johnsmithforstupidstuff

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Your best friend Jonathan, a triathlon athlete, has been jet-setting across the globe for races, and you’ve always begged to tag along. He’s refused every time, citing the cost. This time, he’s headed to a scorching hot country— Qatar —for a triathlon, and you’re determined to go. While visiting his place, you spot his race gear laid out on the bed: a leotard, swimming cap, goggles, and a pair of blue compression underpants. An idea strikes—you’ll transform into his underpants, stow away in his suitcase, and surprise him in Qatar. You say a quick goodbye as Jonathan heads for the shower, and the moment you hear the water running, you focus your energy and transform into the blue underpants.

Instantly, a wave of rancid musk hits you. The stench is overpowering—sweat, stale fabric, and something faintly sour. You realize with horror that these underpants aren’t fresh. In human form, you hadn’t noticed the smell at all, but now, as the underpants, your sense of smell is hyper-enhanced. The odor is a thick, suffocating cloud, clinging to every fiber of your being. You curse yourself for not checking first, but it’s too late now. You settle into the fabric, waiting for Jonathan to pack you into his suitcase.

The shower stops. Jonathan steps out, a towel around his waist, and you brace yourself for the suitcase. But instead, he grabs you off the bed, shakes you out with a casual flick, and steps into you. The sensation is bizarre—his warm, damp skin presses against you as he pulls you up, adjusting you snugly around his hips. You’re stretched taut, every movement of his body reverberating through you. The musk intensifies as you’re pressed against him, and you can already feel the heat building as he starts packing the rest of his gear.

The trip to the airport is a nightmare. Jonathan’s a fast walker, and each stride grinds you against him. His body heat is relentless, and the faint sweat from the day mixes with the already potent smell of the fabric. At the airport, he sits for hours at the gate, and you’re compressed under his weight, the pressure unyielding. The long flight to Qatar is even worse—cramped in the airplane seat, the air stale, and Jonathan shifting every so often, each movement amplifying the odor. You’re trapped, unable to escape the growing warmth and the faint, musky tang of his skin.

In Qatar, the heat hits like a furnace as Jonathan steps off the plane. It’s easily 110°F, and the humidity makes it feel even worse. At the hotel, you hope for a break, but Jonathan keeps you on, muttering something about “lucky gear” as he unpacks. During his warm-up runs in the days leading up to the race, the heat and sweat are unbearable. You’re drenched, the moisture amplifying every scent—salt, skin, and a faint metallic tang from his exertion. You’re stretched to your limit, clinging to him as he jogs through the desert heat, the sun baking you both.

Race day arrives, and you’re still on him. The triathlon starts with the swim, and as Jonathan dives into the Persian Gulf, you’re submerged. The saltwater floods through you, and it feels like drowning—your fabric form saturated, heavy, and suffocating. You can’t breathe, not in the human sense, but the sensation is overwhelming, the water pressing in from all sides. Jonathan’s powerful strokes pull you along, and you’re battered by the current, the salt stinging in a way you didn’t expect fabric to feel.

The bike section is next, and as Jonathan mounts his bike, you’re compressed even more. His ass is right there, and the smell hits you like a punch. The combination of sweat, heat, and the sheer physical exertion creates a pungent, earthy odor that’s inescapable. Every pedal stroke grinds you against him, the friction generating more heat, more sweat, more smell. The desert air whips past, but it offers no relief—only more dust and heat to cling to you.

The run is the final leg, and by now, you’re a sodden, stinking mess. Jonathan’s pace is relentless, his body pouring sweat, and you’re absorbing it all. The heat of Qatar is merciless, and you feel like you’re melting, the smell a constant assault—sweat, salt, and the faint funk of his skin, all intensified by your enhanced senses.

After the race, Jonathan finishes strong, and you hope he’ll finally take you off. But he doesn’t. He’s superstitious, calling you his “lucky pair,” and keeps you on as he heads to celebrate with a cheat meal. He chooses a high-protein, lactose-heavy feast—grilled meats, cheese-drenched flatbreads, and a milkshake to wash it down. You remember too late that he’s lactose intolerant. Hours later, the consequences hit. The farts start small, a low rumble, but soon they’re relentless. Each one is a noxious cloud, a mix of sulfur, rotting dairy, and something almost chemical. Your enhanced sense of smell makes it unbearable—every fart feels like a physical blow, the stench seeping into your fabric form, lingering for what feels like eternity. Hours pass, and Jonathan, oblivious, lounges in his hotel room, the air thick with the foul odor.

You’re stuck, suffering through the aftermath, wondering how much longer you can endure before you finally transform back and reveal yourself—probably with a very strong opinion about his laundry habits.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Old Posts from SoManyBoys

A few years ago when I started captions I was on deviantart/Tumblr under the name somanyboys. Unfortunately my accounts got taken down. Do any of you still have the old posts saved? If so can you dm them to me?

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Looking for a specific image from a few years ago

When I was growing up and first started to show an interest in smelly feet/shoes I stated to scan the internet for images/stories (as I a am sure many of us have). From that time I remember an image, but I cannot find it anywhere.

In the image there was a young man (I think 18 years old) in a basketball years. He was holding his green basketball shoes and he was either smelling them or holding them into the camera smiling.

I first found the image in a blog by a mom who was posting a solution to her son's smelly sports shoes.

Do any of you know the image I am talking about a where to find it? If so I would appreciate a DM.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Thinking Quickly (AI assisted)

Josh had registered with a new gym, just to be closer to his newest crush Francesco. He was an Italian student, with rich, light brown hair, toned, incredibly sexy and muscular legs and a jawline to die for. Josh knew that he wanted to be close to him, but he did not yet know how.

Josh was thinking and formulating a plan, how to find out if Francesco was even gay and if so, how to get into his pants. He walked into the locker room of his new gym and there he saw Francesco, still in his street clothes. He had already laid out his gym clothes on a bench, but was still on a phone call. Josh greeted him and made his way to his locker, opposite to Francesco. Josh looked around, could he maybe take a sock, when Francesco wasn't looking? Or what about a sweat soaked shirt? While still on the phone, Francesco took one more thing out of his gym bag and stored the empty bag back in his locker. In his hands he held a pair of grey briefs, with a slightly unpleasant odor.

After Josh saw that his plan was practically set. Francesco was walking up and down the locker room, sometimes turning away from his things. Josh looked around to make sure nobody else was watching. He stored all of his things in his locker, and waited, for Francesco to turn around again. He had to hurry, because he could hear the call coming to an end. Francesco turned away and Josh, in one smooth motion, picked up Francescos briefs from the bench, hid them in his locker and transformed himself into identical briefs.

His fabric body flopped onto the bench, onto of Francescos other gym clothes.

Josh’s fabric body flopped onto the bench, landing atop Francesco’s neatly folded gym clothes. His new form—an identical pair of grey briefs—quivered slightly as adrenaline coursed through his transformed fibers. The plan had worked flawlessly. Francesco, still pacing the locker room, wrapped up his phone call with a curt “Ciao, see you later,” and turned back toward the bench, oblivious to the switch. Josh’s heart—or whatever passed for it now—raced as Francesco’s muscular hand reached down and scooped him up.

Francesco sniffed the air briefly, his sharp brown eyes narrowing. “Weird,” he muttered, shrugging off the faint whiff of his original briefs’ odor, now tucked away in Josh’s locker. He stepped out of his street clothes, revealing his toned, powerful legs and a physique that made Josh’s fabric form practically hum with anticipation. Francesco slid Josh on, pulling the grey briefs up over his thick thighs and snugly around his hips. The sensation hit Josh like a tidal wave—Francesco’s warmth, the faint musk of his skin, and the overwhelming pressure as the briefs hugged every contour of his athletic frame.

Josh had rigged the transformation app to heighten his senses, thinking it’d make this fantasy even sweeter. Big mistake. The pleasant musk he’d imagined was magnified tenfold into a potent cocktail of sweat, skin, and a lingering hint of yesterday’s workout that Francesco clearly hadn’t washed out of his routine. Josh could taste it, feel it seeping into his fabric, and—oh god—smell it with a clarity that made his mind reel. Francesco adjusted himself, oblivious to Josh’s silent panic, and the motion crushed Josh’s transformed essence against Francesco’s hefty package, sending a jolt of dizzying sensation through him.

Francesco grabbed the rest of his gym gear from the bench: white socks, black slides, and a green hoodie. He slipped them on, leaving his shorts behind for now—apparently, he was still prepping. Josh clung to Francesco’s body, every shift of muscle a new wave of sensory overload. Francesco walked toward the locker room mirror, stopping to check himself out. There he stood: tall, broad-shouldered, his fair brown hair slightly tousled, brown eyes scanning his reflection. The green hoodie hung loosely over his torso, the white socks peeked out from the black slides, and Josh—the grey briefs—framed his lower half, stretched tight over his sculpted ass and junk.

“Looking good,” Francesco said to himself, turning slightly to admire his legs. Josh, trapped in the fabric, wanted to scream. Good for you, maybe! The pose shifted Francesco’s weight, pressing Josh tighter against his skin, and then—without warning—Francesco let out a low, rumbling fart. The gas blasted through Josh’s fibers, hot and sour, a brutal assault of Italian protein-diet stench that lodged itself deep in his being. His enhanced senses made it unbearable, the smell lingering like a cruel joke as Francesco chuckled to himself. “Whoops, too much espresso today.”

Josh’s fantasy was crumbling fast. Francesco grabbed his gym shorts and tugged them on over the briefs, sealing Josh in a suffocating layer of darkness and heat. The workout that followed was pure hell. Francesco hit the treadmill first, his powerful strides grinding Josh against his sweat-slicked skin. Every step was a thudding torment, the dampness soaking into Josh’s fabric until he was drenched. Then came the squats—Francesco’s glutes flexing and straining, crushing Josh with each rep. The sweat poured freely now, a salty flood that drowned Josh’s senses, compounded by the occasional ripple of gas Francesco didn’t bother holding back.

By the time Francesco finished, Josh was a sopping, reeking mess. Francesco stripped down in the locker room, peeling Josh off and holding him up with a grimace. “Madonna, these stink,” Francesco muttered, his brown eyes narrowing as he dangled the sweat-drenched grey briefs between two fingers. Josh’s fabric form quivered, his enhanced senses still reeling from the onslaught of sweat, musk, and those damn espresso-fueled farts. He was too dazed to process what came next.

Francesco shrugged, opened his gym bag, and tossed Josh inside. The briefs landed with a damp thud atop a pile of unwashed socks, a crusty towel, and—oh god—a pair of sneakers that reeked like they’d run a marathon in a swamp. The zipper whined shut, plunging Josh into stifling darkness. His transformation app, hidden in his locker across the room, was set to revert him in an hour—but the fine print he’d skimmed warned that the process wouldn’t trigger if he was “contained or obstructed.” Trapped in the bag, surrounded by Francesco’s rancid gym gear, Josh realized with creeping dread that he wasn’t going anywhere.

The bag jostled as Francesco slung it over his shoulder and headed out, each sway grinding Josh deeper into the sweaty heap. The heat was suffocating, the stench a relentless assault—old sweat, foot funk, and a whiff of that last fart clinging to his fibers. Josh’s mind raced, his silent screams lost in the void. What now? Francesco could toss the bag in his car, leave it in a locker, or—worst of all—forget about it entirely. Would he wash Josh? Wear him again? Or would he rot in this festering prison until the app’s battery died, leaving him stuck as briefs forever?

As Francesco’s footsteps faded down the hall, Josh was left to wonder, marinating in the unknown, his fantasy-turned-nightmare stretching into an uncertain, foul-smelling future.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Too late now

"Listen, it won't be that bad, just relax." Elias said in a condescending tone.

"What do you mean not that bad?! You have no idea how much being your socks sucked. You never even washed me and kept me on for days! I can’t even imagine how bad it would be to be your underwear. I am sorry but I don’t want to do it!" you replied with a stern voice.

"Well, in that case I have bad news for you, because I don't really care what you want. You owe me and it is definitely too late to chicken out now." Elias said, while fidgeting with his phone, opening the TransformR app on his phone.

"No, Elias please! I beg you. I can't keep doing this. Every time you transform me it gets more difficult to keep sane."

"Well, tough luck I guess. You better get used to this, because if you keep bitching like that I might just keep you transformed! Anyway, you wasted enough of my time, see ya in a few weeks." With that Elias clicked the final button on his phone, sealing your fate for the upcoming weeks.

In front of him you collapsed into yourself, becoming hollow and turning white. You fell onto the floor, right in front of his stinking feet.

"Well then, let’s talk specifics. Duration, 5 weeks, senses enhanced, very absorbent, both liquid and gas. Perfect, I guess everything is set now. Let’s try you on for size." Elias said, bending down while undressing. You saw, as he flicked his still wet workout clothes straight into his clothes, instead of the washing machine, a fate, you were surely going to share in the next few weeks. He pulled his legs through your openings and you finally came into contact with his immense ass and junk. He did not shower after his workout, you were sure of that. With the enhanced senses you were forced to smell and taste every single one of his many inches of manhood, stinking of sweat and his ass reeking of musk.

"Let's see about that absorbing power of yours," Elias said, before going down to his knees and poking his ass out. A few seconds passed, then Elias farted right into you. Your torture intensified. In combination with the dried sweat and ass smell, you were now also bombarded with Elias’ foul gas. Not only that, but you absorbed every bit of it into your fibers, never truly going away, the smell always lingering…

"Nice, I can't smell anything. At least I don't have to be as careful with my protein farst, those are deadly. Anyway, you clearly absorb gas, what about liquid?" Elias said, lying down in his bed and opening his favourite websites. You felt, as Elias began to massage his dick through you. You could feel, smell, and especially taste his enormous member. You suffered with each stroke, feeling his veins pulsating through you. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a load of his cum exploded in your face. You could feel it, as it slowly seeped into your fibers as well, compounding the foul stench and taste. "Nice, I see we will have a lot of fun. Let's go for a run," Elias said, before getting up and getting dressed.

This was going to be a long 5 weeks

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Permanent Position

Lucas loved soccer, but his best friend Tom was obsessed. Every practice, every game, Tom never stopped talking about his passion. Lucas often joked about Tom's commitment, but today, things would take a different turn.

It was the start of summer, and the heat was brutal. Lucas had always been slightly envious of Tom's dedication and skill on the field. After another day of listening to Tom's endless soccer talk, Lucas decided to play a prank on his friend.

Without saying a word, Lucas brought out the transformation gun he'd secretly obtained. The idea was simple yet cruel: he'd turn Tom into his soccer socks for the rest of the season. As Tom rambled on about his favorite team, Lucas aimed and fired.

Tom didn't notice the change immediately. One moment he was chatting animatedly, the next he was shrinking, warping, and finally, he was nothing more than a pair of white soccer socks.

Lucas picked up the socks, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Sorry, buddy, but you were just too good at soccer. Time for you to really be part of the game."

He pulled the socks onto his feet, feeling the snug fit. The heat was already making him sweat, and he knew Tom could feel every bit of it. The first few steps were strange, knowing his best friend was now his socks, but Lucas quickly adjusted. He had a game to play.

The match was intense. Lucas ran, jumped, and kicked with all his might, every movement a new agony for Tom. The heightened senses meant Tom felt every ounce of sweat, every painful impact. The stench of the sweat-soaked socks was overpowering, far worse than anything he'd experienced before.

As Lucas sprinted down the field, he could almost hear Tom's silent screams. The thought gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction. "You always wanted to be close to the action, Tom. How's this for close?"

The game continued, and Lucas pushed himself harder, knowing that Tom was suffering with every step. The heat of the summer sun only made things worse, and the socks were drenched by halftime. But Lucas didn't slow down. He played harder, ensuring maximum discomfort for Tom.

After the final whistle blew, Lucas sat on the bench, panting. He could feel the damp, reeking socks clinging to his feet. "Well, Tom, that was quite a game," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face. "But guess what? You're just too comfortable, I think I am going to keep you like this."

Lucas stood up, feeling the squelch of sweat in his socks. He walked to his locker, knowing Tom was trapped in the suffocating darkness, doomed to endure every game, every practice, and every moment of Lucas's athletic life.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Trapped in the Cleats

"Time to see how you like being under my feet, Ryan," said Jake, smirking as he held up the transformation gun. Before Ryan could react, Jake zapped him, and Ryan felt his body twist and shrink until he was nothing but Jake's worn-out cleats.

Jake slipped his feet into the newly transformed cleats, feeling Ryan's essence trapped within. "Perfect. Just in time for our summer training sessions."

Jake knew that Ryan's senses were heightened after the transformation, which made the experience even worse for him. Every movement, every drop of sweat, and every foul odor was magnified. The stench of old sweat and the musty interior of the cleats overwhelmed Ryan's senses, and the heat was unbearable.

Jake made sure to work out extra hard, running drills and scrimmages in the blazing summer sun. The sweat poured off him, soaking into the cleats and making Ryan's torment even more intense. Jake could feel Ryan's silent suffering with every step and relished the power he had over him.

Jake also had a habit of not washing his cleats or socks, ensuring maximum discomfort for Ryan. The smell of sweat and the constant pressure were relentless. Jake's smirk grew wider every time he felt Ryan's misery.

"By the way, Ryan, you're going to stay this way for the whole summer," Jake said, sitting down to take a break, his cleats resting on the soccer balls. "I hope you enjoy every minute of it."

Ryan was left to endure the suffocating heat, the overwhelming stench, and the constant movement, knowing that his torment would last for months. There was no escape from the darkness and the relentless agony.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Trapped in the Briefs

“You’re in for it now, Mark. You always complained about my smell, and now you’re going to get a front-row seat,” grinned Ethan, holding the transformation gun. Before Mark could react, Ethan zapped him, and Mark felt his body contort and shrink until he was nothing but Ethan’s tight, musky Gymshark briefs.

Ethan pulled the briefs on, trapping Mark in the suffocating fabric. The smell was overpowering—sweat, musk, and an unbearable staleness filled Mark’s senses. To make matters worse, Mark’s senses were heightened after the transformation. Every smell, touch, and sensation was intensified. “Oh, by the way, I made sure your senses are super sensitive now. Enjoy!” Ethan chuckled.

Ethan, who was dairy intolerant, made sure to consume a large amount of dairy and protein right after putting on Mark. The effect was immediate and brutal. As the day went on, every movement was torture for Mark. The heat, the pressure, and the constant friction were relentless. But the worst was yet to come. Ethan smirked, adjusting his waistband. “Better hold your breath, if you can.”

Without warning, Ethan let out a loud fart, the rancid smell seeping through the fabric and into Mark’s very being. The odor was nauseating, and there was no escape. Ethan made sure to keep consuming dairy products throughout the day, ensuring a steady stream of gas.

Ethan didn’t stop there. It was the middle of summer, and he decided to go for an intense workout session at the gym. The sweat poured off him, soaking into the briefs. Mark was overwhelmed by the combined assault of sweat, musk, and the relentless farting.

Ethan didn’t bother showering after his workout. He wore Mark all day, and by the end, the briefs were soaked with sweat and reeked horribly. The constant sweating and gas attacks were unbearable for Mark.

As night fell, Ethan stripped off the briefs and tossed them carelessly into the laundry hamper. “By the way, you’re going to stay that way for the whole summer,” he laughed. “See you tomorrow, Mark.”

Mark was left to endure the suffocating darkness, dreading the torment that awaited him for the rest of the summer.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Game Over Part 1

“Enjoy your new life, Chris. Becoming my soccer socks right before the big tournament must be a nightmare! You always whined about my smelly feet, now you get to be up close and personal,” sneered Alex as he zapped Chris with the transformation gun.

Chris felt his body warp and twist until he was nothing more than Alex’s sweat-soaked soccer socks. The stench was overwhelming, far worse than he could have imagined.

Alex pulled on his newly transformed socks. “This tournament is going to be brutal. I hope you can handle it, but honestly, I don’t care!”

Every sprint, kick, and pivot was agony for Chris. The sweat, the pressure, and the constant movement were unbearable. Alex made sure to run extra hard, relishing Chris’s silent suffering.

Weeks of grueling practice and games passed, with Alex wearing the same, unwashed socks to ensure maximum discomfort. By the end of the tournament, the socks were filthy and reeking horribly. Instead of releasing Chris, Alex tossed the worn-out socks into a plastic bag, shoving them into the back of his locker.

“Maybe next season, Chris. Enjoy the dark,” Alex laughed as he walked away, leaving Chris trapped in darkness, dreading every future moment as Alex’s socks.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Must suck

“That’s what you get, Mike. Becoming my sneakers right before the start of summer must suck! You always complained about my smelly shoes, now you get to be them,” laughed Jake as he zapped Mike with the transformation gun.

Mike felt his body twist and shrink until he was nothing more than Jake’s worn-out sneakers. The stench was rancid and overwhelming, far worse than he had ever imagined.

Jake slipped his feet into the newly transformed sneakers. “This week is going to be the hottest of the year. I hope you don’t mind, actually, I don’t really care!”

Every step Jake took was torture for Mike. The sweat, the pressure, and the heat were unbearable. Jake ran, jumped, and deliberately stomped on the ground hard, furthering Mike’s silent suffering.

Days turned into weeks and months, and Jake wore the same socks, ensuring maximum discomfort. By the end of summer, the shoes were filthy and reeked horribly, but as the trainers were switched for winter boots and instead of being freed from his torment Mike found himself in a plastic bag in Jake’s closet, ready to be used the following summer.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Mismatched

So you decided to live out this crazy fantasy: turning into Jacob's sneakers for a day. In the gym locker room, while he swapped into his workout gear, you hunted down his locker and found a pair of shoes you'd never seen before. Using this quirky app, you set yourself to be sneakers for exactly one day and even cranked up your sense of smell for a real kick.

Once you hit 'Enter', you tossed your stuff in an empty locker and bam, you were Jacob’s brand-new Nikes. But man, even fresh out of the box, they stank like Jacob had marathoned in them—sweat city.

As he started lacing up, he grumbled, "Not this again," and ripped out the white laces. He swapped them for some flashy red ones. That was a huge problem. You needed those original laces to change back later. Just as you noticed the snapped aglet on the old lace, Jacob chucked them into the trash and walked off.

Now, you were stuck as his stinky sneakers, marinating in his sweat all through summer. And it turned out, this was just the start. You endured many summers squished under Jacob until he finally decided you were trashed enough to toss for real.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

False trust

When my stepbrother caught me sniffing his sweaty gym shoes, I thought I was done for. I figured he'd tell everyone and I'd never live it down. But instead of ratting me out, he came up with a wild idea.

"You're into feet, right? Like, you really dig the smell?" he asked. "Uh, yeah, pretty much," I admitted. "How about you become my shoes?" I was floored. I knew about those transformation guns from stories, but I never knew how to get one or use it. "You have a tf gun?" I asked, shocked. "Yep, and I'm in a hurry, got to hit the gym. So, what do you say?"

Before I could really think it through, he grabbed the gun, a gadget with a bunch of buttons and a small screen, and started pressing away. "It's tougher to change you completely, so let's just merge you with something. Go grab my gym shoes from my room," he instructed.

I knew exactly which ones—his white Nike Air VaporMax that he wore all the time for sports. If he wasn't wearing them, they were stashed in his gym bag in a plastic bag, marinating in sweat. After he busted me sniffing them, this was kind of a full-circle moment. Excited and a bit nervous, I fetched them.

"Okay, listen up," he said as I brought them over. "I'm going to fuse you with these shoes. You'll get to enjoy all the smells up close until I turn you back tomorrow. Cool?" I nodded, still in shock. He pointed the shoes at me and zapped me with the gun. In an instant, my body melded into the sneakers.

Immediately, the stench was overwhelming, way worse than any sniff I'd taken before. That's when he dropped another bomb. "Oops, looks like I cranked up your senses. And uh, I might've goofed the timer—set it for a year instead of a day. Hope you didn't have plans," he joked, not sounding sorry at all.

He picked me up, examining his handiwork. "Your face is now the insoles, limbs are the laces, and your torso's the rest of the shoe." As he twisted a shoe, it felt like I was being wrung out. "You'll survive, I guess. It's gonna be a hot summer, and you're gonna be my go-to pair," he smirked, tossing me to the floor. The impact sent a sharp pain through me. "Oh, and I fused your, balls with the bubbles on the bottom of my soles, so every step gives me an energy boost for my workouts. Tough break, but hey, you're part of the shoe now!"

With that, he slipped me on, and every step was agony. He toyed with me for a few minutes (see the link above), shifting his weight, then grabbed his gym bag. "Don't expect much chat until I switch you back. But, you're pretty comfy, might keep you this way," he laughed, heading out to the gym.

[johnsmithforstupidstuff]

Hot Summer

„That’s what you get, faggot. Man, becoming my sneakers, right before the start of summer must suck! You always were annoying me, because of my rancid smelling shoes, and now you get to be them, haha.“

Tyler transformed one of his friends into his Air Force 1 Sneakers, meant as a prank, but as soon as he slid them onto his feet, he decided to keep them forever, or until they are trash.

„This week will be the hottest of the entire year! I am going to sweat like I pig! I hope you don’t mind, or actually, I don’t really care!“

Tyler wore his sneakers with the same pair of socks for weeks on end, just to torture his friend. After the summer ended, Tyler stored the now very used sneakers in a plastic bag, ready to be worn the next hot summer.