jakebro1 - Tumblr blog

jakebro1 · 3 days ago

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The Resort

It was another Friday afternoon at an exclusive, private resort. The only way to get to the property was by the resort’s own transportation, the bus filled with 40 or so gay men arriving promptly as always. They were typically chatty, the usual friendly-flirty with each other before they would begin bragging about their lifestyles and work. Bear or twink, hairy or hairless, lots of boasting and a few not-so-subtle hints that their relationships would be non-existent for the weekend.

I made sure to greet each of them as they entered the main building, handing them their room keys and identification badges. All of them were assigned separate rooms, although most joked they would not be using them over the weekend. I always withheld a chuckle at those remarks, knowing better than their catty ways. Each of them had been preselected, carefully selected from a database of all LGBTQ+ individuals in the city. When the invitation had been sent out, they had no idea that only gay men were invited to the resort.

Soon, it was time for the party to begin. Within the booming house music played my special audio track, humming pleasantly beneath the sexual chaos on the dancefloor. I always kept my eye on a particular guest over the course of their stay; I enjoyed watching an intimate progression throughout our time together. For this weekend I had chosen Nicki: a small, meek college student who found himself more often in a library than a club. The young boy was one of my favorite types to watch.

The shift itself is clear, if one knows what to look for. Some guys stood a little straighter, correcting the hip that had previously popped unconditionally. Shorts grew longer, and maybe a few stretched out into plain, baggy pants to display little effort in fashion. Abs tightened up, pecs twitched, and biceps pumped all around the party. But the men just assumed it was the lights and sweat playing tricks on their eyes. Had they always been able to so easily define each other’s muscles?

Slowly, things would begin to shift physically as the men would drift apart from each other. They had started the night playfully rubbing up against the other attractive, sexually-like minded creatures, but now they found themselves a bit more distanced, creating space out of respect and something else. Being so close to a man had sort of become…a bit nauseating.

Instead of playing with each other, they would eventually begin to play with themselves, whether they realized it or not. Hand crammed down their shorts, either softly pawing or stretching seams. Some were soon even grunting or mumbling slurs to themselves right in the middle of the dancefloor. The virility of such an act in public was becoming indifferent to them, they were being told it was simply a natural thing to do.

Most men were easily converted to more heterosexual destinies, but a few were often drug out of the spell accidentally. Take Nicki for example, who I spied as he backed away from the party. His pre-conceived caution had made him aware of the changes happening around him, although he had yet to realize he had been affected already too. Nicki had gained a few inches, and his shirt had magically evaporated to reveal two dense pillows above a rippling set of abdominals.

Nicki left the dancefloor as quietly as possible, assuming he could escape. But he could have never known the special audio had not been playing from the speakers, but instead the identification badge that had been handed to him upon arrival. It would be repeating the special audio as long as I wanted it too, brainwashing up until the moment they left to cause permanent results. The physical changes would be long finished by then, but the mental modifications took the full stay to hold.

After giving him a head start, I exited out an employee door to find our lost Nicki. About 20 minutes later I caught up to him, finding the boy surrendered to my conditioning. His muscles had grown even larger during our time apart, and an impressive funk was now registerable from my position a few feet away. Nicki’s eyes held a dumb, lackluster stare as he fondled himself, a black cap appearing on his head before tightening itself backwards. Whether he saw me or not, Nicki continued to tug at his thickening cock, not intending to jack off. My programming reminded them it just felt good to adjust, give in to what was natural.

By the time the identification badges were collected, the 40 or so men who reloaded onto the bus were completely changed. Over the course of the weekend, the once rowdy gays of all ages had been converted into God-fearing, fag-jeering, chick-leering men. Although he would never know it, I possessed a fatherly pride watching Nick (the “i” at the end had disappeared as fast as submissive demeanor) ascend onto the bus. I waved as my newest group of guests were sent back to the city before instructing my employees to get to work. After all, we had our next batch arriving at the end of the week.

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jakebro1 · 3 days ago

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Unverified Link

“What is this link Kevin just sent me? Doesn’t he know I’m trying to study for our O-Chem exam tomorrow? Gosh it’s like he never tries to study, just procrastinating his way through Pre-Med. I wish I could be a secret genius too and ace every test without having to do any of the prep work.”

“‘Unverified Link’? This must be one of those things to make sure that I’m not some bot or whatever.”

“One hour long? Seriously Kev? Might as well take a quick study break and get a snack for this. That pint of triple chocolate ice cream has been whispering to me this whole time, but so has my leftover pizza. Hmm…so many choices.”

“Alright, I’ll just hit play and watch the first five minutes then skip to the end. I still want to play a few rounds of League and get a new dress shirt for the upcoming band concert today so hopefully this won't be too exciting. Can’t believe I already went up another size.”

“Just gotta put in my headphones and–there! What is this? Is this just a looping video? And why is the screen just–oh wait, what’s that spiral thing? It has…pretty colors. Yeah, very pretty colors. It’s relaxing sort of…the spiral is relaxing. Silky…soothing…sinking…”

“...yeah, it feels good to…good to stare. It feels…good to relax. It…feels good to…stop thinking…”

“Watch the spiral…follow the spiral…let the spiral be in control. I want nothing more than to be relaxed? Relaxed does sound…good. I want the spiral to be in control? Yeah…I want the spiral to be…in control.”

“I want what the spiral wants…I’ll be who the spiral wants me to be…the spiral wants me to be…a jock?...but I’m too chubby and I don’t even like sports an-”

“...in control. The spiral is…in control. I want to be relaxed? Yeah…relaxed…let the spiral be in control…”

“What do I want? The spiral wants…I want...I want to be…no…the spiral…the spiral wants me…to be…I want to be…no…no!...I don’t want…I don’t…I do…want to be…a jock…”

“...I want to be a jock.”

“Be honest? I…wanna be a jock…I want to be a jock!”

“Jocks are muscular. The spiral wants me to be muscular. I…want to be…muscular. Jocks are popular. The spiral wants me to be popular. I want…to be popular. Jocks are manly. The spiral wants me to be manly. I want to be manly…”

“...to be manly. I want to be muscular. I want to be popular. I want to be manly. I want…”

“...I want to…want to be muscular. I…want to…want…popular. I…wah-...wa-...wam manly…I am manly. I am…”

“I am muscular. I am popular. I am manly. I am muscular. I am popular. I am manly. I am–smelly? Wait what-…I am muscular, popular, manly…I am a jock…and jocks are…”

“Jocks are smelly. I want to be smelly. Jocks are arrogant. I want…the spiral wants me…I want to be arrogant. Jocks are stupid…No I’m not…I’m…the spiral wants…but I’m not…the spiral wants…no!...the spiral…is in control…I want to feel…good…I want the spiral…in control? Yeah…spiral in control.”

“...I want to be…smelly. I want…to be arrogant. I want…I want…to…to be…”

“...I want to be smelly. I want to be arrogant. I want to…to be…st-...”

“...I am smelly. I am arrogant. I am stu-...-pid…no I won’t…I can’t…I…please…"

"...I am…stupid…”

“I am smelly. I am arrogant. I am stupid. I am muscular. I am popular. I am manly. I am smelly. I am arrogant. I am stupid. I am muscular. I am popular. I am manly. I am smelly. I am arrogant. I am stupid. I am a jock. I am a jock. I am a jock…”

“Bro…what was that link Kyle just sent me? Has me feelin’ all dazed, like my head is stuffed with cotton or somethin’. At least, more than usual huhuh...He better not have sent me another dumb virus or…other dumb crap. Dude is even more spaced out than I am sometimes.”

“How much time have I got before practice? Let’s see uh…it’s 2:30 now and…add an hour to that and uh...huhuhuh whatever I just need to shower before then. Or I could see if anyone could do a quick round of FIFA. Yeah, that sounds a lot better. People dig the B.O. anyway, right? The man musk, yeah...Just gonna text Kyle to see if he’s down..."

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jakebro1 · 8 days ago

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so my girl best friend, Cassie, recently just got broken up with by this total douchebag jock, I mean he was a tiktok f-boy all throughout. But she’s been super super sad about it. I guess i’m just wishing to Tharnis that I wish I could make her feel happier and better.

Cassie’s sobs shake the small dorm room. She’s curled on the edge of the bed, mascara streaking down her face, shoulders trembling like the weight of her grief is trying to drag her through the floor.

You sit beside her, helpless. Your fingers twitch in your lap. You hate seeing her like this. She doesn’t deserve this pain. Not because of him, that smug, protein-stuffed meathead who treated her like an accessory. You feel your jaw clench, teeth grinding a little too tight.

“I wish I could make you feel better,” you whisper. The words aren’t directed at her. You’re not even sure who you’re talking to. Just a desperate, half-formed prayer in the pit of your stomach. You glance at the little iron figurine on your shelf, a stupid trinket from the oddities fair. Tharnis. Demon of exchange. Desire for price. You thought it was cool, edgy. Just a decoration.

Then the lights flicker.

Once.

Twice.

The room hums, no, vibrates, like a breath held too long. A chill licks down your spine, so sharp it makes you jerk. You blink, suddenly dizzy.

"He was a total asshole, Cassie," you manage. But your voice, it's deeper, slightly distorted, like someone else is speaking through your chest. You swallow. "A pig. You're better off without him."

The air feels heavy. Your skin crawls. You lick your lips, and a strange metallic tang hits your tongue. Not blood. Not sweat. Venomous. Like something bitter and dark has seeped into your mouth.

Your eyes shift, almost involuntarily, to Cassie. She’s still crying, vulnerable, soft. You stare longer than you mean to. She’s glowing in the flickering light. You feel something twist in your gut. Wrong. Alien. Predatory.

No.

You blink hard. “I mean, he was nothing but a meathead jock,” you say, your words slower now, slurring at the edges. Your usual lisp is gone. Vanished.

You clutch your stomach. It burns.

Then your body starts to ache.

No, tear.

A sharp crack radiates from your shoulder, like your bones are being reset against your will. Your arms stretch unnaturally, bones thickening beneath the skin, muscle crawling over them like vines twisting too tight around an old tree. You whimper, or try to, but it comes out as a low grunt, guttural, inhuman.

You glance down. Your arms, their familiar thinness is gone. Now, thick cords of muscle ripple under your skin, veins snaking like rivers of molten stone. Your fingers tingle, stretching slightly longer, fingers tapering with unnatural strength. You flex hesitantly — and the muscles swell, pulsing visibly beneath the skin, hardening into tight, defined ridges.

Your heart thunders as your shoulders suddenly broaden, the bones grinding, cracking in protest as they widen against your ribcage. Your shirt groans under the strain, threads popping, fabric tearing as your torso expands, the ribs pressing outward, forcing a proud, square chest.

The sensation is maddening — like your body is both burning and freezing at once, muscles knotting and stretching, skin pulling taut over your swelling frame.

You stagger toward the mirror, the floor tilting beneath you.

In the glass, your reflection stares back, but it’s not quite your own.

Your jaw has sharpened into a hard, angular line, thick and square like a statue carved from granite. The shadow of stubble dusts your chin and cheeks, coarse and dark. Your cheekbones thrust forward, pronounced and cruel, under skin bronzed with a sun-kissed glow you don’t remember earning.

Your lips, fuller than before, curl into a crooked half-smile. Your eyes gleam bright, piercing, alive with a predator’s fire. Your thick hair tumbles over your forehead in a messy, deliberate chaos that somehow looks effortless.

You watch in horror as your torso tightens further, the once-skinny waist now solid and compact, muscles rippling with every shallow breath. Your pecs rise and fall with a rhythm all their own, firm and hard enough to cast shadows on the floor.

You raise your arms again, flexing unconsciously. The biceps balloon, swelling with power, veins throbbing beneath the surface. Triceps flare wide, cutting deep into your skin like sculpted wings. Your forearms, once slender, are now dense, the sinews thick and knotted.

Cassie’s eyes widen, cheeks flushing as she stares, frozen between shock and fascination.

You try to speak but your voice is deeper now, rougher, slipping easily into a tone you don’t recognize but feel compelled to wear.

The scent hits you next. You. You reek of sweat, musk, testosterone, raw and unclean, like a locker room that hasn’t been aired out in years. It pours off you, suffocating. Your shirt clings to you, wet and tight, before it finally tears.

Your hand flexes. Massive. Veins crawl up your forearms like serpents. You feel powerful. Untouchable.

You laugh.

It's too loud. Too confident. You slap a hand over your mouth, heart hammering. That wasn’t you. That laugh belonged to someone else. Some thing inside you.

You turn, and Cassie is staring at you. Wide-eyed. Blushing.

No. No, no, no—

"Yeah, that dude was such a dumbass fuckboy," you say and the words fall out easily, too easily, like you've said them a thousand times before. Like they’ve always belonged in your mouth.

You feel memories slip, like water through your fingers.

Your boyfriend’s name, what was it?

A book you loved, gone.

You see a club instead. Neon lights. Girls. Curves. Your thoughts dull, heavy. Your brain struggles to hold on to words with more than two syllables.

“W-what’s happening…” you whisper, slurring now, voice thick and slow. But something inside you laughs again. And this time, it’s not you who hears it.

But inside, your mind is fraying, memories slipping away like water through trembling fingers. The familiar thoughts, the things you used to care about, drain out, replaced by a hazy fog.

And as your body continues to throb and swell with new, terrifying strength, you realize with growing dread: you’re fighting a battle you might already be losing.

You feel her hand rest on your shoulder. A spark flares, but you push it away. No way, you tell yourself. You’re totally gay, right? Right. So why does your brain trip? Why do your lips part, and before you can stop yourself you blurt, “Dude was such an obnoxious homophobic straight asshole.”

Suddenly the air changes. The room tilts. Your senses narrow into this foggy tunnel where everything smells like defeat of stale gym shorts, sour armpit musk, and that unopened package of performance underwear you bought thinking it’d make you more… something.

Your sheets have gone from gray to a sickly taupe, crusted with the residue of neglect and loneliness. You haven’t washed them since that girl came over six months ago, when you thought maybe you’d be more than this.

You glance back at the mirror. Your reflection stares back—tight, pumped, like a meme incarnate. The muscles ripple under skin that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. You flex your arms, veins snaking like rivers of overconfidence, and you wink. You genuinely believe you’re hot shit. Zac Efron meets Andrew Tate, if Andrew Tate was emotionally constipated and allergic to introspection.

But then your mind scrambles.

The sharp edges of your thoughts blur, getting duller and heavier, like walking through water. You try to hold onto something—anything—that’s you, but it’s slipping through your fingers.

You’re the guy in every gym mirror selfie, tongue out, middle fingers up like the world’s a locker room and you’re about to yell, “Let’s fuckin’ goooo!” at a stoplight. But the funny thing? You get mad at stoplights now. You yell at your steering wheel, at vending machines. You don’t even like protein shakes anymore, but you keep drinking them because loyalty to the grind is all you’ve got.

Your voice drops, thick and bassy, coated in energy drink fumes and bad barstool podcast takes. You catch yourself calling women “females” like you’re narrating a nature documentary. “Sweetheart” slips out in arguments, and you swear it’s a checkmate. You say “no homo” when your eyes lock with a guy’s—because you have to. Even if it’s your reflection in the mirror.

Your mind rewires itself in slow, maddening increments. The clarity you had is replaced by noise of crude thoughts, anger, simple instincts. You think therapy is for “broken people,” even though you haven’t felt anything but rage and horniness since 2016. You bottle emotions like poison, let muscle speak where words fail. You ghost instead of apologize, post thirst traps like war cries.

Every memory you had of who you were is fading. The smart kid who loved books, who cared about things beyond flexing and followers—that guy’s drowning in this sea of dopamine and muscle ache.

You see yourself in the mirror and all you feel is the pump, the grind, the endless performance.

The cold truth claws at your ribs: you’re dumber now. Your thoughts crawl, simple and raw. You talk like a podcast, but only the loudest, dumbest parts. You know the right words but can’t string them together. Every nuance fades to a blunt, bass-heavy growl.

You rage at pronouns, at “woke” culture, at anyone who challenges your worldview. Your social media is a shrine to ego and bravado, a battlefield where every like is a victory and every ignore a defeat.

You stand before the mirror, your chiseled abs glistening under the dim light. Your eyes, filled with a primal hunger, scan your muscular physique. Cassie lies sprawled on the bed behind you, her presence barely registering in your single-minded focus."Bet you'd be happy with just a quick fuck to get over what's his nuts," you sneer at your reflection, flexing your biceps. "You mean Dylan?"you mutter, trying to remember the guy's name. "Yeah, that's right. Uhhhh, Dylan. Wait, that's my name brah" The words hang in the air, sealing your fate as the campus's dumbest, horniest, most homophobic fuckboy. You turn away from the mirror, your gaze drifting to Cassie's prone form. She's just another conquest, another pair of legs to wrap around your waist. Tomorrow, her face will be a blur, her name forgotten.

You stride towards the bed, your movements predatory. Cassie stirs as you approach, her eyes fluttering open. She smiles weakly, still dazed from whatever substance you slipped her earlier. You climb onto the bed, hovering over her petite frame. Your hands roam her body possessively, squeezing her breasts, her thighs. She gasps, arching into your touch. "Dylan…" she whispers, her voice laced with desperation and desire .You smirk, knowing she's putty in your hands. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. "Shut up," you growl, "and spread your legs." Cassie complies without hesitation, her legs falling open, inviting you in. You position yourself between her thighs, your hardness pressing against her entrance. Without warning, you thrust forward, burying yourself deep inside her. Cassie cries out, her nails digging into your back.

You begin to move, your hips slamming against hers with brutal force. Each thrust is a statement, a reminder of your dominance. Cassie's cries fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain.You lean down, your lips curling into a sneer. "You like that, don't you?" you hiss, "being fucked by the campus king?" Cassie nods frantically, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and ecstasy. "Yes," she gasps, "oh god, yes!" You laugh, a cruel, mocking sound. Your hands grip her hips, pulling her closer, deeper. You know she'll regret this tomorrow, but right now, she's yours. Completely, utterly yours. You continue your relentless pace, your body moving like a machine, designed for one purpose only: pleasure. And pain. Especially pain. You reach down, your fingers finding her throat.

You wrap your hand around her throat, squeezing gently. Cassie's eyes widen, her breath coming in short gasps. You smirk, enjoying the power you hold over her. "You're mine," you growl, "all mine." You thrust harder, deeper, your other hand gripping her breast roughly.

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