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dumb-and-jocked · 4 months
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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."
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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?”
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dumb-and-jocked · 4 months
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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.
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“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.”
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dumb-and-jocked · 4 months
Note
I figured it out, bro. The dude is Daniel Montoya. Any hints for future stories? Maybe a cousin transformation
Ahhh thank you thank you!!! This was the first gif that came up with his name ;)
As for future stories, you can plan for some more fratification and some heavy collabing with non-Camp Christening collabing with @sjw-publishings
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dumb-and-jocked · 4 months
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You never fail, this new story is hot and so is the image. Any idea who it is
Thank you <3 the boost in confidence is always needed. I wish I knew who the stud was, but I just found him off of some random tumblr.
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dumb-and-jocked · 4 months
Text
Headache
Felix couldn’t figure out where this massive headache had come from.
The day had started the same as everyday before. Got up at six, let the dog out, started brewing some coffee. At 27, Felix was at an age where he didn’t have to worry about morning pills but was concerned with accidentally pulling a muscle getting out of bed. Some stretching helped readjust his slightly overweight body, helping him wake up for the day. After a quick shower, feeding the dog, and getting dressed, he was out the door before seven.
Next was the bus stop, where Felix would find the usual neighbors. The same five people were always there for the 7:05 pickup, except today a newcomer had joined the crew. Some South American-looking jock who apparently liked to take up the entirety of the single bench. The regular five included Felix, Joe, Petey, Andrew, and Alex-
“OW!”
Felix braced his forehead in pain. What was he thinking about again? Oh right, the 7:05 usuals. Felix, José, Pedro, Andre, and Afonso. The new guy was apparently named Bruno, and he was already a disturbance to the amiability the five had created.
The jock was so big he took up all the space in the little shelter, and his headphones were blaring some loud EDM music. His skimpy attire suggested he was on his way to the gym, and his constant flirtations with the five men suggested his hormones were affected by the constant workouts.
Felix moved on, focusing on the bus. Came on time like it typically did. He always sat near the front, watching as the rest of his neighbors filed behind him. Because Bruno was new, he had yet to find his “assigned” spot, placing himself between José and Afonso. If Felix wasn’t in so much pain, he probably would have laughed at the memory of the scene. Bruno was manspreading so obnoxiously he’d forced José against the window and had Afonso halfway into the aisle. The two meeker men were-
“God!” 
Again, Felix had to recapture his thoughts. The memory of the three in the seat. Right, it was comical. The three massive Brazilian jocks, all stacked against each other. It looked like they enjoyed it though. Felix remembered the disgust he’d felt at the sight of them all palming each other. He also remembered wishing they could get a room.
José got off at the next stop, and Afonso not long after. Pedro and Andre jumped ship together near the end of the route. They worked for two firms in the financial district, so they were headed in the same direction. Felix was surprised to see Bruno get off with them. He couldn’t think of a gym that was near this area. His eyes had followed the trio out the door and through the window, Bruno towering-
“Ai!”
Felix had to find some medicine! Anything that could offer some relief. But anyway…the three leaving the bus stop…yeah, that was it. Pedro, Andre, and Bruno, the three horny Brazilians dressed inappropriately for the weather. Their tight clothes easily displayed their bronzed skin and well-worked muscular forms, but the short shorts and tanks weren’t the best options for the frigid air. That’s why Felix had been watching them after all, surprised with their revealing clothing and brazen nature.
Felix had gotten off the bus, gone to work, and everything had gone like a typical work day. Nothing stood out. But he knew he had to run through everything if he wanted to find the culprit of the headache. He just had to get to the bottom of it. Like fast-forwarding through a movie, Felix began clicking through his day, recalling the memories as they flew by.
He’d had some meetings with his boss, cleared some documents off his desk, had a conversation with his secretary Tom about paper deliveries, ran into Bruno at lunch, Bruno proceeded to flirt with him, Felix began feeling up the jock's massive arms and stretching out his thick legs, he curled his own brown toes in eagerness as they made eye contact, he noticed the other man’s sparkling brown eyes and steel-cut jaw mimicked his own, began making out with the Brazilian stud.
Felix then flexed his brown muscles for Bruno, Bruno muttered “garanhão, garanhão,” over and over again, Bruno ran his meaty hand through Felix’s coiled hair and across his messy black stubble, Bruno shoved his other meaty hand into Felix’s tight office pants, Bruno fondled Felix’s brown pouch and whispering “sentir os bebés castanhos,” Bruno noticed the time and left Felix pent-up and agitated.
Felix then rushed back to his office, called Tom in to "discuss something," slammed the door behind his secretary as he ripped off their clothes, shoved his massive brown dick into Tom’s begging hole, began feeling up his own jockish Brazilian frame, gasped something incoherent in Portuguese, and dumped an insurmountable load into his secretary.
Felipe sighed. He just couldn’t figure out what would have caused this massive headache. The rest of the day went as usual. He’d grabbed his clothes, barely fitting into the blue tee and boxer shorts he pretended weren’t underwear. Felipe loved how they displayed his colossal pouch and voluptuous backside. The secretary Tom loved it too, having-
“Caramaba!”
The secretary Tomás loved it too, having spanked him on his way out. But after that, Felipe marched his way to the gym, seeing all the other Brazilian jocks already hard at work, either stretching their muscles or stretching out each other.
“Olá garanhão,” Bruno started in that deep, milky Portuguese that made Felipe’s pila throb. “Everything alright?”
“Não sei,” Felipe replied in his own dull but effortlessly sexy tone.
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“What did I tell you about thinking too hard, baby?” Bruno chuckled. “Let me help you concentrate on something else.”
Like a switch, the headache magically disappeared as all power went from Felipe’s brain to his throbbing brown dick. Bruno smiled as he placed himself between Felipe’s bulky legs. 
“There we go,” Bruno licked his lips as he pulled the underwear back.
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dumb-and-jocked · 4 months
Text
For Me, Bro?
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Carter’s younger brother had that puppy-dog look on his face that he’d never been able to deny.
“For me, bro?” Ethan pouted, trying to display just how important this was to him.
It was almost comical, seeing the usual jockish alpha-male type begging for his nerdy older brother’s assistance. At 6’1 and riding high on a soccer scholarship, Ethan had never needed much help in life since puberty had hit. And just two years older, Carter had become independent through the other form of means. Instead of thriving from good looks, he’d campaigned with good grades. He wasn’t that unattractive by any means, but his averageness was always heightened when placed next to his younger brother.
Since their mother was a professor, the two attended the same college near home. While the nerdier junior Carter was following in his mother’s chemistry footsteps, the more athletically-inclined freshman was just starting his business degree. It wasn’t long until the jocks began to gang up on Ethan, persuading him to join their frat. And with the frequent soccer practices too, the bombardment of cult-like initiation rites and rituals was constantly in Ethan’s face.
It wasn’t like he had needed convincing though; Ethan had always wanted to be a frat boy. Everyone in the family knew it, and their parents had even supported Ethan’s longing for the brotherhood. Rush week came and went quickly, and before Carter knew it, Ethan was at his apartment sharing the good news: Ethan had made it through all the trials and tribulations, and was just one final step away from fulfilling his dreams.
“So you said there was one last thing you had to do?” Carter asked, taking a seat across from his brother.
“Yeah,” Ethan chuckled. “Another ritual thing.”
Carter smirked, “You didn't shake bloody palms or something, did you?”
“Not exactly…” Ethan replied in a way that intrigued Carter. “But there’s a reason I came to you instead of anyone else.”
Carter stayed silent, allowing his brother to continue.
“The last thing I have to do is kinda weird, and I thought if anyone would do it, it would be my big bro. Especially because he knows how much I have wanted this for so long.”
“Well?” Carter questioned awkwardly. “What is it?”
“See bro, I need you to…uh…” Ethan looked down, a flush of embarrassment reddening his face. “...sniff my foot.”
Carter again said nothing. After an inscrutable pause, he tried to say something.
“What’s the catch?”
Ethan took the reply as a possible yes. “Nothing! Seriously dude no tricks. Part of the ritual last night was that we had to dip our feet into this white powder that kinda smelled like Axe. Then we just put our socks back on and they told us to have someone sniff it before the party this weekend.”
Carter considered it for a moment. “That was it?”
“Yeah bro,” Ethan shrugged, taking off a sock to show his brother. Carter scanned Ethan’s foot quietly, noting nothing peculiar besides the incredible size of his little brother’s foot.
“Just a sniff?” Ethan pleaded, holding his foot and sock up for his older brother. “For me, bro?”
Carter didn’t know how to answer, but after Ethan made that stupid, sad, loveable face, he silently leaned in and took a breath.
The jockish funk immediately soared through his neuropathways, that teenage stench evaporating everything in its path as it traversed through any available routes. There was a hint of that fake deodorant smell that Ethan had mentioned too, but it was useless against the overwhelming odor that originated from his younger brother’s foot. After blinking a few tears away, Carter eventually leaned back, his head feeling a little fuzzy after the whole ordeal.
“Wow…” was all Carter could manage.
“How you feelin’, bro?” Ethan asked, putting his sock back on.
“A little…uh…” Carter could begin to feel a migraine coming on, quick and powerful.
“Talk to me, big bro–what’s happening?”
“My uh…head feels…it’s all stuffy…” Carter replied, his body collapsing behind him into the couch.
“Yeah but like,” Ethan pushed. “Are you feeling strange or anything?”
Carter tried to consider this, but his thoughts felt slow, lethargic even. “‘Strange’?” Carter pushed his legs further apart, now seated in a space-consuming manspread. His legs felt longer and wider. Was that strange?
“As in different, or maybe something is feeling funny?” The slightest grin began to emerge from Ethan’s face as he watched his big brother’s torso began to expand. It had been thin before, but the tightening tee made it obvious how much muscle mass was now accumulating underneath.
“‘Funny’?” Carter repeated again, before releasing a small belch. Unlike his usual polite manner however, Carter just began to chuckle to himself. “Now that was funny…”
Ethan’s smirk grew widely, not even bothering to hide behind the innocent act anymore. “You think that’s funny? How about this, bro?”
PRRRFFFT!
Carter burst with laughter, his empty guffaw filling the room and lowering in pitch with each new breath. Tossing his bloated arms behind his head, the older brother realized the rancid smell wasn’t only coming from Ethan. “God, my pits are as rank as your gas!”
Ethan proudly observed the sweaty jungles untangling themselves from his brother’s armpits. “Perks of being a jock, bro. Amirite?”
This confused Carter. A bewildered look splashed over his chiseling jawline, thickening hair, and masculinizing face. “A jock…bro?”
“Yeah!” Ethan confirmed. “You’re like my inspiration, big bro! Sports, body, attitude…”
Carter could only nod dumbly along, tapping his inflating foot with each as a stamp of approval.
“...the partying, the social life. And don’t even get me started on the sex.”
Immediately, both brothers’ eyes swooped down to Carter’s pouch, which was amply displayed by the manspread. They both watched on with hunger as Carter’s cock plumped out into a full schlong, his balls fattening with jockish multipliers.
“Mmm…sex…” Carter moaned, fondling himself as what little remained of his former intelligence realigned itself towards pleasure. 
“Do it, Carter,” Ethan licked his lips. “Do it...for me, bro.”
“Ok lil broooOOOOO!” 
Spunk blasted forth from Carter’s big man, the massive burst solidifying Ethan’s spot in the fraternity. The younger brother felt his own member quiver and spurt in response without any physical reinforcement. Ethan didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about the ordeal, knowing his nerdy brother would’ve been thankful. Being smart was dumb, and Ethan had to show him that. Besides, being a jock was so much cooler and sexier anyway.
— —
“Yo, Ethan! Glad to see you made it.” The frat president swung an arm around the freshmen, his frame just barely bigger than the younger jock’s. “So, did you finish the required orientation ritual?”
“You bet, Prez,” Ethan cockily replied. “Check out the breeder by the docks.”
Both the president and Ethan swung their eyes across the lawn, watching as a hunky, narcissistic jock drunkenly harassed a partygoer. 
“No…” the president started with disbelief. “You’re the one who brought Bar Cart?”
“You bet,” Ethan chuckled. The fact his jockified older brother had already landed a nickname solidified his massive success.
“I’m beyond impressed,” the president replied. “You know, he’s already gotten to work on trying to recruit more members.”
“You’re kidding?” Ethan scoffed.
“Nah bro, he’s made it his life mission to bring in as many new dudes as possible.” The president shrugged, “Said he’s gotta ‘make up for lost time’.”
Sure enough, as the two looked back out to Carter–now known around campus as “Bar Cart” due to his ability to always have a drink with him–they watched as the junior jock tossed one of his massive, sandalled feet onto the partygoer’s table.
“Yeah bro,” "Bar Cart" Carter started. “It’s insane to buy shoes for these bad boys. So big and manly. And they always reek too, like real masculine bro funk. Do you think they stink though?”
The partygoer’s eyes widened, the offer in front of him both strange and exciting.
“Would you mind checking?” The obnoxious, drunken frat boy asked, inching his gigantic foot a little closer. “For me, bro?”
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dumb-and-jocked · 4 months
Note
I have got to hear your inspiration on Titz. It was very clever.
100% the pic. As soon as it came up in my feed, I knew I HAD to write something for it. I didn't know what right away, but as soon as I saw the crackers, the ideas began to flow ;)
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
Note
Where did you get your inspiration for these stories?
All over the place honestly.
It can be just from finding the perfect ref. Sometimes a picture or gif just calls to be written into something, and the ideas float naturally.
Other times I kind of daydream the story throughout a day, week, or even month and just let it percolate until I have the guts to act on it.
Or the inspiration comes from other writers. I have a lot of great conversations with people on here that eventually morph into collaborations, or I just get inspired by someone else's work and write my own version.
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
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“A perky bubble butt that would forever entice the wrong audience.” That line was very great, bro. Would have loved to hear more about it.
Ngl, I was pretty proud of myself when I wrote that ;)
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
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Hey, i've been looking for a storie of yours, it was from an Asian tf, and it was called "You local or what" i think i remember
Not me, brother. That masterpiece is found within the wonderful @sjw-publishings
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
Text
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.
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
Note
Would you consider a tf that incorporates pants wetting/diapers? I love a good tf where a jock gets so dumb he can’t keep his pants dry anymore and thinks diapers are normal
Probably not. I've read a lot of good wetting/diaper stories (in fact I have a few saved), but I just have never really thought of writing one. Something I enjoy reading, but am not interested in exploring if that makes sense?
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
Note
Would you try one of your dumber/ gay to straight stories, including burps or farts? That would be perfectcion
Very, very soon my sweet ;)
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
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Can you be inspired to make foot Fetisch Islamication story
This would really depend on the refs. I LOVE feet, I LOVE tfing guys into having foot fetishes, and I LOVE arabification. But really, the pics do mean the world.
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
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I'm fairly sure this is the lost story that was asked about: dumb-and-jocked-archive.blogspot.com/2023/08/it-was-beautiful-day-in-middle-of-june.html
Oh cool! I had no idea this existed. If you want to read one of my first stories, someone posted it at the link above ^
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
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Would you ever do a male to female tf?
No. Although I do love me a good g2s, male to female isn't up my alley. I did one female to male way back, and even that wasn't my favorite--hench why I haven't done one since.
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dumb-and-jocked · 5 months
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Have you tried switching the images? I think that would help?
I definitely have and it has worked for some stories. Others are unfortunately a no-go, even after the swtich Tumblr still bans them. ;(
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