching.”

The thumbnail teased everything: Isaias and Andoni both shirtless wearing only an apron. They posed close in the first shot with arms brushing, skin touching. Isaias' lean frame and angelic features contrasted beautifully with Andoni’s raw mass and dominant posture. Comments went wild. “Switch bodies already,” one fan wrote.

In the kitchen, things got hotter.

As the cameras rolled, they laughed and flirted, stirring the pot and stirring tension. Isaias ran his fingers up Andoni’s thick biceps while Andoni reached over him, pressing his chest close, whispering, “Maybe I should try your body on.” 

They mimicked each other for the second set of photos. First Isaias was gritting his teeth while he was flexing Andoni’s arms playfully.

Then, Andoni pretending to pout like a shy boy, both of them showing the audience what it might look like if they swapped.

Afterwards, they showed a photoshopped image with their faces plastered on each other’s bodies. 

It was a slow seduction. The recipe was simple: cinnamon, turmeric, honey, bone broth. And then the secret ingredient. Sweat. Real sweat. From their armpits, chests, necks. The intimacy of it made Isaias shiver as he lifted his tank and rubbed a finger across his abs, catching the moisture and letting it drip into the pot.

Andoni went slower. He cupped the sweat beneath his pecs and whispered to the mic, “A taste of me, for him.”

The broth shimmered golden and dark. They sat across from each other, silent, breathing, vibrating with the electricity of the moment.

“Last chance,” Andoni said.

Isaias looked at him, eyes wide. “I want it.”

They sipped.

The heat hit immediately. Not from the dish, but from within. Isaias gasped. His fingers twitched. His thighs swelled beneath the table. His chest filled out, collar tightening. He grabbed his neck as his voice deepened, the sound rumbling like it had been poured into him from above.

Andoni grunted, head dropping forward. His shoulders narrowed, arms deflating slowly, muscles pulling inward like breath leaving a body. His jaw softened. His waist cinched. He looked up at Isaias but what he saw was his own body.

They stood. Dazed. Transformed. Isaias now towered, heavy with new power, pecs brushing against his shirt. Andoni now small and delicate, staring up with wet eyes, lost in the strange warmth of a familiar kitchen.

“Oh fuck,” he laughed, deep and masculine. “I’m huge. How do you even walk around with all this weight?”

Andoni, now smaller, leaner, stared at the thick trunk of his old body like it was a monument. “You get used to it. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you just… grow into it.” His new voice was higher, softer. But not uncertain.

Isaias flexed, testing out the weight of his biceps, grinning with boyish mischief on a man’s face. “I could get used to this.”

“You look good,” Andoni said simply. “You move good. Honestly…” He reached down, touched the curve of his now-slender waist with an odd tenderness. “I kinda like being small again. Light. Quick. Different.”

Their chat blew up in real time. Comments streaming:

“Wait are they really swapped?”

“Flex in your new body!!”

Laughing, flushed, they moved back into frame. Andoni in Isaias’ body flexed his smaller bicep, showing off his delicate frame. Isaias in Andoni’s massive body followed suit, lifting both his arms and showing off his huge biceps.

“Gracias por vernos,” Isaias said in Andoni’s bass voice, blowing a kiss at the camera. “We hope you liked… the taste.”

The screen faded to black. No outro. No explanation. No follow-up video.

And a lingering question in every viewer’s mind: Did they ever switch back? 

[amendingreality]

Chat Swap #1

CHAT MATCHING COMPLETE

You have been paired with another user for a temporary body swap. Chat with your partner. Swap will initiate after 5 minutes of conversation.

—————

Rick (50 | M):

Hey… so this thing is real? I didn’t expect anyone to actually match.

Jay (24 | M):

Haha same. I downloaded it as a joke. But you’re real, huh?

Rick:

Very real. Name’s Rick. Been reading about this app on some weird forums. Figured what the hell, you only live once, right?

Jay:

Lol facts. I’m Jay. 24. Gym rat, bored outta my mind today. Thought this might be a weird little thrill.

Rick:

You sure about that? I’m a far cry from “gym rat,” kid. Beard, tattoos, belly, all of it. You’re gonna be in for a shock.

Jay:

Dude, have you seen me? I’m lean, shredded, smooth. It’s like trading a sports car for a tank.

Rick:

Hey now, this tank’s got horsepower where it counts.

Jay:

Hah, fair enough. Alright, I’m game. You ready for this?

Rick:

As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s see how the other half lives.

—————

CHAT NOTICE

Body swap in 30 seconds. Remain still. Breathing may become erratic during transfer. Enjoy your swap.

—————

Jay’s eyes shot open and everything felt… off.

His breathing was heavier, louder. His chest rose and fell under a thick mat of hair he wasn’t used to. When he lifted his hands, they were bigger. Thicker fingers. Hairy arms. Tattoos?

He sat up too fast, a grunt escaping his mouth—his deep, unfamiliar voice catching him off guard.

“What the f—?!” he croaked, clutching his throat. “No way…”

Jay scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping on unfamiliar feet, and staggered toward the mirror across the room. He froze.

Staring back at him wasn’t his 24-year-old, gym-toned reflection. It was a burly, bearded man in his 50s, with a strong gut, thick arms covered in tattoos, and a heavy brow furrowed in disbelief. His mouth hung open, the full beard moving as he gasped.

“This is insane,” he muttered, eyes wide. “This is actually me…?”

He leaned in, touching the salt-and-pepper beard. The skin was rougher, the features older but solid. His fingers traced the tattoos on his forearm, then dropped to the chest hair and soft belly.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “I have a dad bod. I am the dad bod.”

Jay turned to the side, lifting one arm, watching how the muscle flexed under a layer of softness. The body was strong, no doubt, but everything about it felt foreign. His thighs were thick, his stomach pushed out more than he’d ever known possible for himself, and he was so hairy.

With a laugh that turned into a nervous groan, he cupped his face in both hands, then dragged them down.

“How the hell do I even move in this thing? My back already feels tight. And what’s with this beard? How do people live like this?!”

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, still breathing heavily, hands resting on hairy thighs. He looked down at himself, then back at the mirror.

“I better not be stuck like this,” he said, eyes narrowing. “This better be temporary… or someone’s gonna regret letting me into their life.”

—————

Rick blinked a few times as the room came into focus. He was lying on his back, staring at a ceiling that definitely wasn’t his. It smelled different in here—like cologne, laundry, and something…young.

Then it hit him.

He sat up slowly, already noticing how much lighter he felt. His hands caught his eye first—smooth, unwrinkled, unscarred. He turned them over in disbelief.

“No way…”

He pushed off the bed and stood up in one smooth motion. His joints didn’t ache. His knees didn’t pop. He felt springy. Energized. He turned his head side to side. No neck pain. No stiffness. Just effortless motion.

Rick caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room—and his jaw dropped.

“Holy sh*t…”

A young man stood there. Tan, lean, ripped. Defined abs, sculpted chest, broad shoulders without the bulk. Rick stepped closer, jaw slack as he ran his hands across the six-pack, fingers tracing along the ridges.

“This is insane,” he whispered, grinning. “This is me?”

He lifted one arm and flexed. The muscle popped immediately. Rick actually laughed—giddy, like a kid on Christmas.

“No beard,” he said, touching his smooth jaw. “No wrinkles. Not a single damn gray hair.”

He turned, admiring his profile, then glanced down at his legs. “Damn, those thighs could crack a watermelon.”

Pacing the room, Rick couldn’t stop touching everything—his chest, arms, abs, even poking his own cheek like he was making sure it wasn’t a dream. “I haven’t looked like this since… actually, no. I’ve never looked like this.”

He looked back at the mirror, gave a cocky smirk, and nodded.

“Kid, you’ve been taking this body for granted. Time for the old man to show it a good time.”

Rick ran a hand through his thick, messy hair, then gave himself one last look in the mirror.

“First things first,” he muttered. “Shower. Then I’m trying on everything in your closet.”

—————

CHAT RE-OPENED

Reconnect with your partner to initiate a swap back.

—————

Jay (in Rick’s body):

Dude. Okay. I’ve had enough. This was funny for like ten minutes. I can’t even look at myself without flinching. Let’s swap back.

Rick (in Jay’s body):

Already? It’s only been an hour. You’re not enjoying the ride?

Jay:

No, man. My knees crack when I sit down. I sweat just from walking around. I miss my face. My body. Everything.

Rick:

See, funny thing… I’ve never felt better. I just went for a run and liked it. Liked it, Jay. That’s new for me.

Jay:

Okay cool. Happy for you. Now give me my body back.

Rick:

Mmm… nah. I don’t think I will.

Jay:

What?

Rick:

I mean, think about it. You’re young, hot, you barely even used what you had. This body’s a gift. I’m just making the most of it now.

Jay:

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Rick:

You read the rules. You can swap back, but only if both users agree. You’re stuck unless someone else matches with you.

Jay:

That’s messed up, Rick. Seriously.

Rick:

Hey, I didn’t make the app. You clicked “accept” just like I did. Maybe next time don’t take your youth for granted.

Jay:

This isn’t over. I’m getting my body back.

Rick:

Maybe. If someone swipes right on a grumpy old man.

Jay has left the chat

Status: Available for new connection.

[amendingreality]

Serbian Exchange Program

It's a bit longer, but I am super happy with how this one turned out. Enjoy!

The email about the Serbian exchange program hit my inbox on a Tuesday morning, buried beneath the usual flood of meeting invites and project updates. I almost deleted it on reflex, but the subject line—Host Opportunity: Belgrade Team Visit—$5K Bonus—caught my eye. Five grand wasn’t nothing. And besides, I’d heard murmurs about it before—last year, a handful of engineers from our Belgrade office had filtered through the US branch for a few months, shadowing teams, attending meetings, and, from what I gathered, drinking heavily at every happy hour within a ten-mile radius. Nobody I knew had hosted, though. Or if they had, they hadn’t mentioned it.

I skimmed the details. The company was flying over a dozen employees from Serbia, all of them mid-level or higher, for a three-month immersion program. The idea was to give them a taste of life at the US office—how we worked, how we (allegedly) collaborated, how we complained about the same corporate nonsense in a different language. And if they liked it? Well, then maybe they’d angle for a sponsored transfer. The host bonus was just grease to make sure enough of us volunteered to house them.

I didn’t think too hard before signing up. My apartment had a guest room that had been functioning as a glorified storage closet for the better part of a year. A real, live human being might actually put it to good use.

A few days later, the assignment email landed in my inbox. I clicked it open, scanning the spreadsheet until I found my name paired with Nikola Vasić, DevOps Engineer. His photo showed a guy in his late twenties—maybe a few years younger than me—with a sharp jawline, short-cropped dark hair, and sleeves of tattoos running down both arms. His bio read: 5 years with company. Powerlifting, MMA, craft beer.

Hell yeah. This was going to be easy. We’d hit the gym, crush some deadlifts, maybe grab a beer after. I could already picture it—Nikola nodding approvingly at my protein shake stash, me pretending I knew anything about MMA. A total bro situation.

I shot him a quick LinkedIn message—Hey man, looking forward to hosting you. Let me know if you want me to pick you up from the airport. He replied almost immediately: Appreciate it! Will send flight details soon. Excited to train together. Perfect. This was going to work.

Then, three days later, another email.

Subject: Host Assignment Update

Due to a last-minute adjustment in seniority prioritization, your guest has been reassigned. You will now be hosting Dragan Kovačević, Infrastructure Architect. Nikola Vasić has been reassigned to Mark Teslik. Apologies for any inconvenience.

I pulled up Dragan’s profile, which I hadn’t bothered to check before.

It was a selfie—dim lighting, the kind taken in what looked like a basement, the camera angled slightly upward. And Dragan was, inexplicably, shirtless and flexing, but not in a particularly attractive way. The bio beneath read: 20 years with company. Enjoys hiking, chess, and American whiskey.

I sighed. Of course. Instead of a gym buddy, I got a middle-aged, bare-chested supervisor.

Well. At least it was only three months.

---

A few weeks later, the Belgrade team arrived, and the office threw a welcome reception in the cafeteria—plastic cups of cheap wine, a sad platter of cubed cheese, and a banner that read Welcome Serbian Colleagues!

I spotted Nikola first. He was even bigger in person—broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of guy who looked like he could deadlift a car. He noticed me and walked over, his expression serious.

"Sam," he said, his accent rough around the edges. "Is shame we are not paired."

I shrugged. "Yeah, but we can still hang out. Hit the gym, grab a beer."

He nodded, but there was something off in the way he said, "Mark is... very skinny." He flexed one arm slightly, as if to emphasize the contrast. "I did not want to be him for three months."

I frowned. His English was a little broken, so maybe he meant something else—like he didn’t want to train him, or room with him? Before I could ask, the HR coordinator clinked her glass and announced, "Alright, everyone, find your host or guest and take a seat!"

I scanned the room for Dragan.

He was sitting at a table in the corner, watching me. Not in a casual oh-there’s-my-host way, but in a slow, deliberate stare, like he was sizing me up. When I approached, he stood and shook my hand—his grip was firm, almost testing.

"American Sam," he said, his voice deeper than I expected. "I am very excited."

There was something in the way he said it—not quite enthusiasm, more like anticipation. I forced a polite smile. "Yeah, it’ll be nice to have you."

The HR coordinator clinked her glass again, signaling for silence. "Thank you all for participating in this year's cultural exchange program," she said with a smile that felt a little too rehearsed. "The swaps will begin first thing tomorrow morning. Please report to the designated conference rooms by 8 AM."

A murmur of confusion rippled through the American employees. I glanced around—most of the American team looked baffled, but the Serbians all had placid looks on their faces.

"Swaps?" I muttered under my breath.

Dragan leaned in slightly, his voice low. "You did not read paperwork?"

Before I could respond, the HR coordinator continued. "For full immersion, participants will temporarily inhabit one another's bodies, with access to each other's memories. To avoid legal complications, you are expected to maintain your host's professional and personal life as closely as possible during the exchange."

My stomach dropped. What the hell?

A guy from Marketing shot his hand up. "Wait, so we’re just—switching bodies? Like, for real?"

"Yes," the coordinator said, unfazed. "It’s all outlined in the consent forms you signed. Section 12, subsection C."

I didn’t remember signing anything about body swapping. Then again, I’d skimmed most of it, clicking through the digital paperwork just to get to the bonus disclaimer.

The coordinator wrapped up with a cheerful, "Get a good night’s sleep! Tomorrow’s a big day."

---

The next morning, they led us into sterile white chambers that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Two by two, employees disappeared behind frosted glass doors, emerging minutes later—swapped.

Just before my turn, I watched Mark stumble out, his movements awkward in Nikola’s muscular frame. He kept flexing his tattooed arms, his eyes wide with childlike wonder. Nikola followed behind in his body, just seeming borade

Dragan gave me a knowing smirk before we entered. Then inside, there was a flash of light, a sensation like falling—

—and then I was standing again, but wrong. My center of gravity was lower, my shoulders heavier. When I lifted a hand, it was thick-fingered, lightly hairy. Dragan’s hand.

Across from me, my body blinked rapidly—then broke into a grin. "Ha!" Dragan said with my mouth, his English flawless, his tone giddy. "This is perfect!"

Meanwhile, my thoughts were... sluggish. Words didn’t come easily. Instead of English, my brain churned in Serbian, the syntax heavy and familiar. When I tried to speak, the accent rolled thick off my tongue. "Šta je—? What the—?

Dragan barked a laugh. "You sound just like me!" He clapped my shoulder, delighted. "And I don’t understand a word you’re saying!"

---

That night, he vanished into the city the second we got home, leaving me to wrestle with his body alone. The weight of it, the way it moved—none of it felt right. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. A gross longish beard. A thicker neck. A patchwork of ugly tattoos.

Dragan stumbled in past midnight, reeking of whiskey. He leaned against the doorframe, my usually neat shirt unbuttoned halfway, his—my—face flushed. "You missed a hell of a night," he slurred, though his English was still weirdly perfect.

I scowled, struggling to force out the words. "You... left me... like this." The accent mangled the sentence, made it sound like a complaint.

He grinned, swaying slightly. "Aw, poor Dragan," he mocked, using his own name like a joke.

I wanted to snap back, but the English tangled in my throat. Instead, I muttered something crude in Serbian.

Dragan just laughed harder, pointing at me like I was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. "God, this is even better than I thought."

---

The next few months were pure, unrelenting hell.

Dragan, in my body, was like a kid who’d been handed the keys to a candy store. He wanted to do everything—especially the kind of obnoxiously American shit I’d never even bothered with.

"We’re going to go shooting today," he announced one Saturday morning, already pulling on my favorite jacket.

"What? No, we—" I fumbled for the English words. "I don’t shooting."

"You do now!" He grinned, clapping me on the back. "Your friends think it’s funny you’re bringing your ‘Serbian coworker’ to the range. Play along."

So I did. I had to stand there in Dragan’s bulky frame, nodding awkwardly while he laughed and high-fived my buddies, pretending to be me. He was a disturbingly good shot.

"Damn, Sam," my friend Jake said, slapping him on the shoulder. "When the hell did you get so good at this?"

Dragan just smirked and said "natural talent," before pulling the trigger of his shotgun, exploding the clay disk.

---

The dating was worse. He always dressed to the nines and I have to admit, it looked great.

But , he came home one night, still buzzing from whatever bar he’d crawled out of, and flopped onto the couch. "American women," he sighed, stretching my arms behind my head, "are very impressed with you."

I glared. "You—what?"

"They assume you’re boring in bed," he mused, inspecting my fingernails. "But then—surprise! Serbian passion!" He winked. "They like it."

I wanted to strangle him.

---

Then there was the shirt thing.

Dragan refused to keep it on. Ever. Working out? Shirtless. Drinking whiskey on the balcony? Shirtless. Cooking (badly)? Shirtless, with an apron that barely covered anything.

"Put on a damn shirt," I growled one evening, my Serbian accent thickening with frustration.

"Why?" He flexed my biceps—which, thanks to him, were actually looking better. "This body is so in shape, I just want to show it off."

He would also smoke all the time, somethg I never did. When I complained to HR, Dragan, smug bastard that he was, dug up a single photo from my buddy’s bachelor party two years ago, where I’d half-heartedly smoked a cigar.

"See?" he said, waving the evidence in front of the HR rep. "Sam smokes."

They caved.

---

The final insult was the wedding.

My college friend Chris was getting married, and of course, Dragan insisted on going.

Chris had been talking about setting me up with his fiancée's cousin for months. "She's perfect for you, man," he'd said.

But of course, Dragan went instead of me.

I spent that night alone in the apartment, stewing in Dragan's body while he was out living my life. The photos started popping up on social media around midnight—there I was, looking sharper than I'd ever looked in my life, my arm around the bridesmaid Chris had wanted to set me up with. She was beaming up at me like I'd hung the moon.

Dragan stumbled in at 3 AM, reeking of whiskey and expensive perfume. "Ahhh," he groaned, flopping onto the couch next to me. "American weddings. So much food. So much drink. So much..." He made a crude gesture.

My stomach dropped. "You didn't—"

"She was very disappointed when I said I don't do girlfriends," he chuckled, inspecting a hickey on my neck. "But not too disappointed, if you know what I mean."

I nearly punched him.

---

By the last two weeks, I was done. Completely, utterly done.

Dragan, of course, was in the best mood of his life. He sprawled across my couch—shirtless, obviously—sipping whiskey while scrolling through visa application forms on my laptop.

"The company wants someone in US for my same infrastructure role," he mused, grinning. "And when we swap back, my English will be even better thanks to you practicing all this time. Its perfect."

I clenched my jaw. My English had improved slightly—enough to get by without sounding like a complete beginner—but it wasn’t perfect the accent still clung stubbornly.

"Great," I muttered in Serbian-inflected English, not even hiding my bitterness.

Dragan finally glanced up, studying me. "You hate this," he said, not a question.

"Yeah. I do."

A long silence. Then, to my surprise, he sighed and closed the laptop. "We could swap back early."

I froze. "...What?"

The whiskey glass clicked softly as Dragan set it down on the coffee table. For the first time since the swap, his expression was completely earnest—no smirk, no teasing glint in his eyes. Just quiet gratitude.

"Sam," he said, my own voice sounding strangely solemn coming from my lips. "I see how much you hate this. And... I want to thank you." He gestured to himself—to my body. "This has been... more than I hoped for. The freedom, the experiences. And you—" He nodded at me, sitting stiffly in his heavier frame. "You worked hard. My body will return to me much improved.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "We can swap back tomorrow. Before HR arrives. No one needs to know."

"Yes," I blurted, the Serbian accent rough with urgency. "Yes. Let’s do it."

Dragan smiled—soft, almost relieved. "First thing in the morning, then." He stood, stretching my arms overhead with a satisfied groan. "One last night as you, yes? I think I will enjoy it."

He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, pausing just long enough to throw me a wink over his shoulder. "Do not wait up."

The door clicked shut behind him.

I sank back into the couch, Dragan’s body suddenly feeling lighter, the weight of those final two weeks already slipping away. Tomorrow, I’d be myself again.

Tomorrow, this nightmare would be over.

---

The predawn darkness clung to the empty streets as we drove to the office in silence. My truck’s headlights cut through the gloom, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from Dragan in the passenger seat. He kept rubbing his face—my face—with a look of quiet regret, like he was already mourning the loss of my younger, fitter body.

Meanwhile, my fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. Every second in his overweight, middle-aged form had been torture, and now freedom was so close I could taste it.

When we pulled into the deserted office parking lot, Dragan hesitated before getting out. "Maybe we should—"

"No," I cut him off, already unbuckling. "We’re doing this."

The security guard wasn’t at his desk—convenient—and Dragan led me through the maze of cubicles to the sealed-off wing where the swapping chambers were kept. He punched in a code I didn’t recognize, and the door clicked open.

"How the hell did you get access?" I asked.

He ignored me, walking straight to the pod controls.

Inside the sterile room, Dragan stripped off his clothes without hesitation. I averted my eyes at first—then did a double take. Damn. My body did look good. Leaner than before, muscles more defined. Dragan had clearly been putting in work.

The machine hummed to life with a low, ominous whine. We stepped in. Dragan hesitated one last time, his hand hovering over the activation switch. "You sure about this?"

"Do it."

He pressed the button.

A flash of blinding light—

—and then, relief.

I stumbled forward, catching myself on the pod’s edge. My hands were mine again. Slimmer, familiar. I patted my chest, my face, no more thick beard. Just me.

Across from me, Dragan flexed his fingers, his expression unreadable. He ran a hand over his own thicker frame, his mouth twisting slightly.

"Happy now?" he muttered.

I didn’t answer.

I was too busy grinning.

---

The day before the official swap-back ceremony, I pulled Dragan aside, my stomach twisting with nerves.

"What’s the plan?" I hissed. "They’re expecting to swap us tomorrow. If they find out we already did it—"

Dragan waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. I talk to the Serbian tech who runs the machine. He know we already did swap. He fake it tomorrow—will not activate it for us. We walk in, play along, walk out. Easy."

I frowned. "And he’s cool with that?"

"Of course," Dragan said, grinning.

The next day, we lined up with the rest of the swapped employees in the sterile white chamber room. The air buzzed with nervous energy—some people looked relieved, others apprehensive. I caught the eye of the Serbian technician, a wiry guy with a buzzcut, and gave him a subtle, knowing smile.

He barely glanced at me. Just shook his head slightly and turned away.

Right. Discretion.

Dragan nudged me as our turn approached. "Ready?" he murmured.

I nodded, stepping into the pod beside him. The glass door hissed shut, sealing us inside.

Then, just as I was getting ready to get out, the machine whirred to life. A wave of panic washes over me and I turn to Dragan expecting to see a similar look. Instead, he smile and whispers "I will love being you, American Sam."

My blood ran cold.

The light flashed—

—and suddenly, I was staring at my own face from across the pod.

My face.

Wearing the widest, most triumphant grin I’d ever seen.

I looked down.

Thick fingers. Heavy frame.

Dragan’s body.

Again.

Across from me, Dragan—now me—stretched luxuriously, rolling my shoulders with delight. "Ah," he sighed, his voice mine now. "Much better."

[amendingreality]

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[amendingreality]

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