persuasivetfs

[persuasivetfs]

The Big Break

Inside Stucky’s Dive Bar and Grill the punk rock group, Flaming Bags of Dirt, prepared for their set. The stage was grimy. Covered in shards of broken glass and puddles of what Sanjay hoped was beer not piss. Still to Sanjay, one of the band’s guitarists and lead singer, a dive bar’s stage was the closest thing to home he was ever going to get.

”We shouldn’t be playing these chickenshit charity gigs, Sanj,” Rick, the band bassist chided. The easily pissed off Rick crossed his skinny heavily tattooed arms, and glared at him.

“It's not charity. It’s business. Stucky’s is a punk rock institution. If nobody, but us got the balls to play at Stucky’s right now, this can be our band’s big break,” Sanjay informed Rick tensely, a lit cigarette dangling from the corners of his mouth.

Beyond the shoddy black curtain were the shouts and laughter of a full house. The tables were crowded with people, with most donned in colorful mohawks and faded leather jackets. As many others lined the aisles and the walls, trading cigarettes if they weren’t scrolling on their phones.

For most businesses this would be an ideal night with bands scrambling over each other for a decent time slot to take advantage of the large crowd. Yet, Frank the bar manager, had practically begged Sanjay and his band to come up North for this gig. Half his night’s regular acts had abruptly dropped out or disappeared in the weeks before.

There were rumors it had something to do with some churchy cult up near Wentworth Falls but this was a town two counties away. Besides, what were they doing? Kidnapping people?

“We better get paid back what it cost in gas to get up here for this gig. I don’t think we have enough to get us back down to Maryland, and I’ll be damned if I get stuck in this place,” Malik, the band’s other guitarist, said, shaking his bald head.

His bright blue electric guitar gleamed in Malik’s hands, as flashes of light from behind the curtain struck it.

“As long as the party’s good and the beat is hot, who cares how much we get paid?” Stu, their drummer, asked, with a shrug from behind their giant drum kit.

“If we want to keep performing without taking on third jobs, we do. We should care,” Malik argued. Stu rolled his eyes and took a swig from a bottle of tequila he had stashed behind a loudspeaker. Malik loudly sighed.

“We are going to be fine. Frank promised to pay double the typical gig rate and after he’s going to recommend us to all his friends running clubs on the Jersey Shore and Manhattan. We’ll be playing a shit ton of new gigs after this,” Sanjay himself promised to his ambivalent bandmates.

He went back to finishing his last tuning touches on his own bright red electric guitar.

Covered in scratch marks from years of the rock and roll lifestyle on the road, it was Sanjay’s most precious possession. Lovingly maintained over the years it represented all the blood, sweat and tears he had shed for this art form and everything he was willing to give up for it. Mortgage payments, wedding rings, vans that didn’t cough out poison when you started their engines.

The curtains rose.

Sanjay stepped confidently at the head of the stage, rubbing his fingers through his spiky red hair one last time for comfort.

The boisterous crowd cheered. Slamming fists on tables and against walls, Sanjay delighted in the warmth and joy of his fellow punks.

“Hey, Stucky’s Dive Bar and Grill! How are we doing tonight? Feeling pumped?” Sanjay asked, grabbing a confident hold of his microphone.

The crowd hollered. Sanjay scanned the crowd looking for Frank. When he spotted him, Frank was in the corner of the bar near a fire exit. He gave Sanjay a thumbs up and smiled at him from behind a pair of sunglasses.

“Good! Because tonight we have Hothead Rick on bass, Malik the Geek on guitar, Slutty Stu on drums, with me Sanjay the Satanist singing with second guitar and we are ‘Flaming Bags of Dirt’! So let me ask one more time, are you ready to rock New Jersey?!” Sanjay shouted out.

A thunderous roar rolled over the crowd, as people shrieked and clapped and slammed boots on the ground.

“1…2…1…2… 3…“ Sanjay counted down, his fingers twitching from their need to play.

He was about to just count down to four when suddenly a sharp feedback loop squealed over the bar’s main speakers. Everyone clutched their ears and groaned in pain.

“Sorry about that folks. Must be a technical error. We’ll check back in a-“ Sanjay’s voice on the microphone abruptly stopped as it went dead. People glanced around at each other, murmuring in annoyance and confusion when over the loudspeakers the sound of an old tape recording played.

“The Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want,” a man’s baritone voice sang.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Rick snapped,

before giving the finger to the nearest sound system.

Behind the bar, staff scrambled to find the source of the problem as everyone else all blearily stated at each other in aggravated disbelief. Was this somebody’s idea of a sick joke?

“The Lord is my shepherd and I will not need,” the voice sang again. Blinking rapidly, Sanjay became inundated with a quick series of jumbled memories and sensations. Polished wooden pews, Bible camp, the spinning blades of a lawn mower. Cargo shorts.

Sanjay stumbled back a step and would have collapsed if not for Malik immediately stepping to his side and steadying him.

“You okay, man? What’s going on?” Malik asked, wrapping his hand firmly around Sanjay’s.

“I don’t know. It's like I’m having 100 instances of deja vu all at once,” Sanjay tried to explain, rubbing his temples.

“What the fuck? What the absolute fucking shit?” Rick shouted, as he sank to his knees, digging his nails into his head. Rick tore the bass strap from around his neck and threw it down in front of him like a disgraced offering.

Sweat dripping down his face, his pale skin flaring red, Rick looked like he was about to molt from out of his body.

He wasn’t alone. Several others in the crowd began to clutch at their heads and groan as well. Panic spread and people ran for the exits.

Once Sanjay was able to stand on his own, he and Malik ran to Rick’s side as Stu cowered from behind his drum set.

“Rick, tell us how you’re feeling. What’s going on?” Malik asked, bending down. Sanjay put a hand on Rick’s bony shoulder to keep him upright. The man was trembling like a panting dog in Summer's heat.

“I hear it,” Rick whispered, raising his head upward, his gray eyes unfocused and distant.

“Hear what?” Sanjay asked, stepping closer to him.

“The doors are locked!” someone screamed from a nearby fire exit.

An unsettling grin crept across Rick’s face.

“The shepard has come looking for his lost sheep,” Rick replied with a bewildering laugh. Squealing in pain, Malik and Sanjay watched as Rick’s body began violently contorting itself. Sanjay and Malik stepped back.

Radiating from his head, muscle and fat bulged from Rick’s normally skinny neck and stretched downward. Soon Rick’s back widened, his traps expanded, his arms and legs strengthening with corded muscle as his tattoos disappeared. Well combed black hair grew in to replace his own greasy blonde.

As his body shifted, so too, did his clothes. His leather jacket melted away and became a crisp green polo shirt. His black combat boots were replaced with loafers.

When the transformation was complete, Rick stood up from his previously hunched over position and chuckled amicably.

“What the fuck?” Malik shouted when Rick turned around to face them. Not only had the man’s body changed, so had much of his face.

No longer did it have the dark circles and five o’clock shadow of a recovering heroin addict, but a fresh youthful smoothness. Malik began taking several more steps back and Sanjay following his lead did the same. Rick smiled, his teeth white and blinding.

“What is this a funeral? Why is everyone here so glumb?” Rick asked in a disgustingly cheerful voice.

From the side, Stu groaned and fell over out of his chair, clutching at his face and head.

“We should be celebrating! For I have been saved by the good Lord! And He has come to save all of you good people!” Rick shouted, triumphantly.

Shambling to their feet, several people who now looked as if they could be extras in an American political campaign, smiled serenely at Rick.

“The Lord is my shepherd and I will not want,” Rick sang along to the music, clapping his hands. Soon the others who’d been changed began to sing along too, as others panicked and ran or fell over as they began their own transformations.

“Let’s try the back office!” Malik urged and together the two sprinted for the backroom with their unplugged instruments in tow.

Sanjay, having been on a track team throughout high school, made it first, but when he slammed his side against the backdoor he found it wouldn’t budge. Tossing his guitar to a nearby couch, Sanjay ran at the door, throwing his whole body weight its metal hull, before bouncing off against it and hitting the floor,

“Sanjay!” Malik cried out, helping him to his feet. The two punks were more insulated in the back room from the pulsating Christian music, but it was vibrating in through the walls.

“There’s got to be another way out of here,” Sanjay insisted, running from one side of the room to the other. There were windows, but they were narrow and high up near the ceiling. Then looking at the cheap drywall, he attempted to kick his way clean through but all it did was send a painful recoil up his leg.

Gritting his teeth, Sanjay briefly sat down in a nearby bean bag chair to recuperate.

When he did, he was hit with more flashes. Psalm readings, boy scout meetings, intramural Christian basketball leagues, watching football with the guys.

“Be sure to ice up that knee, son,” Sanjay heard a voice, vaguely sounding like an older male relative in his mind. Sanjay clenched his fists.

“My father never told me shit. Get out of my head,” Sanjay yelled upward at the intangible music which only seemed to grow louder with more voices as time went on.

“Sanjay,” Malik said in a warning tone, sitting down on the couch next to his guitar. Sanjay got up from the bean bag chair and sat beside him on the couch. He gripped his knee.

Malik was sweating through his clothes. He’d already taken off his jacket and was starting to leak through his t-shirt. Malik put his guitar down but held it upright next to him like he intended to use it as a walking stick.

“I don’t know if we’re going to be able to leave this shithole town, afterall,” Malik joked, smiling through the pain. Sanjay shook his head.

“We’re going to get out of here, I promise. Even if I have to take a sledgehammer to the walls, I’ll figure out something,” Sanjay said, rubbing Malik’s knee to comfort him. Malik smiled again but said nothing, the concentration to stay himself surely overwhelming him.

Sanjay stood up from the couch.

“I’m going to try the back bathroom. I’ll be right back,” Sanjay said, giving Malik’s knee one last squeeze before leaving.

The bathroom was halfway through the hallway leading into the bar. Putting his hand on the door, Sanjay risked a peek to find nearly the whole bar had been transformed. When once there’s been a crowd of workers and patrons with dangling piercings, revealing outfits, and brightly colored hair were dull straightlaced Christians cheering along to the repeating chorus of that foul song.

Grimacing, Sanjay forced his way into the bathroom. It was a small and narrow space with only two stalls, but it also had two large easy to access windows facing the parking lot.

Opening one of the windows, Sanjay briefly felt his head clear as in the distance there death trap of a van sat safely parked.

He went to go back to Malik to tell him the good news, but then he caught a glance of himself in the mirror.

His bright red mohawk was gone. Replaced by an easy to manage head of short black hair. That wasn’t all. His nose ring, his diamond studs, his snake tattoo; all of it was gone too. Even his posture had unknowingly changed. While Sanjay had been a proud sloucher all his life, his spine was now the rim rod straight befitting a soldier or a disciplinarian.

The music was starting to come in from under the door and with it Sanjay felt a familiar unsteadiness come over him. Falling against the edges of a cracked bathroom sink, Sanjay felt his wiry body begin to pulsate and expand. Groaning in pain as he leaned his head downward, muscle and fat pushed its way up from his chest to form two heavy pecs as downward his gut bulged with fat outward but hardened underneath with muscle. His arms grew thick as boulders, bursting out of his suddenly tight leather jacket, as his thighs grew strong enough to crush grapefruits with. His neck widened to that of an offensive lineman, while his face began to rearrange itself. Grunting in a deeper voice than he was used to, Sanjay could only watch helplessly as his body not only grew but aged. Laugh lines and crow’s feet were growing in on the edges of his eyes and mouth. While his facial hair, once thin and space grew into that of a neatly trimmed beard within seconds.

Once his face changed, his clothing shifted too. His leather jacket transformed into a tight-fitting blue dress shirt like the kind his dad used to sell cars in. His ripped jeans became slacks with a belt, his sneakers, a pair of sensible Oxfords.

Once he was able to catch a breath, Sanjay stared at his reflection but could no longer recognise himself. He didn’t look like a hard core punk anymore. Sanjay looked like somebody’s middle-aged dad.

Another wave of memories smacked into him, more concrete this time. A wife, Anjula. Two sons, Jebediah and Ezekiel. Their faces and voices plastered across the walls of his mind. Sanjay yelped and tried to push them away, running from the bathroom and back to Malik’s side.

When he returned though, Malik was gone. Instead in his place was another one of the Christian suburbanites outside. Same skin tone and most of the same facial features, but muscular in the way Malik never was, dressed in a pink polo shirt and smiling up at Sanjay as if they were only acquaintances.

“Malik?” Sanjay asked, tentatively as he crossed over to him, unsure what he would hear back.

“Hey there, Mr. Vishwakarma. Have you come to audition for choir director, too?” Malik asked, with his voice, but none of its distinctive cynicism or wit.

“Snap out of it, Malik! This isn’t you! Please, we can get out of here. Let’s go!” Sanjay insisted, pulling the man to his feet.

Malik’s plastered smile faltered when their hands touched. When he came to, his voice was weary but unmistakably Malik’s.

“Sanjay, where are we going?” Malik asked, sounding like he was wrestling through mental fog.

“There’s an open window through the bathroom. We can escape!” Sanjay said, gruffly, his voice surprising him.

“Sanjay, it's too late for me. You should just go without me,” Malik said, filling Sanjay with rage.

“No, I don’t believe that. The music wears off when in the fresh air. It worked for me, c’mon,” Sanjay said, trying to pull him on but Malik dug in his heels to the floor, refusing to move further.

“Stop being stupid. I’m already too far gone. I feel it. The music scraped me out and left this shell in my place. I’m only hanging on by a thread,” Malik pleaded. Sanjay stopped pulling, his breath caught in his throat.

“If you don’t believe me, look at what they did to my guitar,” Malik said, gesturing back to the couch.

Instead of the snazzy blue electric guitar Sanjay was used to seeing, decorated in the same scratches and history of his own red one, there was a brand new acoustic guitar sitting on the couch. Letting go of Malik’s hands, Sanjay walked back to the back room trembling with horror.

He touched the guitair’s smooth sides and laminated finish, refusing to believe the old instrument was gone until he touched it for himself. Sanjay gasped, letting go of the guitar as if burned. Malik smiled, glumbly.

“Now you know. There’s no hope for me. You should go,” Malik said, but Sanjay just then wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight.

“No. I won’t leave you here to become one of them. Not without me. I… I can’t do this without you,” Sanjay whispered into Malik’s ear.

Malik patted his back, affectionately. Then stroked the back of his head.

“You are such a lovesick idiot,” Malik said, sadly.

The two men briefly pulled away, but then Malik kissed him deeply. Both men shut their eyes as they did their best to remember every curve of the other’s lips, the flick of their tongue, the warmth and softness. They wanted the kiss to last forever, but it couldn’t. They both knew that. Eventually, they pulled away and wordlessly sat down next to each other on the couch.

Sanjay held out his hand and Malik took it, squeezing it tightly.

“You think we’ll be able to stay friends at least?” Sanjay asked.

“Of course. We’ll probably end up living next

to each other too, with our perfect heterosexual families and houses with lawns divided by a white picket fence, likely going to the same church as the rest of these jackasses. With our luck we’ll even have Rick and Stu on the opposite side of the street. Always causing trouble,” Malik said, closing his eyes.

It was meant to be an insult, but as Sanjay shut his eyes and listened to the music, it only sounded pleasant. Easy. Safe.

“We couldn’t have picked a better area to settle down in. With the Church in charge, people here are obedient, decent, polite, and pious. The perfect community to raise our families in,” Sanjay said with a comfortable smile.

His past hard life was circling cheerfully away, while his new life was helpfully filling the void his old self left behind.

The new Sanjay would never have embraced homosexuality or a punk rock lifestyle. Sex was between a man and a woman and it was cool to obey societal norms not twist them. He had become a man who was strict and morally upright in all things. Every day, Sanjay measured his lawn’s grass with a ruler to keep it trimmed down to HOA standards, while flipping a coin on every bed to make sure each had been properly folded before the day could begin.

Once freed of their pasts, both men came back to themselves.

“Are you ready to wow Pastor Lawerence and become the new choir director?” Mr. Jones asked, pleasantly as he stood up and collected his acoustic guitar.

“I only do what the good Lord seeks of me. If He believes me good and loyal enough to be choir director so be it. If not, I accept his judgement with humility and grace,” Sanjay answered, sternly.

He rose to his feet with a grunt and picked up his acoustic guitar. It was brand new and freshly polished, free of any unpleasant blemishes that could lower its value. Holding it in his hands, Sanjay felt a strange twinge of disappointment, as if he’d been looking forward to finding a scratch. Sanjay scoffed and waved the thought away.

Without either of the men realizing it, Stucky’s Bar And Grill had been changed into the newest location of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church.

Stepping out from the back room, Sanjay and Malik walked out with guitars in hand, taking their selected spots in the front of their choir pews.

“Is everyone ready?” Pastor Lawerence asked with a warm grin. He looked to Pastor Frank, who stood proudly at the front of the church, in his new vestments. Without prompting he had contacting the Church, promising dozens of new followers at once in return for turning his failing business into a profitable church he could be a part of.

Everyone in the choir nodded their heads at once, united in purpose and mind. Sanjay beamed proudly, his fingers itching to strum his guitar strings, in honor of his God, in Sanjay’s home away from home.

“1…2…1…2… 3…4!”

[persuasivetfs]

FML: Initiate

This is a follow up to FML: Fraternize as selected by you for my 2,500 subscriber special. It took longer than expected and had a few rewrites, but I promised you all this would be the next story released. Hopefully it is worth the wait.

In all my years at this university I had never seen anything like it. Week after week students were seeming to disappear. You expect to see some flux in enrollment as students change schedules and drop classes. But these students weren’t removing themselves from classes. It was as though they were never enrolled at all. Initially within the department we all had our pet theories on the matter. But in a few weeks it was clear where they were going. It isn’t hard to notice a lot more students milling around the business campus, or the sudden discussion within administration of expanding the personal training and physiology tracts. We were all just left wondering why.

I finally hit my breaking point near the end of the semester when one of my more promising students disappeared from my roster. I asked the other pre-law professors and sure enough, they couldn’t find a trace of him ever taking a class in the department. However, I did find one lead. One of my students must have heard me discussing it with the TA’s and said that he was a member of a fraternity on campus. I groaned at the thought of having to trek out there, but I knew it was the quickest way to get some closure. Against my better judgment, I headed to the Eta Psi Rho house.

Every step there filled me with dread. I hate to confess it, but I had once attended this same university, and yes, even tried to join a fraternity. It had been such a long time ago, but I could still remember the cruel ways that my brothers had mocked, berated, and punished pledges. Fraternities we’re nothing but a blight on this campus that produced people like… well people like the man who greeted me out front.

Honestly. Back in our days at least we had the good sense to drag our brothers inside. It’s a shock campus police had not raided the place yet. I knelt down. He reeked of booze and sweat. His snore was almost deafening. Even if his brothers wouldn’t help him, I couldn’t leave him out here. I pestered the young man awake. Groggily, he rose to his feet, stumbling over his feet and his words. Immediately he clapped me on the back, thanking his ‘bro’ for the help. I tried to brush him aside, but his firm grip ushered me inside as he muttered about being late for class. I’m surprised he was still enrolled. Regardless, he helped me get inside and one of his ‘bruhs’ tried pointing me in the right direction where I could find my lost student. I began wandering the halls, looking for any sign of the young man, but they were eerily empty inside. What was I saying, the young men were all in their classes surely. Still, when from down the hall I suddenly heard, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood,” chanted in unison, I was a bit shocked. I walked up to the door and peered in, hoping to get better directions. I was met with a group of young men, glassy eyed, staring deep into a static filled television.

I walked in front of one young man, trying to get his attention. It was like I wasn't there as he stared right through me. It was no use, and the sound and light in the room was giving me a headache. I was about to leave when suddenly, from the TV, a clear command:

Brothers are lean and muscular.

Brothers are lean and muscular, the men all repeated. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the young man before me changed. His skin rippled for a moment, as though a chill went down his spine. Then, he began to swell. It came in bubbles, uneven and tumorous. But each patch began to combine and normalize with those around it until it suddenly stopped and a different man sat before me. At least, that's what I told myself as I bolted from the room.

Lost in the maze of corridors, I was just following the signs to the nearest emergency exit. Something was wrong here. Young men don't just- just GROW. The sign directed me rounded the corner into the laundry room and more pressingly, into a stranger. I started apologizing before I paused. I assumed there had to be a mistake.

The stranger had a familiar air to him. When he had been my student, the young man I knew was clean shaven, a bit shy and reserved in class, but smart as a whip and friendly. The man in front of me was confident. He shot me a smirk as he greeted me, ‘dabbing me up’ and calling me his bro. Up close he was overwhelming. I had known a brother to miss showers but it smelled like he hadn’t rinsed off in a week. The smell of cologne did nothing to hide the alcohol on his breath and the funk emanating from him. And while I could tell he used to be fit this was absurd. He looked chiseled from a magazine cover! The vacant expression was a far cry from the law student I knew. If it weren’t for his face and eyes, I doubt I would have even recognized him.

Regardless of his appearance, I started talking, pleading with him to tell me what was happening. What was happening in this house? Who was responsible for the poor boys in that room? Why did he throw away a bright future for this? But my words never seemed to get through. He pleasantly smiled and nodded, but gave canned answers about ‘brotherhood’. I really should have made for the exit in front of me but I was past the point of logic.

I finally shouted, “I just don’t understand why you would throw your life away for this!”

“This is my life,” he droned, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.”

That same mantra as those young men. I took a breath before continuing. God this place was rank. “Listen son, I know about the brotherhood and this fraternity. But you have to see something wrong is going on here. What were those boys doing in that room?"

"Oh the pledgies? Yeah, initiation is next week, got to make sure they stay in line over the finish line, ya know what I'm saying?"

"Someone's got to stop this. I'm going to the Dean, he'll be able to do something. This fraternity can't operate like this!"

The toothy smile fell, “You’ve got to be loyal to your bros. After all, we are made to be loyal to the frat.” His tone was suddenly flat as he began inching closer. In one swift motion he removed his tank top, flashing all his muscles. In one more, his shorts were on the ground. As he got closer, the heat in the room intensified.

It was getting hard to think, I was feeling so woozy. This bizarre display had gotten far beyond my scope as an educator. I tried to excuse myself, “I think I’d better go, this was a waste of- ” but he was suddenly upon me. I hadn’t realized I had backed myself into a corner.

"Pledge, come here!" and my mind froze.

As much as I wanted to scream and run, I could feel an unnamed power he held over me as his command to stop burrowed into my brain.

"You sound like you were in there for a bit. Let's see how much you got trained. What's a good punishment... ah. Pledge, sniff."

I felt so aroused and so scared as I was forced to closer to the source of his musk. I tried to resist, but something primal drove my nose in and gave a hesitant huff of pure frat bro. I was loosing any… any restraint… left. I couldn’t… resist… my… my…

He smirked, "Bro, what was that? Come on, Pledge, sniff!"

“Yes bruh.” It slipped so easily out, almost as easily as the drool from my mouth. My face crinkled as I shoved my face in his nasty pit. I couldn’t think about it. I sniffed and while I knew it was gross, it all felt fuzzy and warm in my head.

“Oh, you must have been in with them a while. Dude, we can't have you sharing fraternity secrets. Don't worry though, we may be able to save you yet. Come with me.”

My brain only processed the command as I stumbled after him back through the halls. We turned into a familiar room. I stood, head spinning, as he fiddled with a TV for a second and sat himself down.

“I think that the guys won't mind a double dose. Sit next to me.”

“Yeaaah, surrre thing,” I slurred, stumbling into my seat. His firm arm felt nice around me. He held me firmly as he pressed play on the remote and a VHS tape whirred to life. There was a disorientating strobe of colors that left me a bit dazed before starting up into an intro. I was confused at first what the tape was talking about. I wasn’t here to join the fraternity and learn more about a life of brotherhood. The opposite almost. I tried to stand, but his arm held me firmly in place. I started to protest, but the voice sounded so insistent, and it was so confusing to watch. It reminded me of something, some tape I had seen long ago. It was like slipping back into an old pair of pants, something just fit. Maybe I hear him out? Then, the tone switched.

Welcome to the first day of your new life. You have been selected to become one of the few. One of the elite. You feel honored to have been selected.

“I feel honored to be one of the elite,” every voice in the room rang out in unison.

An old pride rose in my chest. I was selected. I was better. I would be in Eta Psi Rho.

This important decision has been made for you. You must accept our guidance. The frat knows best.

“The frat knows best,” we all repeated.

You will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.

“I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.” It felt good as it slipped out.

Good. Brothers, step out. We have it from here.

My former student brother released my shoulder, stood quickly and left the room. But I didn’t want to leave anymore. I was to watch the tape.

Let’s start with an attitude adjustment. It is important for bros to be bros. Bros are relaxed and carefree.

“Bros are relaxed and carefree.”

I hadn’t realized how much tension I had been holding in. But as I repeated the words, a wave of relaxation rolled down from my neck, through my shoulders, rippling through my arms and torso, all the way through my legs. I let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back into my seat.

Bros eat, sleep, workout, and hang together. Bros just want to spend time with their bros.

“Bros just want to spend time with their bro.”

All sense of time and obligation suddenly felt swirled in my head. I remembered that I was supposed to go, but it felt so distant. Instead, my mind filled with a schedule of work outs, parties, meals, and frat events. I couldn’t give my lecture tonight, I would miss chapter!

In a few short weeks you will be ready for brotherhood. But first, a reminder. You want to complete your pledge. You want to be a brother.

“I want to complete my pledge. I want to be a brother.”

That almost made sense. I wasn’t a pledge, I was too old. Or, I think I am? But quickly that logic was suppressed by something else. I wanted it. I wanted so badly to be a pledge.

The commands were starting to pick up speed.

A pledge does not think for himself. He follows his brothers’ orders and fits in.

“I follow my brothers’ orders and fit in. ”

Yeah, life is so much easier when I can just listen and follow. Let others make the decisions bro.

A pledge will do anything to become a brother.

“I will do anything to become a brother.”

God it felt so good to have it all sorted out.

Now, it is important to not just act like a brother. You need to look like a brother. Feel your body. Focus on it. Every frat bro's body is a temple. A temple prime for trashing. These next four years are the prime of your life. You will enjoy your college years.

That short phrase rushed through my body. An icy chill ran down my spine that froze me in place. My body felt tight as it slowly rewound itself. I felt young blood pulsing through my body as my muscles swelled, releasing the tension of muscle aches and cranky joints. Skin pulled tight against my muscles as years of work and stress smoothed over my body. Not a wrinkle, not a sag, not a follicle of body hair was left behind as I shed my 50’s for my 20’s. Then, all at once, a wave of testosterone washed over me. It was like puberty all over, as I broke out in a cold sweat that carried that young, masculine funk. My voice cracked and softened as I moaned, my cock was flush with hunger. The brain was in no state to resist as years of history were washed away under twenty-something hormones. Bruh, I could feel my brain unfurl and smooth out a bit too. For the first time in decades, I felt young, dumb, and so full of cum.

Brothers' muscles ache from years pushing it too hard in the gym. It feels good to push your body beyond its limits. Protein powder and energy drinks are the fuel that keep you lit. Bros are swole.

“Bros are swole.”

Any twink-ish hopes I had just developed were quickly dashed against pumping iron. I felt the ice melt as my body twisted under my skin and slowly began to sweat. My stomach began to fill as a familiar chalky taste crept up the back of my throat. Protein. A deep aching filled my body, yet it continued to pulse. The more it hurt, the more I wanted it. I watched as each muscle melted inside of me and reformed out of hardened steel.

Brothers know the power of their masculinity. They are not afraid to show off their bodies. It shows others who is in charge. Let weaker men worship you. Use them for your satisfaction. You will be dominant.

I will be dominant.

I rushed to take off my clothes. They suddenly felt so restricting. I thought back to my bro as he made me sniff his rank pits. The way I just complied to his commands. The gravity of his words. I wanted that. No, I deserved that. My brain filled with a rush of new desires. To walk into a room and see people turn. To be loud, to be seen, to be heard, to be felt. I wanted the thrill of the approach as I singled out the hottest body in the room and commanded them around like my bitch. I wanted to feel their desire flush as I roughly tossed them on my bed and pried my jeans off. I deserved their mouth, open and begging for my perfect cock. I earned their hole, clenched tight as they rode for dear life until I berried my seed deep in them. I claimed the cold wind on my skin, proud of a night of conquest as I stood nude at the window, hitting my vape. I could almost feel it. I could almost... smell it? I had lifted my arms above my head, and a smell rolled off my pits. Fuck, that was the smell he had. The smell of dominance. It was mine now. I took a victorious huff.

Finally, let's ensure you can always find what you need in Eta Psi Rho. Look around you at the bros in this room. You will stay together. You will serve each other. You love your bros.

I felt a swell of kinship in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to be a part of the brotherhood. To fucking dominate this school together. But suddenly there was a tension in the air. God, why were my bros so... hot? We had all been factory made to conquer but, something more held us together. There were a few seconds as we all waited for something to happen when, suddenly, the two bros next to me made the first move.

As the room devolved into chaos, the commands kept coming. We recited back diligently between sloppy kisses, deep moans, and grunts as we slid against each other's bodies. We listened but all waited for the command that would get us to cross the finish line.

You will keep it simple, keep it stupid.

“I will keep it simple, keep it stupid.”

My head felt like it was filled with fluff. No thoughts, just instinct.

You will listen to your pledge master, follow all he says.

“I will listen to my pledge master, follow all he says.”

It was so much easier to just trust my bros. Whatever they said went.

You will live for and serve your bros, live for and serve the frat.

“I will live for and serve my bros and the frat.”

I would do anything for my bros. Gotta keep ‘em happy.

What happens in the frat house stays in the frat house. No homo, bro.

I spit out the cock in my mouth as I kept railing the bro below me,

"No homo, bro!"

The frat is life.

“The frat is life.”

Perfect. We anticipate your full initiation. Cum.

Moans echoed through the halls as the tape ended.

A while passed before a door slamming shook me awake. An ache passed through me as I reached for the jug of water next to my bed. The buzz of pre-workout shook me awake. I was in my bedroom of the frat house. I was where I belonged. My big stood over my bed.

“Look at me,” my big said. My body turned to him and hit him with my cockiest smile. It felt good to obey my alpha bro.

The new man spoke, “Shit, that tape did a number on you. I don't know if we've ever inducted someone so old. How do you feel?”

“I feel relaxed and carefree, bruh,” I responded.

My bro slapped me upside the head, “Is that how you respond to your pledge master?”

Of course, how could I forget. I was so dumb sometimes, “Sorry. Good, Sir.”

His face lit up with glee, "Never get over that. Let’s see. Pledge, I brought home a twink for after the party tonight. Warm him up for me."

I felt my cock suddenly swell, rigid at attention. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

My pledge master whistled, “Dang, you know how to pick ‘em Skunk. He's no Long Leg, but he's up there. You picked out his pledge name yet?” I didn’t know his pledge name was skunk. But catching a whiff of myself as I scratched my head, guess it ran in the family.

“Well, if he’s going to keep acting like a smart ass, I’m thinking Prof.”

“Pfft, that’s hilarious,” my pledge master turned back to me, “One last question little bro. How do you feel about Eta Psi Rho?”

In an instant, an old mantra filled my mind, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood,” I droned.

[persuasivetfs]

A Concerned Friend

Funny thing about churches, for all their talk about faith and trust in their fellow man, they always locked their backdoors, at least all of the different churches Carlos used to attend with his parents did. The back door of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment church seemed to be an exception to the rule. Not only was their backdoor unlocked, but unmonitored by the barest of security systems. It was almost as if they were daring someone to break in. Thankfully Carlos wasn’t there for anything malicious, he just wanted information.

The lanky youth still struggled with the door though. It was heavy, made of a thick wood that required his whole weight to push open. Once inside though he was alone. Carlos made sure to pick a time when, according to the bank’s outward facing security cameras across the street, there was little movement in and around the church.

Slinking through the carpeted back rooms and hallways of the church, Jeremey stealthily made his way into the back office. Closing the door quietly behind him, he then drew the blinds, before sitting down at the office computer. While Carlos would have been ill-prepared to deal with a locked door due to his low physical strength, he was more than ready to tear into the church’s firewall. He had arrived with his flash drive, connective cables, his laptop, and years of experience hacking into the security system of his old high school. Except, like the back door of the church, the computer was left practically wide open to infiltration. Private files, including that of financial records and the personal notes of pastors were all helpfully labeled and the computer didn’t even require a password to access. Only a slight movement against the mouse.

Shaking his head with disappointment, Carlos nonetheless began pouring through documents. At first, he started with a broad scan of words including “testosterone”, “hormones”, and “steroids” but came up empty. So he broadened his search to include “body-building”, “strength”, and “masculinity” which brought in new results but not the kind he hoped. What he was expecting to find was a miracle drug, not articles encouraging “sportsmanship” in church league basketball and notes for sermons around “healthy masculinity” based on the life of Jesus. So, desperate, he broke the one rule he set aside for himself. He looked for information on Dwayne.

Before the church, Dwayne had been his best-friend since high school. Two nerdy non-white boys in a sea of white faces that ruled over AP courses like their own exclusive club. Carlos had even been excited that they were staying in town together, even if Dwayne himself didn’t have plans beyond high school. He always hoped that as soon as his programming career took off, that he would convince Dwayne to join in on the gold mine with him. Then the two of them could move to Silicon Valley and live comfortably, maybe even together, Carlos had hoped together. Then Dwayne suddenly joined the Church and everything changed.

It was like his whole personality changed. Everything was about Jesus, and when it wasn’t about Jesus it was about basketball, and when it wasn’t about basketball it was about Keyon.

Keyon said this, Keyon said that. As if Keyon hadn’t stopped hanging out with them the second he realized he could get more respect playing sports than he ever could on the mathletics team. Dwayne, too, had become a stranger. An extremely attractive stranger, but one who wouldn’t even look at Carlos anymore. It frustrated him to no end.

All this time Carlos had assumed it would be him and Dwayne against the world, but now he didn’t need him anymore. He had Keyon and his girlfriend and his sports, and Carlos had what? His computer? His ability to peer into any security camera system he wanted? The hope of a well-paying career in the face of climate collapse?

At that point, Carlos had even floated thinking of joining the church outright. Homophobic or not, he had seen the church’s results on his former friend and all the bizarrely muscular and attractive Christian men in town, and God did he want that same body for himself. At least if he was in the Church, he could likely fuck all the hot sexually repressed men he wanted, but then he thought, why give them the satisfaction? At least by taking the information directly, he might find a way to look that good and not have to join a cult.

As he searched for any information on Dwayne, he was surprised to find not only detailed notes on his former friend, but many other active members of the Church. Hidden in a file labeled “mental evaluations” Carlos found scores of information detailing people’s personal lives.

Under Dwayne he found notes like, “Subject remains content and blissful in the Lord’s love, but his attachment towards Keyon may require further conditioning. Seems to have no recollection of his former life. Pastor Carter is supervising his continued development but requests advice from a more experienced pastor.” This by itself suggested a level of emotional manipulation and control that Carlos feared but partially expected from Christianity, but there was also a list of all of Dwayne’s personal relationships including those he had before he joined the church, but none of those names were his own. Carlos scoured the list. Identities included second and third cousins and that time Dwayne signed up in a robotics competition with that girl from their AP British Literature course, but not Carlos.

There was a polite knock at the door.

His heart dropped. The door opened and Carlos threw himself to the carpeted floor, facedown. Hoping out of a bizarre strain of luck that the stranger would see the darkened office and then leave. He struggled not to breathe.

“Find what you’re looking for?” a male voice asked from above him.

Spitting out carpet fibers, Carlos raised his head to find one of the pastors looking down on him. A white guy. Fuck.

Instinctively he smiled.

“No hablo inglés,” Carlos tried sheepishly. He went to gather his things while keeping his head down. If the pastors were as trusting as they were with their building’s security, maybe they wouldn’t suspect him if he pretended not to speak English. The pastor cocked his head to the side and smiled warmly.

“Saludos mi amigo de habla Hispana? ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?“

Fuck. Carlos stopped gathering his things.

“I’m about to be arrested, aren’t I?” Carlos asked, his voice tipped with dread.

“No, but I would like to have a chat. So if you wouldn’t mind, let's take this conversation to the sacristy. Away from the computer,” the pastor said with barely concealed snark.

He stood in the doorway like a teacher as Carlos walked past, the older man following him with his eyes as the pastor shut the door behind him. He led them to the brightly lit room that Carlos had first entered on breaking into the church, then bade him to take a seat in one of two uncomfortable looking purple chairs. Carlos took the one on the left, closest to the office. There was no real chance of escape with his laptop that held all his personal information in the next room. The pastor took the second chair, stretching his limbs like a sleepy cat before he sat down. He crossed his legs like a girl, then leaned forward, his smile wide and unnerving.

“I’m not undocumented,” Carlos blurted out.

“That’s good to know, but if you or anyone you know are, we have many services focused on supporting immigrant communities. I know I have some pamphlets somewhere,” the pastor said, searching his jacket pockets.

“I’m fine. Thank you. If anything I’m just surprised, considering your church’s conservative politics,” Carlos said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Our Church is a place of God and we welcome all people. Part of our church’s mission in worldwide evangelization is a world free of borders and man-made oppression,” the pastor informed him, cheerfully.

“Right, the only acceptable oppression is the kind ordained by God,” Carlos said, sarcastically.

“Correct,” the pastor answered without a trace of irony.

“Okay, cool,” Carlos said, sinking into the back of his seat.

“So let’s talk about why you broke into the church’s private office today, but first an introduction. My name is Pastor Agosti, and you are…” the pastor trailed off.

Carlos wanted to tell him a fake name. Something cool like Big Papi or Axel Steel. Instead he said, “I know about your church’s mind control program!” He slammed a hand to his lips before he could say anything else asinine.

The pastor blinked.

“How much did you…” he trailed on and at that Carlos immediately cracked. He told Pastor Agosti everything he knew. The secret personal files, the surveillance of church members, the church’s terrible security, the blatant attempts to control people’s personal relationships, the obviousness in which the Church was changing men’s bodies and minds to be more pliable for the church. By the time he finished, Carlos was exasperated. To his surprise, despite the pastor not having left his spot and there being no one else in the church Carlos found a glass of water next to him on a coffee table. Not thinking too much about it, he drank quickly, grateful it was there. As he spoke the Pastor had merely listened attentively, staying quiet and nodding his head every once in a while.

“What do you want, Mr. Rodriquez?” the pastor asked, dropping into a thick Italian-American accent that hadn’t been so prominent as when Carlos began rattling off what he discovered.

“Money? Your friend back? Please, blurt it out at your nearest convenience,” the pastor mocked, leaning back into his chair, folding his hands across his chest like he was a Sicillian mob boss. Carlos gulped.

“I want to be hot,” Carlos admitted to the floor, unable to meet the pastor’s eyes. He felt so stupid speaking it aloud to someone.

“Excuse me?”

“I want whatever you did to Dwayne, minus the Christianity. The beautiful face, the muscular, well-toned body, the confidence. Every man walks out of here looking like a sports model and I want that. Desperately. To be honest, I’ll even take the exact same route you had for Dwayne. Put me on the church intramural basketball team, I don’t care. Hell, I’ll even sit through whatever Church service you want if it means I’ll have a body every gay man drools over. Please, that’s all I want, please just help me,” Carlos practically begged. Just the thought of Dwayne or Mr. Khan or that Bulgarian preacher with the swimmer’s body was getting him hard.

“You know, maybe you’re right, Carlos. Maybe our church has been playing fast and loose with its security. I suppose, us pastors have been so convinced of the Lord’s protecting grace that we foolishly believed we didn’t need to lock our doors or hide the personal changes we’ve brought to some of our followers. Maybe we need to adjust our tactics because if a boy fresh out of high school can soak up so much information behind our backs, we may be in danger,” Pastor Agosti said, nodding his head in thought. Then his gaze fell back upon Carlos who shivered.

“But then again, Mr. Rodriquez, you haven’t been that boy for some time,” Pastor Agosti said and Carlos could only watch as his body began to inflate from underneath him. His fingers, once long and nimble, perfect for fast-paced computer work became short and stubby, more accustomed to holding a pen than they were to typing on a computer. His t-shirt, baggy on his wiry frame, started to strain and tear apart as Carlos’s stomach and pecs pushed outward. His bony ass and narrow hips that had been so easily contained to the cushioned chair, soon became restrained by them as his ass cheeks sagged outward from under the plastic handrests.

“This isn’t what I wanted!” Carlos yelled, breathing heavily. “I wanted to be muscular and athletic!”

“Oh there’s definitely muscle under there, Mr. Rodriquez, just atrophied. Age will do that to a man,” Pastor Agosti said with fiendish delight.

Carlos in a panic felt his hair and sure enough it began to recede under his touch. His hair, once covering his eyes, was shrinking away, his hairline moving back across his skull inch by inch until it nearly disappeared entirely. By the time it was done, only a small pool of hair was left at the very top of his head, and even that was starting to thin out. Yet as his head hair receded, his nose twitched as facial hair grew out over his chin and under his nose.

Carlos wanted to scream again, to thrash and throw the chair at the foul creature that had done this to him, but seeping into his brain came a strange and debilitating calm. He tried to fight it, he tried to resist, but his own body was betraying him, relaxing him, easing him into the changes. He released a deep breath against his own wishes and sighed with relief, his thoughts slowing down. With his increased age and bulk, Carlos was feeling tired, worn down when he should have felt energized and full of fear.

“You no longer have the body you once did, old man. Accept it,” came a thought and on great urging from his body, he did. Maybe when he was younger, Carlos had the luxury to be so wound up and full of nervous energy. It was how he did so well as a wide receiver back in high school and college, but in his middle-age, he no longer had the energy to get too worried about things. Still, as tired as he was, this chair was so uncomfortable.

It was nothing like his own office chair. His office chair was double wide and properly cushioned, allowing Carlos to sit for hours without complaint. Not that he didn’t have much time for sitting during the day. Carlos was far more used to striding across the air conditioned interior of his private car dealership, shaking hands and smiling at prospective clients as they came looking for good prices on new and used cars.

He tried to shake himself out of those thoughts, to focus on what he loved about computer programming and hacking and all the nerdy things he loved all his life, but that sounded just so needlessly difficult. Carlos worked at a car dealership because he was born with a silver tongue so it was easy, he loved sports because everyone else he knew loved sports, he joined the Church because everyone he knew loved Jesus, he hated homosexuality because-

At this his thoughts stopped, confused. He looked down at the shreds of his former life, evidenced by his frayed shirt and tattered shorts.

“What am I even doing here?” Carlos asked himself in a daze. From his straining boxer briefs, his dick was hard at full mast, his balls significantly larger and pressing up against the fabric. It left him tremendously horny, deisiring men, but why would he be doing that if he hated homosexuality?

Upon noticing his confusion at his current state, Agosti willed it so Carlos’s clothes began to shift as his body had done. His torn apart graphic t-shirt depicting a Japanese cartoon, blurred until it became a white collared shirt. His cargo shorts lengthened and widened as they became a pair of black slacks, fastened by a leather belt. His dirty sneakers shifted into a pair of brown loafers while a scarlet tie slithered and tightened around his throat. Meanwhile, his underwear, once the freest piece of clothing on his changed body became its tightest, shifting into a pair of ball clenching white briefs that kept him hard and pent up throughout the day. Then to finish his outfit change, a black Apple watch materialized on his wrist, full of message notifications from his employees at the dealership. He smirked. They were helpless without him.

“Mr. Rodriquez?” Pastor Agosti asked. The heavy set man blinked.

“Right, I forgot. We were talking about faggots weren’t we, pastor?” Carlos asked, his newly deepened voice unsteady.

“I believe we were, yes. You had an observation about them I believe,” Pastor Agosti said, curiously, watching him like a cat playing with a ball of string. Carlos, not picking up on this, smiled at the pastor confidently.

“Yes,” Carlos said, voice rumbling. “I find that the sin of homosexuality stems from a lack of stable Christian parenting, yet even this can be corrected with the right instruction and guidance. It's unfortunate that so many could grow up so confused. A secretary of mine, unmarried, has a son she suspected of such confusion, a man I see like one of my own sons, but after a man to man conversation with the boy I found that all he needed was a slap on the ass for him to return to the path of the straight and narrow.”

“That’s a beautiful story, Mr. Rodriquez. I’m sure it must be difficult with such feminine temptations at work with your own wife working in another state.”

Carlos reflected on the gold ring on his finger, and the precious 16 year marriage he shared.

“Don’t you worry about that pastor. She’s spreading the word of God just as you do. Besides, we find ways to reaffirm our love to one another, even if at a distance,” Carlos said smugly and the pastor nodded.

“I’m glad to hear that, though I have to admit that neither I or to my knowledge any of my fellow pastors, have any need for a new or used vehicle. Your input however is greatly appreciated,” Pastor Agosti said formally, his accent pulling away like a 2008 Jeep Cheroke.

Blinking again, Carlos came to accept the pastor’s words as true. It would make sense that he would corner the priest in private where there would be no one and no pressing responsibilities to take him from Carlos’s pitch. He was a shark, he never gave up on a sale. It would be like fumbling the ball inches from the touchdown line.

“I understand your point of view, Pastor, and I respect it, but as a fellow Christian I feel it would be dishonorable for me not to tell you what I’ve heard from others in town about your choice in vehicle. Some erroneous negative opinions, but if you don’t want to hear it I’ll just leave,” Carlos said, getting up from the chair. He took a few steps and entered the church’s private office. There he gathered his open briefcase full of car listings, and his old laptop, an aged device he barely used anymore and went to leave.

“What possibly could people in town be saying about me? What could you possibly know about it?” Pastor Agosti asked, incredulously. Carlos smiled but wiped it away before the priest could see it.

“Talk is that you're a repressed homosexual yourself, pastor,” Carlos said, quietly.

“What did you say to me?” Pastor Agosti fumed, his left eye twitching.

“Now you didn’t hear it from me, but some people here think that with your rundown sissy Lexus-“

”Rundown Lexus? It's called humility. It’s a good thing, I don’t buy a brand new car every year. So what if it's a Lexus? People won’t think that makes me gay, does it? Does it?” Pastor Agosti asked, displaying an anxiety Carlos didn’t know the normally in control priest had.

”Now, I defended you, truly, swear on the Bible, honest to God, said you were a good Christian and that you practice what you preach, but your choice in vehicle certainly made it… difficult,” Carlos said expressing his unease. His memories were loose in his head, but he could at least piece together a narrative about the priest that he could exploit even if it wasn’t true.

“Then what am I supposed to do? I don’t want the congregation to believe I’m spending their donations to the church on materialistic frivolity,” Pastor Agosti opposed, shaking his head and wiping away sweat. Carlos put a firm, confident hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Pastor, come down to my car dealership whenever you get the chance. I’ll see you in the best used modestly priced car that will finally put those sissy rumors to bed. Here’s my card,” Carlos said with a carnivorous smile, handing him a business card that appeared just as he reached for it. The pastor nodded and took it, eyeing him nervously.

Another alert on Carlos’s Apple watch came up.

“I hate these newfangled things. I need one of my sons just to use my Ipad,” Carlos said with a sigh. He patted the priest’s back.

“Well, I should be off. They can’t do anything without me down there,” Carlos said with a chuckle. He headed for the door.

“Wait, Carlos- Mr.Rodriquez-“ he corrected, “what do you know of Dwayne Taylor?”

Carlos frowned, scratching his head. His life was mostly solidified but there was that last loose end that left him untethered. A vague sense of wanting the two to work together in California of all places but then it hit him.

“Why, he’s a brilliant young man on and off the court. I’m hoping he considers my offer to sell cars for me. He might rival my eldest in terms of natural charisma, though neither of them come close to me,” Carlos said with another proud chuckle, his wide stomach jiggling.

“It's good to hear, Mr. Rodriquez. I was just working on a hunch. I’ll see you down at your dealership real soon. Promise,” Pastor Agosti said, his smile not faltering until he watched Mr.Rodriquez leave the church, step outside, and drive off in his sleek luxury car.

Panicking, Pastor Agosti immediately called Lawrence on his private phone.

“Yes?”

“We have a problem. Multiple ones in fact, but first I need to know. Does driving a Lexus make me look gay?”

Carlos didn’t go to the office. At least not right away. He had some husbandly duties he needed to handle first.

At home, at midday he had the house to himself. There he shed his recently acquired clothes and took a series of nude pictures for his wife. His dick ached at the thought of filling her up with another one of his seed. He hoped it would be a boy, their fourth. Thinking of a world full of big, burly Christian men got Carlos hard in a way that could compel him to rip out the bathroom sink.

“Tell me how much you want to fulfill God’s plan?” Carlos asked in text along with the pictures. After he sent them, he leaned against his office desk and moaned in desperate want. A world full of big men, that’s what he wanted the world to be. Muscular, fat, both, he didn’t care.

All he had to do was keep the faith and surround himself with like-minded men like Dwayne. Then maybe, just maybe, Carlos could see the Lord’s vision fulfilled.

[persuasivetfs]

The Prodigal Son Returns

“The future site of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment’s second church. A project funded in part by the Virkov Foundation,” read the sign plastered on the fence that surrounded the closed down Saint Zofia’s Bulgarian Orthodox Church.

Olga Tsanov was conflicted. She was glad to see the male-centered church of her upbringing brought to its knees, even if it was by another male-centered church. When she heard that Father Kiril, the pompous high priest of Saint Zofia’s had even converted to this new Protestant denomination, losing all his priestly status so he could be demoted to the role of a mere usher, Olga had burst into laughter. Yet as happy as she was on the surface, the church’s closure had reopened a fissure in her heart that she once thought closed. She felt it when she saw the icons of the Virgin Mary and Saint Zofia taken down from the comfort of her bedroom window. For at one time in her life, those icons and the saints they represented had been everything to Olga. Foundational even, to the woman she strove to become as an adult: temperate, responsible, compassionate, wise.

So it was a great shock, even to herself, that Olga found herself breaking and entering Saint Zofia’s church in the dead of night. Armed with a pair of bolt cutters, her ex-husband Micheal had left behind in the divorce, she was able to force her way past the surrounding fence and into the back of the church.

Despite every part of her screaming that this was crazy and that there was no point, Olga continued on with her plan, walking through the back office and into the nave.

To her horror much of the renovations had been finished much earlier than she’d expected. The icons as Olga remembered lining the walls had been torn down, and repainted white and beige. The sacred relic, one of the alleged fingers of Saint Zofia herself, too was removed, with only a potted fern left in its place. Even the cupola, the wide dome that had stretched over the congregation, that had depicted Jesus in heaven with the angels and saints was destroyed. Painted white and to her continued surprise somehow flattened despite the lack of long and intensive construction such a job would have required.

It left this church, the site where Olga’s devotion once dwelled into an empty shell, sucked dry of meaning.

At least all the male saints were gone, Olga could be happy with, and even Jesus himself was only depicted by a plain wooden cross rather than the twisted face of pain writhing about like Olga was used to. But without all its art, the church looked like an office building with sandalwood pews and stone altar. What kind of god would be worshipped here?

“Stunning isn’t it?”

A man was standing alone in the darkness, making Olga twist her head around.

“What are you doing here?” Olga asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Examining the Lord’s fine work in one of His newest sacred places. Same as you,” the man answered, with a thick Italian-American accent, pulling himself away from the wall and walking towards her.

Wearing formal dress shoes and a refined dark suit, the stranger came to stand next to her, his body faintly gleaming under the glow of the moonlight.

“So tell me Olga Tsanov. What are you doing in one of our churches so late at night?” He asked, his eyes casting a fiendish glimmer upon her. She shivered.

“How do you know my name? What are you, a stalker?” Olga asked defensively. The man simply laughed, making her take a hesitant step back.

“The Lord knows all that happens in His churches and all who happens to enter them. And your name and address happened to be on the registry the Orthodox Church left behind,” he explained, his voice shifting from megalomaniacal supervillain to down to earth youth pastor from one line to the next.

It left Olga unsure where she stood with this man. Was he planning on calling the police on her? Or was he just toying with her?

“I was just leaving. I’ve seen what I needed to see,” Olga blustered, walking off. The door to the back office suddenly slammed shut ahead of her. She turned her head back to the priest whose smile filled her with dread.

“Did you really think you could leave that easily?”

“What do you want, priest?” Olga asked, snarkily, trying not to let her fear show. She was used to the old wooden doors of the church slamming shut whenever the wind blew, but this priest was unsettling. She didn’t even hear him breathing and yet there he was, lingering in the shadows as if waiting for her.

“It’s not about what I want, it's about what the Lord can provide you, my child,” the stranger said cryptically, taking a step forward against the polished wooden floor.

“I’m fine, thank you. I was already raised in one penis-centeic religion, I don’t need another,” Olga bristled, turning away from him. She stepped to the altar and wiped her hand along its marble surface. Father Kiril had once struck her on the side of the head for touching it. The act of a woman who didn't yet know her place. Olga gritted her teeth.

Despite her reverence for saints like Zofia or the Virgin, Olga had never fit inside the restrictive environment of her church. For only men and boys were allowed to read the Epistles or hold the communion cloth or serve at the altar. If Olga wanted to serve God, she was told, she should wait until she could become a nun, otherwise her sex had marked her as morally inferior and less “clean” to do the tasks of men in the church. Even female saints like Zofia or the Virgin had to take on the role of a subordinated wife and mother before the power of the penis and this had enraged her.

“But Olga, the word of God is open to all people, men and women. It is only true that we have different roles in the world as decreed by the Lord,” the pastor explained, stepping next to her at the altar.

“Yes, for men are biologically created to be brutish and violent and disgusting and cruel, while women are biologically smarter, kinder, and weaker to men and thus men's perpetual victims. I’ve known enough of that from my pig of an ex-husband,” Olga said bitterly.

“So why did you come here my child? If the ‘penis-centeic religion’ as you called it in your childhood was so distressing?”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to serve the Lord. To reach people. To even be a voice for the Wentworth Falls Bulgarian community. It just never felt like I could because of who I was. Because the woman my people wanted me to be, that submissive housewife and mother could never exist,” Olga explained, suddenly feeling more casual and open with this priest about her private thoughts than she had any good sense to.

An oddly satisfying sense of warmth had begun to flow into her, lowering her defences. Her muscles loosened, her shoulders eased. The warmth left her feeling like a ball of wet clay, ready to be remolded.

“While we are all meant to be equal brothers and sisters before the eyes of the Lord, maybe a different path would be beneficial to you. We do need a pastor for this community in line with the Bulgarians,” the pastor said but frankly Olga was finding it difficult to care. The comforting sensations made Olga feel too good to think, too good to protest.

Then as the rivers of comfort flowed in and out of her body, Olga felt from within her a pulsating energy radiating out from her vagina. Her labia throbbed, releasing wave after wave of pleasure, as her clitoris began to enlarge, expanding outward as skin grew in and out over Olga’s lips.

Then with a lurch, Olga felt her vagina close up and disappear and in its place, a penis and a pair of gradually dropping balls.

“This can’t be happening. What are you doing to me?” Olga demanded to know only to quickly become horrified at the deep masculine voice that left her lips.

The priest laughed.

More changes were overcoming her body, twisting and reshaping Olga Tsanov into a form unrecognisable. Her signature long straw blonde hair was shrinking back inside her head, only stopping at the crown of her head before turning a dark brown. Then across her face and forearms, the hair that had disappeared from the top of her head re-emerged, forming a tightly sculpted beard and mustache. As her hair shifted so did the bones in her face, giving her a pointier chin and higher cheekbones, while her crow’s feet and wrinkles wiped away, giving Olga a youthful glow she hadn’t had since her late 20s.

This youthfulness soon extended to the rest of her body, leaving her feeling energized and excited.

Eager to witness what came next, Olga ripped out of her dress shirt to be amazed at the cobblestone abs that were forming. Her breasts, once saggy with fat and age, had in their new youth and new burst of testosterone firmed up with muscle. In fact much of her body, from her triceps to her thighs were packing on muscle. Not enough to make a bodybuilder blush, but enough to gain noticeable attention should she wear a tight-fitting shirt.

“You look wonderful, Olga, absolutely wonderful,” the priest said with a chef’s kiss, before putting his arm around Olga’s shoulders and laughing.

At any other time Olga would have pushed the man away and thought him a pervert, but now his touch had a sense of comradery. Just bros being bros.

“I knew you’d make a wonderful man. I just knew,” the priest positively declared.

“But how is this possible- I-“ the stranger shushed her.

“But first I believe a new name is in order. Let’s try Boris on for size. Introduce yourself,” the stranger commanded with a clap of his hands.

”Hello, I’m Boris Tsanov,” Boris introduced, her voice deep and refined.

It was strange just a moment ago she could have sworn her name was Olga, but that name like much of her past was fading away like a disappearing dream soon to be forgotten.

“Outstanding, Boris. Now, let’s think about your past for a moment. Who is Boris Tsanov?” the priest asked. Boris took a deep breath.

“I’m the head of Women and Gender studies at the Wentworth Falls Community college. I’m 39, divorced, agnostic, and a proud biological woman, or at least I thought I was,” Boris said, confused at how his words were not matching up with his new body.

“No, I don’t think that sounds like you Boris,” the stranger said, shaking his head.

“I think you’re 28, recently graduated from divinity school and ready to spread the true word of God to the masses and trusting me Pastor Agosti as your friend and mentor,” the stranger explained. Except he wasn’t a stranger, was he? He was Nico Agosti, a trusted advisor and confidante, who had guided Boris through years of divine education and study, helping mold him into the proud Christian he was today, eager to save the Bulgarian masses as he himself had been saved. Except, wasn’t he a woman or at the very least used to be married to a man? Wouldn’t that be a sin?

“Pastor Agosti,” Boris nervously addressed. “I trust you and everything you say, but I’m still so confused. I used to venerate Saint Zofia and the Virgin Mary so highly and sought to be like them in every way. How does that make sense if I’m a man?”

“Oh my sweet brother. You weren’t looking to be those saintly women,” Pastor Agosti said, sympathetically, hiding his glee. Boris, unsure, scratched at his temple.

“You were looking to marry a saintly woman: Pious, dependable, temperate, and wise. The perfect wife and mother and you were lucky enough to find her. One of the youngest priests of our congregation but the only one among us bachelors to be married,” Pastor Agosti said, shaking Borris’s shoulder in admiration. Boris Tsanov smiled warmly.

While before when he thought of his spouse, he thought of swarthy and loud-mouthed Micheal, now in his head all he could picture was sweet and homely Miranda. She was everything Boris ever wanted in a woman and he was grateful to have her. At that moment, Miranda was likely asleep across the street, having been saying her bedtime prayers before Boris had left to check on the church. She was so supportive, having dropped everything to take care of the house while Borris continued to work on his divinity degree. He would in return reward her with a lifetime of devotion and many future children who would help spread the Lord’s message as he did.

Still there were a few buzzing questions about his head. How had construction finished so quickly? Why did Boris leave the Orthodox Church for this Protestant denomination? Where did these bolt cutters he held on his person come from?

All these he wished to ask, but Nico waved them all away promising they’d all be answered once Boris was exposed to the “Divinity” as he called it as had all the priests of the church before him. Before they left, Nico was kind enough to make him put on a white dress shirt in just his size, so no one could get any strange ideas of what was going on in there.

Yet while Boris was leaving with more questions than answers he was satisfied knowing he was on the path to lead more people to God just as he had been. There were always more wayward souls that needed saving.

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Part 6

Been enjoying this series so far so I’m going to make a tag for them going forward #OLSC

Alejandro was never one for church. In his mind they were all cold stuffy places. Whose worship of the divine involved constant kneeling and standing and self-flagellation in order to receive a smug sense of superiority over others. Still, it made his elderly mother happy that he attended Mass with her, and since he was unemployed and lived at her house, Alejandro had little opportunity to deny her.

So he did not bat an eye when his mother told him that Sunday, that they would be attending a new church that had opened up a few months earlier.

“This church performs miracles, hijo, I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Alejandro’s mother had rattled off, beaming in her Sunday best from the passenger seat of her car. Alejandro nodded, not really listening.

“You remember, Miguel, Guadalupe’s eldest son? The one who couldn’t get out of bed, after losing his marketing job?”

Alejandro nodded. He nearly missed the last turn onto Maddison Drive.

“He’s a doctor now. A doctor and he met a beautiful young Dominican girl from Church and they’re getting married in Spring. The girl is even pregnant now. I have never seen Guadalupe so happy, I thought she might start dancing and singing down the produce aisle. And if their Church could make Miguel into a doctor and find him love too, then maybe-“

“Mami, enough about medical school. I dropped out and I'm not going back. Please, we’re almost there,” Alejandro said tensely, abruptly ending their conversation.

By the time they reached the church, it was crowded with people as if it was Easter Sunday or Christmas day Mass. People from all over town were in attendance, including some from out of town, standing and sitting shoulder to shoulder with one another in wait.

Alejandro’s mother, with an eagle eye that had not dulled from age, found the pair a spot next to her friend Guadalupe and two people his age that Alejandro did not recognise.

“Ximena, my better half. I’m thankful you could make it,” Guadalupe greeted, kissing his mother affectionately on both cheeks.

“Of course, mi amore. Of course. I couldn’t give up the chance to see Manuel and his new love in person,” his mother greeted in return.

“Greetings Mrs.Ortega,” one of the strangers confidently greeted, shaking his mother's hands.

“Oh Manuel, you look so handsome. Is this your hospital ID?” his mother gushed while Alejandro greeted and gave kisses to Guadalupe.

“I only finished my late night shift at the ER less than an hour ago, I’m happy I could make it in time,” Manuel said confidently, making Alejandro squint.

This was a profoundly different man than the one he knew. A more attractive man with a whole daddy bear thing going on, with his thick pecs and hairy chest barely hidden under his pink dress shirt, but a stranger nonetheless.

The real Manuel had been a depressed stoner burnout ever since high school. No college degree, no long-term job. He’d been the one person in his graduating class that Alejandro could compare himself to that made him feel good about himself.

He may have dropped out of medical school to take care of his ailing mother, but at least he wasn’t Manuel Gutteriez who never had a career path to begin with. So since when did Manuel have a job, let alone a medical degree?

“Good to see you, too, Alejandro,” Manuel greeted, with a slight wave of his hand, his voice deep and older sounding like one of Alejandro’s professors.

“Likewise,” Alejandro said, waving back, still squinting uncertainly at the man.

“And have you met Ines, yet, hijo?” Alejandro’s mother asked, poking him. A dark-skinned woman in a conservative yellow dress stood proudly on Manuel’s other side, a baby bump already poking out from her slim waist. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled, “Ines soon-to-be Guttierez. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you Ines, I’m-“

Grand organ music began to play from above before he could finish, initiating the start of Mass, and the end of conversation.

What came next was much of what Alejandro expected. Psalms, followed by a reading by the Old Testament, another song though this one had lots of clapping and jumping up and down which Alejandro watched but did not participate in. Then it was time for Pastor Daniels to give his sermon. The prim and proper pastor glided to the pulpit, his head held high, as if he was giving an acceptance speech.

“Brothers and Sisters of the faithful. It is so good to see so many new members of our congregation join us today in the Lord’s house. Many of you, perhaps the majority of new arrivals, come from differing Christian denominations: Catholic, Orthodox, Baptist, Latter Day Saint. Yet we all worship the same Lord, the same Jesus Christ, working to build his Divine Kingdom on Earth.

“Yet maybe the other churches had not fulfilled all of your moral and spiritual needs. Maybe you disagreed with their creeds or found issue with the actions of their clergy. Maybe your church never provided the certainty and security that you needed to believe. The absolute certainty in the love of our God, the absolute security of the rules that He asks us to follow.”

Pastor Daniels strode away from the pulpit, Bible held hand in his hands as all watched. It was strange. As the pastor walked, a sudden, glowing, all encompassing warmth radiated from him at the front of the church. The sensation hit him in waves, each one filling Alejandro with a joy and certainty that he didn’t know possible.

Of course, Jesus Christ was his Lord and personal savior. Of course only, Our Lady of Sacred Contentment and its pastor knew the one true way to honor him. Of course, he would strive to be a physically fit and productive member of society. One whose greatest role was to spread word of the Gospels and make as many future Christians as possible through procreation.

The sermon ended by the time Alejandro could blink, startling him. He rubbed his eyes.

Most of the congregation had already left, leaving a staggering few still in the pews.

His mother though could not stop staring at him, she performed the sign of the cross, then held his face.

“Hijo, have my prayers been truly answered?” she asked, peering into his eyes. He had changed so drastically over the course of an hour. A caramel and cream suit replacing his ill fitting black and white, a sculpted beard replacing a scratchy looking goatee, his body thick with muscle just popping out from underneath his new clothes. It was bizarre. A miracle, yes, but not exactly what Ximena expected.

Alejandro chuckled, his laugh deep and hearty.

“I hope so, Mami. Now let’s get you back to the house. My next shift at the hospital starts soon.”

They walked out of the church together with Ximena clinging to his hand in silent wonder.

“A pity Valencia couldn’t make it with us this week. I’ll be sure to take care of sick little Alejandro and Mariella, so she can attend services with you next week, Mami,” Alejandro said, though he was speaking more to himself than anything.

“Valencia?” his mother muttered confusedly but Alejandro either didn’t hear her or didn’t wish to answer.

His phone buzzed but he didn’t answer it. It wasn’t safe. Not with his mother right there. He waited until after he dropped his mother off at his house, blowing his wife a kiss as she worked in the kitchen, before heading off in his car.

Then he drove to the hospital where he worked, sitting in the parking lot at the usual spot and waited. The text had been from Manuel. A selfie of him in his underwear. His dick pressing against the tight white briefs that Alejandro had bought him.

Alejandro sent a picture of his own. A shot taken from the vacation he and Valencia took to Spain. Pretty sure it was the one he got her pregnant with Alejandro Jr on. Just the thought of nutting in her, making together the next generation of the Church filled Alejandro with need. A need more than that to breed, but to be bred in this case by Manuel.

The idea of his co-worker’s thick dick rubbing Alejandro’s asshole raw, so masculine and powerful that it manages to impregnate him drove him wild. If he had lost all sense he would drive down to Manuel’s house and demand he fuck him then and there, but Alejandro still had his.

Manuel was tired of his all night shift and in no mood to fornicate. Church services may be rejuvenating, but it was not enough to make up for a loss of 10 hours of sleep.

The other problem was well, the obvious consequences of getting caught.

Now, Manuel knew actions like sodomy and infidelity were sins, but Manuel figured that since handjobs and blowjobs weren’t technically penetrative that it wasn’t technically soddomy.

Besides, Alejandro had already fulfilled his Christian duty to regularly impregnate his wife and raise the resultant children in the church.

Now if Manuel cummed in Alejandro so intensely and vigorously it impregnated him would that be a sin? Maybe not scientifically feasible but maybe it’d be sacrosanct if possible, and was hot at the very least to think about.

Still even if he was caught, pregnancy or not, Alejandro was every mother’s dream. Married with kids by 30, a doctor, living in a big house to take care of his mother, and eagerly going to church every Sunday. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if he was caught. Every other mother in there would still be jealous that someone like Alejandro wasn’t their son, and with the church maybe they would be.

[persuasivetfs]

Are we really all doing this? Alright, fine.

I’ve never been a Trump supporter and don’t endorse any of his policies. But I have never been pro-Harris or pro-Biden either. For the “no racists” written in my bio intended to deter white supremacists and Fascists also includes Zionists.

Now, I never intended to say anything political on here. This is more of a guilty pleasure blog than anything. But if I will be assumed to be a Trump supporter otherwise, I might as well just lay all my cards on the table so to speak.

I was raised in a similar Church environment to the kind expressed in the stories I write. Sexist, homophobic, coercive, just terrible all around. As someone who survived and actively despises such real world institutions, they’ve become erotic to me in a way that’s difficult to explain. But while I feel comfortable sexualizing the negative experiences/ bigotry I’ve dealt with my whole life it doesn’t mean I endorse them.

And while I understand the specific fears that another Trump presidency brings, I won’t lie and say I expected Harris to do anything for LGBT people or women beyond leveraging fears of project 2025 for votes. Biden did the same thing and look how little has changed. Hell, the “at least we’re not Republicans” has been the Democrat losing strategy for decades.

But if you really want to make a positive difference in the world: send money to refugees and homeless people, regularly wear a face mask outside (not just protests), learn about other people’s liberation struggles, don’t give your money to politicians or shady non-profits, and learn how people in the past and present have gotten around such oppressive systems.

Also I’m officially closing off asks because I get frustrated easily and I’m not arguing any of this.

[persuasivetfs]

A Favor Part Two

After his merger with The Ali Gomaa, Muhammad had wanted some alone time to get acquainted with his new form, preferably in the solitude of a bedroom, but Rajesh had hurried the man along into his car instead.

The pair only had 14 hours to drive from San Diego to Sante Fe, check into their hotel, and arrive at the convention center before 9 AM opening time.

In the meantime, Muhammad was to spend as much time soaking in information about Ali Gomaa as he could. His personal connections, his career, his knowledge of body-building.

“Hey, I thought that this body ‘doubling’ thing was going to handle all that,” Muhammad protested, his insecure voice sounding like a whisper in a cave coming out of Ali Gomaa’s chest.

“Body ‘doubling’ takes time, man. Besides, it's not like you got anything else to do for a 12 hour car ride, right?” Rajesh pointed out, as he threw the last of Ali’s bags into the backseat of his car.

Muhammad sighed and did as he was told.

For this project, Rajesh had prepared for him a series of curated videos. Interviews, exercise and diet plans, footage of past competitions, video footage of Ali spending time with his loved ones, even snippets of reels from the Instagram account Rajesh managed for his boss.

After 6 hours, all the information began to blur together, making Muhammad feel more out of his element than being made 100 pounds heavier with pure muscle.

Still if he couldn’t trust his memory, Muhammad could at least trust Rajesh. The two had been best-friends since childhood. If Rajesh said all he needed was to watch some videos and the body would naturally do the rest so he would.

In the middle of the drive, the car suddenly swerved down the main road.

“Rajesh!” Muhammad yelled in alarm, glaring at his friend. “I’m sorry, Mr.Gomaa I was distracted and-“ Rajesh started but as the two looked at each other they started laughing at the absurdity of the situation. They were Muhammad and Rajesh, not Rajesh and Mr.Gomaa despite Muhammad’s new appearance yet it’d been so easy for the two to lean into those roles without a second’s hesitation.

“You really had me going there for a minute,” Rajesh chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye.

“You weren’t kidding about this man’s knee jerk reaction to yell at you,” Muhammad said with a smirk. “Though maybe keep your eyes on the road, next time. Inshallah we actually make it to Santa Fe in one piece,” Muhammad chided, drawing an annoyed nod and an eye roll from Rajesh. Muhammad pretended not to notice.

The rest of the ride was largely uneventful, even with Rajesh forced to go over the local speed limit to make it there in time.

This drew a feeling of immense annoyance from Muhammad’s body, but he took a breath and let it go. It was getting harder and harder to alleviate the man’s naturally high levels of irritation. If he wasn’t careful he could explode on Rajesh in a way their friendship might not recover.

Once in Santa Fe, the pair quickly signed in at the hotel, dumped off their belongings and then headed down to the convention center.

Before he even got his foot in the door Muhammad found himself greeted by an endless list of fellow competitors, coaches, and fans. It brought to him a stream of new memories rooted in sensations. The musty scent of tanning spray, the adoration in the voice of strangers, the sizzling heat of the stage lights. The last feeling made his stomach twist in agony, but he soon forgot it as Rajesh pushed him backstage.

Many of Muhammad’s fellow competitors for the Men’s Classic round were already present and ready for the stage, muscular bodies glistening with spray tan and sweat making last minute preparations with their fully clothed support teams.

“Remember, what we talked about. Let your body focus on the right movements while you keep yourself calm under the hot lights. I’ll get your pre-ordered tanning spray from the booth while you get undressed,” Rajesh hastily explained before walking off.

After Muhammad stripped down to nothing but a clingy black speedo, he didn’t have much time for standing around before he found himself joined by an attractive older stranger.

The stranger was a man in his early 50s with a number of wrinkles and confident silver hair lined with black. Despite his age, the man was clearly in top shape, with massive pectorals peeking out under a cotton shirt. The kind of older man that Muhammad dreamed about whisking him off his feet and into his luxury penthouse apartment.

“Looking good as always, Ali, though not always on time it seems,” the man greeted, taking Muhammad into a platonic hug.

Looking at his lanyard hanging around the stranger’s shoulder, he was able to read that this was the other part of Ali’s competition team: Yusef Darbandi.

“Alhamdulillah we arrived here in one piece, Yusef. Rajesh nearly got us killed with his speeding to get us here on time,” Muhammad fumed. Yusef laughed.

“That boy sure is devoted isn’t he? At least for the last few years. Before then I always thought he was planning on using you for the start of his own career and ditching us at his earlier convenience, but he’s really proved me wrong,” Yusef admired, watching Rajesh as he waited at the body spray booth.

“That Rajesh boy’s a good kid. Dedicated and clever. I just wish he wasn’t so reckless. He could go so far otherwise,” a wave of fatherly affection washed over Muhammad as he spoke.

While once he had been a contemporary, Muhammad was starting to see Rajesh as a young man who needed a mature man’s careful guidance and training. He was hard on Rajesh, sure, but he’d been no less harsh on his own three sons. Boys needed a rigid sense of discipline, otherwise they’d become easily distracted and misled. Rajesh was no exception.

“Good to see you, Coach Yusef. I’m glad they let you backstage before Mr.Gomaa arrived,” Rajesh greeted as he returned with the tanning spray.

“He’s a legend, Rajesh. The winner of Mr.Tehran International in 2005 and 2009. Of course they let him in,” Muhammad bristled. Rajesh looked away.

“Oh, take it easy on him. I’ve been denied access to competitions, ID badge or not on multiple occasions. Now before you go on, Ali, make sure to put some perk into those pectorals. You may be a seasoned pro, but you always forget such a simple technique,” Yusef corrected.

“I’ll remember, Yusef. How could I not, with you nitpicking my movements all these years?” Muhammad prodded back, making both laugh.

While slightly annoyed at the critique, Muhammad nonetheless adjusted himself at Yusef’s suggestion, puffing out his chest as if he was before a cheering crowd.

Rajesh worked methodically as he sprayed Ali’s body with the oil, his hands mapping perfectly along Ali’s impressive triceps and quads with a surgeon’s precision. Still there were times when as Rajesh was rubbing his hand to massage the oil deeper into Ali’s skin, his fingers would linger, tracing along his pecs and abs in a way that felt more than platonic. Muhammad had a sense that Ali wouldn’t have noticed such a gesture, but Muhammad did, causing Rajesh to look away nervously as if he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Once he was done, Muhammad posed before Yusef and Rajesh, taking in Yusef’s last-minute critiques before the man firmly slapped him on the ass.

“Now, get out there and win yourself another gold trophy! Prove again that this sport isn’t just a young man’s game,” Coach Yusef encouraged with a thumbs up.

“Good luck out there, Mr. Gomaa!” Rajesh cheered up, a proud smile upon his face.

Muhammad nodded giving them a thumbs up in return before joining the other men for the line out to the stage. As he waited, immense dread crept up and along his intestines. The immense heat, the bright lights, the waiting crowd, the keen eyes of the judges. It was all too much.

His body wanted to bolt, and it needed to stay on that stage performing the bodybuilding poses Muhammad otherwise had no real knowledge of.

He took a deep breath, and allowed his natural sense of calm to worm deep into his new form. Everything was going to be okay.

The tingling sensations died down.

Once free of the anxiety, Ali’s form moved on autopilot, swaggering out onto the stage to great applause. The heat was sweltering and the lights were blinding, but Ali eased himself into his movements allowing the crowd and judges to examine him from every angle. Muhammad did not know the names for the poses he performed, but in this body it felt as natural as riding a bike. You never really forget.

In the end, Ali Gomaa won second place, an end result he was satisfied with though not as much as first place would have been.

“Congrats, champ. Didn’t even need Rajesh to body double for you. I’m proud,” Yusef greeted once Muhammad came off the stage, his skin tingling from being under the lights.

The excitement of the crowd had gotten to him and he decided to flex one of his impressive biceps to show off his new found confidence.

“What can I say? Guess I’ve learned not to take things so seriously,” Ali said with a hearty laugh.

Rajesh said very little, but smiled reticiently as if hiding something but Muhammad didn’t think of it much. What would his best-friend have to hide?

It was only much later after the three had dinner at the hotel restaurant, and bid Yusef a goodbye back to his room that the two had alone time again.

“I’m sorry I keep snapping at you,” Muhammad began but Rajesh waved it off.

“You’re doing great as Ali, man. Better than I did. At the very least if you can’t remember to pose right, you can always fall back on losing your temper. So stay focused, shower, and rest. We got 2 more days of work ahead of us,” Rajesh’s face seemed to twitch with jealousy, but quickly softened. He gave Muhammad a supportive pat on the back, then shut his room door behind him.

Muhammad did as Rajesh asked of him. He showered, struggled in vain to scrub off the tanning oil, then laid out in bed with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Absent-mindedly, Muhammad flexed his right bicep. The muscle contracted, releasing a burst of blood flow into his brain. It reminded him of his first big victory. The ecstatic crowd, the desert heat, the judges proclaiming Ali Gomaa as the first place winner of the Men’s Classic Bodybuilding competition of Cairo in 2009 but that hadn’t been his memory, hadn’t it?

He stood up from the bed with a grunt and walked to the room’s body-length mirror. His towel abandoned to the bed, Muhammad admired Ali’s body in all its bronzed glory.

Muhammad flexed, he posed, he practically pirouetted as he strove to feel every sensation, every inch of this body. Yet as he caught a glimpse in the mirror, he stopped himself.

This wasn’t him. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t true, but the face that stared back at him said otherwise.

Muhammad tried to think of his family, his friends, his life, but they all felt very distant and far away. Ali’s family and friends seemed distant too at least. Yet when thoughts turned to Rajesh, Muhammad felt this strangeness in him.

For on one hand he felt that Rajesh was his best-friend, his contemporary, and he was being brutally honest, his crush. Yet on the other he felt that Rajesh was his student, almost an adoptive son, while he was his elder.

The more he thought about it the more his urges kept blurring together. Rather than just a crush, or a platonic student, Muhammad began to see Rajesh as a potential younger lover. As a man who needed his guidance in the ways of bodybuilding and sex between men. As this change occurred his interest in Yusef officially faded. That man was Ali’s idol, an older trailblazer, not something to be fucked but admired. Rajesh though, he was fair game.

He imagined himself towering over Rajesh in this body, the younger men dressed only in a bright red singlet and his bookish glasses. Him turning Rajesh around and guiding him to a bending over position facing the railing, as he slowly lowered his singlet over his sculpted ass cheeks.

Muhammad was already stroking Ali’s dick at this point, moaning softly. The cheap metal railing would shake as he shoved a beer can’s worth of his dick in and out of his friend’s tight hole.

He came like a rocket onto the carpet with a satisfied gasp. Suddenly too tired to worry about who he was or who he was becoming Muhammad crawled into bed. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to be stuck this way, he sleepily reasoned, especially if he ended up with Rajesh as his boy toy.

While I planned this story as a two-parter, I wanted to linger a bit on Muhammad’s changing mindset in the early days of the convention. So this is going to be a three parter instead.

Stay tuned for the finale whenever I’m done editing. Peace ✌️

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Part 5

It was a hot day in August, as Dwayne sat by himself on the park's basketball bleachers. He’d arrived there to get some reading done, away from his rambunctious younger siblings at home, when a group of guys around Dwayne’s age showed up for basketball practice.

He recognised one or two of them from Coach Amir’s senior gym class, but he kept his eyes on his book, his head kept down in case they asked him to join. Dwayne was to his discomfort 6’6” and so many assumed he would be a natural.

That was until they actually saw him play.

For Dwayne was clumsy, easily distracted, prone to injury, and terrified of confrontation even if only for control of a leather ball.

So he came to dread being asked onto a basketball court, a pity, since the only place in the park with available seating that day was right next to one.

It was a few minutes later when their coach arrived. He was a beautiful man in his mid-30s, perfectly sculpted beard, round shoulders, a wonderful smile that Dwayne swore was deeply familiar like that of a local celebrity who had dropped off the face of the Earth.

“C’mon men, let's get to stretching!“ The coach urged, motioning the young guys away from the bleachers and towards the half court line.

Yet before the coach went to join them, he cast a curious glance up at Dwayne.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before. What’s your name, brother?” The coach asked with a sincerity that made Dwayne’s heart melt.

“It’s Dwayne. Uh, I could go if you need the upper bleachers. I was just about done with my book anyway,” Dwayne blurted out, sweat tingling along the back of his neck.

“Oh no, you don’t have to leave. I was only going to ask if you wished to join us. I’m Pastor Demetrius Carter, but on the court, I’m just called Coach,” Pastor Carter introduced.

“Um it's nice to meet you, but you’re probably better off if I stay up here. I’m not what people call ‘athletic’,” Dwayne tried to hastily explain.

“Well, we’re not an official team yet anyhow. We only have 3 members, when we need 5. This is just for fun anyhow,” Pastor Carter explained.

“No Coach, we really don’t need-“

“Yeah, Dwayne’s not the kind of guy who-“

“He’ll just end up being-“

“Nonsense. Anyone can join our practices. Does the Bible not say ‘Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you’? So what do you say, Dwayne?”

Dwayne’s first response was to decline. To make up an excuse and preemptively apologize but there was this stirring within him. An irritation at getting written off before he even had the chance to stand up. He might suck at sports, but that didn’t mean he’d end up being a burden if he joined for one lousy practice. Dwayne put his book down.

“Sure, I’ll join. I don’t mind,” Dwayne said, driven more by pettiness than a genuine desire to prove himself. The other guys, except Pastor Carter, all grimaced.

“Excellent. Now let’s get back to stretching,” Pastor Carter said with a loud clap.

Dwayne joined the lineup of guys on the court and started to stretch. Almost immediately his right shoulder popped with an ache, making him pull back and shake out his hand.

He was hit with a flush of embarrassment but thankfully no one seemed to have noticed so he went back to stretching. It looked easier than it felt, especially when it came to touching his toes.

A lightheadedness came over him as Dwayne bent down, his long legs making his toes seem impossible to reach. Spite no longer seemed worth it. He even considered flaking out, when he felt the coach’s strong firm hands along his back, pushing him down further. Under his touch, Dwayne’s muscles suddenly relaxed allowing him to reach all the way down.

There was still pain there, pulling at his arms and legs, yet it had become manageable. Even when the coach’s hands had left, Dwayne’s hands were comfortably holding strong as the other players began to lose their grip. The later stretches became more natural too, Dwayne’s spindly arms and legs able to stretch further and for longer than he ever thought possible.

“Alright, that’s enough stretching. Since we got 4 players here today let’s do some passing drills. Nikolay, you pair with Marcus. Keyon, you pass with Dwayne. Each pair gets a ball, and you’ll go from one side of the court to the other without traveling. There and back, three times, let’s go!”

Dwayne smiled awkwardly at Keyon who rolled his eyes in response.

The two never interacted much, despite being in the same highschool and now in the same community college together. Keyon was always off hanging out with the other guys on the basketball team, while Dwayne was sitting with the kids in his Honors classes. This distance didn’t keep Dwayne from fantasizing about Keyon and the basketball team though. Their lean muscles, obedience to the coach, Keyon’s handsome dreadlocks and deep voice all had been titillating to the young Dwayne but also intimidating.

“Hey Keyon, long time no see,” Dwayne greeted.

”I don’t know why you joined up, but just try to keep up without losing the ball,” Keyon said, picking up a basketball and dribbling to the other side of the court with ease.

Dwayne followed after him, jogging to catch up.

The ball came to Dwayne fast, before he had time to prepare. It smacked against his hands and dropped to the floor, rolling away.

“What’d I say, man?” Keyon asked, holding his palms out in front of him. He was so cute when he was annoyed, nostrils flaring.

“Sorry!” Dwayne stammered, hastily picking the ball back up. It was hard to focus when he kept thinking about messing up in front of someone he used to draw sexy doodles of in class.

Marcus and Nikolay were further along, running in side-step as they passed the ball back and forth, working as a unit.

Not eager to be left behind, Dwayne followed suit, bouncing the ball against the court before it flew up and nearly went over Keyon’s head as he caught it with his lean arms.

“More control on that pass, Dwayne! You too, Nikolay!” Coach Carter pointed out from the sidelines. Keyon threw the ball back at Dwayne, where he caught it squarely in the chest making him wheeze. In response he tossed it back, the ball whizzing through the air right where Keyon stood, but near his knees.

“More strength, Dwayne! I need you to push harder than that!” Coach Carter commanded.

“I don’t think he can, coach!” Keyon mocked with a smirk.

“I can push harder than you!” Dwayne snapped, his voice suddenly deeper. He had no idea why he’d said such a thing, but as the ball came back at breakneck speed, Dwayne caught it with ease. Ahead of him, Keyon bounded ahead, hands outstretched. With a smirk of his own, Dwayne threw the ball forward, catching a glimpse of his bare arms. They were toned, muscular even, far more than he had when he was just in the stands. He didn’t have time to focus on it though as Keyon responded, “nice to see you finally started getting your shit together, bro!”

Dwayne beamed at the compliment, delighting in Keyon’s sudden warmth to him. The feeling distracted him so much, he didn’t notice that when the ball came back that he held it for a few steps before passing it again.

“Dwayne! Don’t forget the fundamentals of your training! You’d get penalized for that travel!” Coach Carter pointed out.

He wanted to point out that he had no formal training and yet as he looked down at his basketball shorts and tight-clinging sports shirt it didn’t seem so anymore. A hard six pack of abs were poking out underneath his shirt, complimenting a solid set of pecs, and a thick neck. His body nearly mirrored that of Keyon and the other guys on the team, his team.

As Dwayne and Keyon kept passing the ball back and forth, new memories of the two started surfacing in his mind. While separated for a few years in highschool, Dwayne had eventually been persuaded to try out for the basketball team. He’d been hesitant and admittedly terrible at first, but he had, contrary to his nature, asked Keyon for help. Despite Keyon’s reservations, he’d still agreed to train him. The two had worked day and night to improve Dwayne’d game, ontop of regular practices with the team.

Within a few months, Dwayne had been trained into an adequate member of the team, by Senior year he was one of the team’s best players. To help his focus on training, Dwayne had let his academics falter to the wayside. What did it matter if he studied hard if he was going to end up at community college with no major job plans anyway?

The ball came back at him with a spin, Keyon clearly attempting to trip him up. Dwayne caught it with the edges of his fingers, and with a spin of his own sent the ball hurtling back towards Keyon. Stunned, he went to reach for it, but the ball’s spin made it harder to hold than a greased up turkey. It fell to the floor with a satisfying thump.

“Cheap move,” Keyon complained, but Dwayne just laughed in response.

“Alright, enough dribbling. Let’s see a two on two game with your dribbling pairs,” Coach Carter called out.

It was to be a quick game, only playing from half court with Nikolay and Marcus getting first control of the ball since they did the most passes.

The spotlights turned on as the sun began to sink across the sky. At this, Dwayne heard the shouts of a thousand voices all shouting his name, as if he was minutes away from his big NBA championship.

“Hey you take white boy, I got Marcus. Your man’s got an aggressive mean streak on him so don’t be afraid to get in his face,” Keyon advised, drawing Dwayne in. It was always easier to listen whenever Keyon said something, as long as he didn’t get lost in his soft brown eyes.

“No problem,” Dwayne answered, but looking at Nikolay, that bull of a man in front of him with his bodybuilder-like arms and chest, was terrifying. He wanted to run away from such a man, not fight him over control of a ball.

“Now I want a good clean game, now go!”

Marcus had the ball first and was serenely dribbling the ball from side to side, his motions calm and graceful, but nonetheless quick and slippery as well.

“Hurry the fuck up, man!” Nikolay shouted, sticking a big sweaty arm in Dwayne’s face. Dwayne grit his teeth as he followed the man around the court. He was normally terrified of confrontation, hated being around such aggressive people, yet as he watched Keyon follow Marcus around he knew he could not be upstaged by him. Despite Keyon once having a mentorship role with Dwayne, the two soon developed a friendly rivalry, each pushing the other to strive for more and harder.

Driven by this competitive spirit, Dwayne readily got into Nikolay’s face, his long arms able to effectively block and out-maneuver Nikolay whenever the ball came their way.

Nikolay blustered and tried to shove Dwayne out of the way for the ball, but he found himself just as willing to shove the bullish man out of the way for the ball. Using all he learned, Dwayne was readily able to pull the ball away from Nikolay and shoot basket after basket, earning him and Keyon victory. This put a wide grin on Keyon’s face and his arm around his shoulders as he congratulated him. Dwayne never wanted the moment to end.

After the game, the four of them huddled up with Coach Carter.

“It was a good practice today, everybody. By the time we get our fifth player, we’ll have more than enough skill to push our way up the Church basketball leagues championships. Now let's thank the Lord our God for His help today. Dwayne, would you like to lead us in prayer?”

All of them looked expectantly at Dwayne.

“Oh, I’m not religious like that. Not a real part

of your church either,” Dwayne stiffened.

“Oh, don’t be modest. 4 months is more than enough time to be considered a part of our congregation.” Pastor Carter informed him with a fatherly pat on the back.

“You’ll be fine, bro. Say what comes naturally,” Keyon told him with his eyes closed and hands folded against his chest.

“Lord, thank you for this blessed day, where we were able to come together and practice under your divine grace. May you bless us with more players so we can participate in the Churches Tournament this year, and may you keep us on the road of devotion to you and your church. Amen,” when he finished speaking Dwayne felt a blossoming of love for the church and its teachings. While in an equal measure a sense of deference and obedience to its Pastors, like Coach Carter. Far from being just a handsome man, the Pastor had become a kind of Father-figure to Dwayne, a man he trusted with body and soul.

While insecure about having joined so late, Dwayne had more than willingly followed Keyon and his family into the arms of the faithful, and was as pious as any other member of their church. Still, as he looked to Keyon’s back after practice had concluded, Dwayne couldn’t help but feel conflicted and confused.

He went to pick up his canvas bag from the bleachers that had replaced the book Dwayne had brought with him when he was stopped by Pastor Carter.

“Hey, can we talk? I noticed something troubling out on the court,” Dwayne nodded at this and the two sat together at the bleachers.

“You’ve been distracted today, especially with Keyon as your teammate,” Pastor Carter pointed out with a worried expression.

“Yeah, maybe. It’s just kind of hard. I have all these intense feelings about him that are hard to explain,” Dwayne said, crossing his lean arms across his tight chest.

“I understand, son. Fighting over the same girl can bring out the worst in men,” Pastor Carter said with a sympathetic head nod.

“The same girl?”

In the swirl of his rapidly changing memories, a new face stuck out from the crowd. Brenda Simmons. A beautiful, brown-skinned girl from the congregation. She too, had gone to the same high school but neither Keyon or Dwayne had noticed since she hadn’t filled out yet.

Keyon wasn’t a source of romantic affections, he was a rival, a bro, someone he respected immensely but who challenged him over access to Brenda’s time and feelings. If only she could just pick one of them, but poor Brenda was flighty and unsure of herself. If she would just pick him and open up her legs, Dwayne knew he could fuck her good enpugh to where she never thought of Keyon again. He smirked.

“It’s no big deal. I know Brenda’s going to choose me anyway. Keyon’s too big of a pussy to keep her interested, so there’s nothing for us to compete for,” Dwayne bragged.

As he thought more of Brenda, Dwayne’s yearning for Keyon and for all men began to drip out into pre-cum into his basketball shorts. His homosexuality once treasured and integral, jetted out of Dwayne and into his underwear. With all traces of his former personality and memories going along with it.

“Just as long as we’re on the same page. See you in Church tomorrow,” Pastor Carter said, as he stood up from the bleachers and walked off.

So eager to prove his superiority over Keyon, Dwayne sent Brenda a pic of his exposed abbs over Instagram.

“Like what u see?”

[persuasivetfs]

A Favor

Muhammad Al-Khatib saw himself as a pretty good guy all around. Easygoing, generous, always willing to help a friend out.

So when his childhood best-friend Rajesh asked if Muhammad could take 4 days off from work to help him with a work emergency, Muhammad didn’t hesitate. Though when Muhamaad got to his friend’s apartment he was less sure he could provide Rajesh needed.

For sprawled out unconscious and half-naked on Rajesh’s bed was The Ali Gomaa, an internationally ranked Egyptian body-builder, and Rajesh’s boss. For half a second Muhammad became worried that his best-friend had accidentally killed the man, before the massive man released a loud snort in his sleep.

“Alright so I fucked up bad, I fucked up real bad, man. Bad enough to cost me my job,” Rajesh began, pacing at the foot of his bed. Mr. Gomaa meanwhile seemed to be sleeping peacefully, a grin plastered to his face.

“I was supposed to put the order in for 300 units of the new Wolf Muscle Powder my boss is promoting at the Santa Fe Bodybuilding convention tomorrow and I only ordered 30.”

“So?” Muhammad asked, easing into a comfortable spot in a chair by the door.

“So? So, I’m fucked. My boss was insistent that this new muscle wolf powder was going to relaunch his career. How the fuck is he supposed to do that when I only ordered 30 of the fucking units to sell?” Rajesh panicked.

“Well mistakes happen. I mean is he really going to fire you over a little mistake like this,” Muhammad asked, absentmindedly twirling his friend’s baseball cap in his hand.

“Yes, yes he would, because Mr. Gomaa is a perfectionist and I’ve already fucked up twice this month on this order alone. He’s already warned me once that if I kept making these kinds of mistakes that he’d find someone to replace me. I can’t lose this job, man, I just can’t,” Rajesh reasoned. Muhammad frowned.

“If he’s that much of a pain in the ass to work for, why do you even want to be his personal assistant? Not like you need the money or the bodybuilding experience,” Muhammad answered with a shrug.

Rajesh was a popular athletic model and professional bodybuilder in his own right, having won two local championship trophies in the last year alone. It made more sense when Rajesh was just starting out after high school, when he still needed all the help he could get, but that was years ago. How long was he planning on staying attached to this man by the hip?

“This job was never about the money. Ali Gomaa is a legend in professional bodybuilding. I still have so much to learn, and it's only under Mr. Gomaa that I’ve advanced so much in such a short period of time,” Rajesh said, gazing with what Mohamaad imagined as pure admiration at the perfectly sculpted body of Mr. Gomaa. He then briefly smiled at the thought of Rajesh under the man’s older and heavier body.

Muhammad was careful to keep such thoughts to himself. Rajesh was straight and the last time he cracked a joke about the two men together, his face had gone scarlet and they hadn’t talked again for a month. He’d do anything to prevent a fight like that again.

“Then what do you need me to help with? Ordering a new shipment for this Muscle Coyote Powder?” Muhammad asked, giving the cap another spin on his thumb.

“No, I already handled that. No, what I need from you is more hands on,” Rajesh explained.

He took out a silvery blue pill from his pocket.

“What am I even looking at?”

“The future of professional body-building, my friend. That and possibly the future of athletics in general,” Rajesh said with a sense of wonder bordering on pride.

“This is Splindifferin,” Rajesh introduced with the air of a professor giving a lecture, “A marvel of medical science that allows one person to enter the body of another and control it from the inside.

For after a person has taken Splindifferin their body and mind enter a mutable state, where both become fluid. This then allows another person, presumably a coach or fellow teammate to enter the host’s body where the two become one. Once inside, the second person is given complete control over the original inhabitant’s form allowing them to overcome any mental or emotional challenges that may inhibit the host’s functioning. Then after a period of several days, the intruder is ejected from the host body and the patient returns to normal functioning. Watch,” Rajesh then poked Mr. Gomaa’s knee, creating a ripple effect of moving skin that moved from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

”That’s incredible. But do you really think I can pass as your boss for four days? I don’t know anything about him or bodybuilding,” Muhammad pointed out, scratching at his round stomach.

“That’s where the process of ‘doubling’ comes in. For the longer you remain within Ali Gomaa‘s body the more of his memories, mannerisms, and knowledge will flow into you. By the end of four days, not even his wife or adult sons would be able to tell the difference,” Rajesh explained with a grin, patting Mohammad warmly on the shoulder.

“Besides, I’ll be with you every step of the way coaching you through this. That is if you agree to help me out.” Rajesh then flashed Mohammad a look of his soft, pleading brown eyes, making him melt like butter into his chair.

“Alright, alright. If you say we can do this, then I trust you. I’ll help you out,” Mohammad agreed.

“You’re amazing! Thanks so much, man. You have no idea how much this means to me! Okay, now get undressed. We can’t do this unless you’re both nude,” Rajesh said, shifting his tone of voice from appreciative to authoritative so quick it made Mohammad’s head spin.

He got up from his seat and began to disrobe. Rajesh instead of leaving as Mohammad expected, took his place in his chair.

“You sure you want to stay here and watch?” Muhmmad asked, taking off his shirt. He remembered how squeamish his friend had been with his undressing near him after their fight.

“Bro, I need to stay here and make sure you enter Mr. Gomaa’s body the right way. So just take your dick out and let’s hurry this up,” Rajesh said, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair.

“So why did Mr.Gomaa need a drug like Splindifferin to compete anyway? Hasn’t he been a professional body-builder for like 20 years?” Mohammad asked as he took off his shirt.

“Ever since 2017, as great as the man is, Ali Gomaa has suffered from acute stage fright. The result of mild heat stroke and anxiety that struck him while competing in the Summer Cairo heat. So to compete, he has been relying on others to literally take over for him.”

“Has Me.Gomaa ever let you enter his body before?” Mohammad asked, kicking off his jeans.

“A few times, but never for more than a day, and the whole time I was under constant watch by other members of his support team. Guess they were fearful of me trying to run off in his body or commit some felonies. This time however, we’re doing this before we arrive in Santa Fe, so we don’t have to worry about them knowing it's you in there,” Rajesh explained.

Once fully naked, Muhammad walked to the side of the bed. Mr. Gomaa was fully naked except for a dark blue jockstrap.

Now, Muhammad always knew he was on the heavier side of things and the hairer side but he’d never really been insecure about it. Plenty of gay guys loved bears. Still, next to this muscular behemoth Muhammad felt tiny and petite.

Unsteady, and with trembling knees, he got on the bed and attempted to ease himself into Mr. Gomaa. Once his ass cheeks hit the man’s waist, the bodybuilder’s eyes opened wide, nearly scaring him back off the bed, when Rajesh stood from his seat and eased him back.

“Easy man! He’s still asleep. That just happens sometimes,” Rajesh explained, his hands comforting and firm.

With another breath, Muhammad leaned back and laid himself fully into the bodybuilder’s body as Rajesh looked him over.

It was like the body of Mr.Gomaa had turned into a thick, heavy wad of gelatin, and the more Muhammad pushed in, the more the man’s flesh sucked him in further and further.

Wet muscle and skin enveloped him, flooding Muhammad’s skin with a thousand pinpricks of pins and needles. Then as his head merged with the bodybuilder’s his vision went dark and for a brief second it was hard to breathe.

Muhammad awoke with a start, sitting up in bed and gasping for air, his eyes going from one side of the room to the other.

“Easy, friend, easy. Deep breathes,” Rajesh soothed, holding onto his chest.

Muhammad looked down. His chest was Mr. Gomaa’s chest, big and powerful, radiating heat like a furnace. Shocked and not quite believing what was happening, Mohammad tried to stand up and run to the bedroom mirror but nearly fell, his heavy legs stumbling underneath him.

Rajesh went to hold him back, but Muhammad found he could push away his friend easily. He staggered to the mirror.

It was in the body of The Ali Gomaa standing there before him. Thick neck, bulging triceps, biceps so big they’d literally won awards! He flexed an arm and the reflection did the same.

Already Muhammad was a little drunk on power. He wanted to push this body to its limits.

To lift every weight and crush every goal just to prove he could. His hands were shaking but not with fright but excitement.

Rajesh came around the corner, wrapping a still muscular but not as thick arm around Muhammad’s shoulders.

“You ready to compete bro?”

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Part 4

Johnny Virkov was sure he lost them. He leaned against a corner, breathing deeply.

He was on the edge of Little Bulgaria, a small immigrant enclave in Wentworth Falls, where everyone knew everybody and where for Johnny there was little chance of going unrecognized. From his long hair with frosted tips, to his small and skinny figure, pouty lips, and hipster attire everyone in Little Bulgaria knew of the effeminate son of the Virkov family. Unlike his father and brothers who were masculine and bold, and married by the time they reached 20, Johnny had pushed off marriage, claiming he wanted to focus on his education. Yet when college came and went and Johnny had not yet secured a bride, one had been selected for him. Unwilling to tell his family he was gay, Johnny had run.

Struggling to breathe and with no idea where he would go, Johnny struggled to think of a plan.

“Hey are you okay, son?” A friendly voice asked in a slow and uncomfortable way, as if unsure if he could understand him.

The voice belonged to a man in his mid-30s. Clean cut, formal clothes, a book in his hand. Normally, Johnny would never have given him the time of day, but he was desperate.

“Not really, no. I’m being chased by some very dangerous people right now,” Johnny briskly explained, checking behind his shoulder. He could swear he heard his brother Petar cursing nearby.

“Follow me. I know of a place where we won't be bothered,” the stranger explained, taking his hand. They took off down several side streets, avoiding major intersections, and circling back around until they came upon a garden.

It was hidden away from the street, only accessible via alleyway. It seemed to have been apart of a local apartment complex, but the boarded up windows and pile of trash leaking out of the back doorway suggested it had not been used for a very long time.

The stranger then took Johnny into the garden, sitting them down upon a stone bench. As they caught their breath, Johnny looked around. The garden was overgrown and disgusting, littered with trash. Yet in the corner of the garden Johnny recognised an Orthodox icon, its golden wood glittering in the sunlight. It depicted Saint Tsar Boris the First, the tsar who had converted the Bulgarians to Christianity.

“Beautiful isn’t it? Graven images are a sin but I can appreciate the artistry, somewhat,” the stranger commented pleasantly.

“I take it you aren’t of Little Bulgaria, then?” Johnny inferred, glancing at the man with trepidation. The stranger smiled.

“No. Merely a visitor. I was hoping to have some polite conversation with your neighbors but they were quick to ignore me. Either they don’t speak English very well or-“

“They don’t trust you, you’re an outsider. Granted I’m of them and they don’t trust or like me much either,” Johnny admitted, despondent. His brothers and father would have likely expanded their search beyond Little Bulgaria making him grateful for this small if scraggly patch of shadow. “Granted I don’t like my people much either, right now, so… whatever,” Johnny said, crossing his legs. The stranger frowned.

“Well, I happen to be in the business of speaking to people on their personal problems. So if you want to talk, I’m here. I’m Nico Agosti,” the stranger greeted, offering Johnny a hand.

Johnny took it awkwardly, shaking it. Right away there was a strange electric shock radiating out of Nico’s hand making him pull away in discomfort.

“Ivan Virkov, but between you and me, Nico, I hate that name. I prefer Johnny, if you don’t mind. It’s more American,” he introduced, sheepishly.

“Why would you want a more American-sounding name? Ivan sounds like the perfect name for a proud Bulgarian man such as yourself,” Nico said, patting Johnny on the back.

“That’s the problem. I’m not proud. All I’ve ever wanted is to fit in, to assimilate, to hide where I came from. Not like our culture or church ever wanted someone like me. Even the name ‘Ivan’ sounds like it belongs to someone else like a mobster or a pro-wrestler, not an effeminate gay twink working at a computer software company,” Johnny exclaimed, crossing his arms and looking away. He shivered.

“Maybe we could change that,” Nico offered with a hungry smile.

“Well, you can’t. My family tried and I’m about as sissy as they come-“

“You need to stop putting yourself down. Confidence is the foundation on which great men are made,” Nico interrupted, his words were more of a command rather than words of advice, yet Johnny felt himself sitting up straighter, his shoulders squared, his legs spread out showing off his dick and balls, his eyes sternly meeting Nico’s.

“Johnny, you are far more masculine than you give yourself credit for. The sculpted beard, the slick black hair, your deep voice and commanding presence not to mention your massive muscles.”

Johnny let out a soft moan as his body visibly contorted and twisted into a new shape. Two massive slabs of muscle formed on his chest, his neck thickened, his traps became mountains, a ridge of hard abs pushed up from his gut, all while his arms and legs widened into tree trunks. Meanwhile, atop his head, his bleached blonde hair shrank down and turned black, before smoothing back with gel. This hair change did not stop at his head, as his face, which had long resisted growing any facial hair, sprouted short black thistles which formed a stylish beard and mustache. Johnny flexed his thick fingers then cracked his neck.

“Thanks Nico. I appreciate the voice of confidence but I didn’t need it. My body speaks for itself,” Johnny said with a wide grin and rumbly masculine voice.

“Still, I have no idea how to deal with my family. Massive body aside, they keep trying to change me,” Johnny said, grin falling from his face.

“My brothers and Father thought interest in body-building would push out my love of Taylor Swift or my interest in men, yet it's done neither. You know they tried to arrange a marriage for me? Said they were worried I hadn’t married a woman yet. It's actually why I ran with you out here. Though in hindsight, I don’t know why I wasn’t able to outpace you considering your twig legs,” Johnny joked but his heart wasn’t in it. He sighed.

“Oh don’t worry, my son. Your worries will soon be over,” Nico promised, stroking Johnny’s hand, delighting in its strength and heft created with a mere string of his honied words.

“You abandoned those feminine interests long ago. Longer ago than you think. Body-building, sports, and your career have long since replaced them. So too as your desire in men diminished over time. For the last several years you have only desired women. In fact, the concern your family has in you, is rooted in your playboy lifestyle, worried that you will never settle down with a wife,” Nico informed him. Johnny took in this information with stride. His previous life and habits lifting up and drifting away from his ears, as his new life shoved its way inside his brain.

“It’s not the biggest deal, but my family really needs to get off my back. I bed more women than either my brothers Kiril or Petar have even been with. Why should I marry when I have endless women begging at my door to get covered in my seed?” Johnny said with a warm, chuckle, leaning back against a rusted fence.

“You know, you really are the perfect emblem of Bulgarian manhood, aren’t you, Ivan? Confident, proud, traditional. You must be a major leader within your community don’t you think?”

Ivan chuckled once again.

“You seem to know me best, Nico. I’m a proud Bulgarian man. People everywhere greet me on the street, asking my opinion. I don’t think this neighborhood could run without my influence,” Ivan bragged, flexing one of his arms. The veins popping under his tight t-shirt made Nico privately swoon but he corrected himself. He had a divine mission to complete, temptation or not.

“Yes, yet a man of your influence should be older and more accomplished I think. 32 rather than 22, running an independent software company rather than as a mere employee,” Nico purred, leaning against Ivan’s large shoulder.

Not much in the way of Ivan’s body or face changed, maybe a new laugh line here or there, but what did change was his clothes. Gone were the skinny jeans and the tight t-shirt. Now Ivan wore a white dress shirt, black slacks, shoes and a belt made of Italian leather.

“You know my company is one of the leading employers of Bulgarians in New Jersey? And my company is still growing. It does my heart good knowing what I can do for my people, and what I can do for Bulgarian women, am I right Nico?”

A glimpse of pride and lust blossomed on Ivan’s face. His thin lips pulled back into a sneer. It was time to bring the reason for their meeting to fruition, to keep Ivan on the straight and narrow path.

“Ivan, I think it's time to admit that I haven’t been entirely honest with my intentions in Little Bulgaria,” Nico said, drawing in the bigger man’s confusion and interest, “I came here to bring your community within the Church I represent, Our Lady of Sacred Contentment. I’m a pastor.”

“Is that why you intervened in the alleyway? So you had an insider who could convert people? Because I am not religious like that,” Ivan said, standing up and away from the priest with disgust. He turned again to the icon. Was Ivan really being asked to convince his people to condemn such high art as idolatry?

“God has given me great power. One that should not be ignored or dismissed,” a great blinding fire erupted from Nico’s hand. It was brighter and more intense than anything Ivan had seen before. The bigger man fell to his knees in reverence and fear.

“Please, I’m sorry. I won’t doubt you again! I’ll bring my people into the fold, I’ll act as your translator and guide. Just please forgive me,” Ivan wept into his hands.

Nico grinned, drunk on the power God’s gift had given him.

“Stand up, disciple,” Pastor Agosti commanded and Nico obeyed, his head held low.

“You have sinned but the Lord is very kind. Commit to your very being the teachings and words of our faith and spread it among your people, and the Lord will bless you for all of your days,” Nico preached, holding Ivan’s chin in his hand. Ivan nodded.

“I’ll do whatever you say.”

In the coming weeks and months, Ivan Virkov did as the pastor commanded. Under his teachings and guidance the man was becoming a proper Christian. He had abandoned the playboy lifestyle, at least publically, and settled down with a nice girl from his company.

At the same time, Ivan would use his place within the Bulgarian-American community to draw many to adopt Our Lady of Sacred Contentment as their own and people began to abandon the Orthodox Church in droves. This left the Orthodox Church in town abandoned and without followers to finance it, was at risk of being repossessed by the government. Until Ivan in an act of charity, used profits from his software company to purchase the house of worship and gave it to the holy men of Pastor Agosti and Pastor Daniels free of charge. Now the Church was ready and the Bulgarian-American community was eager, but who would rise among the faithful to lead them in prayer?

[persuasivetfs]

Racism isn't okay in my community, just unfollow

I just got a dm asking me not to post black men, that person has instantly been blocked.

ALL MEN ARE HOT, WHITE, BLACK ASIAN, INDIAN, LATINO, EVRYTHING.

I try my best to post a verity of guys on this blog, both image reblogs and stories, I will say I am not the best at it and I don't have a quota. But I will never stop posting all kinds of men. If you are a disgusting racist pig who only wants to see white men just unfollow me don't fucking DM me asking me to stop posting black men.

This is not the first time this has happened, and I have noticed my stories that have black men as the protagonist or Asian men as the protagonist tend to do worse than my stories about white men.

But I will never stop posting all kinds of men, DO NOT think it is okay to DM me telling me to stop posting Black or Asian men.

ALL MEN ARE HOT MUSCLE IS HOT racists get fucked and unfollow me.

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Blessed Contentment Part 3

There were many things in Amir Khan’s life that he was not pleased with. His shoestring apartment, his perpetually aching knees, his deep sense of loneliness.

Unmarried, elderly, and as one of the few Muslim residents in town Amir had to make do with what he did have. He had his job as an accountant, his books, his routines and his close personal relationship with God and maybe that was enough.

So it was with sudden disturbance that the elderly Mr. Huang, Amir’s boss at their accounting firm, made a very sudden and public conversion to Christianity. Now this by itself wouldn't have been cause for alarm.

Mr. Huang had been a Buddhist in all the time that Amir had known him, and beyond the statue of Guan Yin he kept on his desk and the occasional day off on Buddhist holidays, Amir hardly would have noticed. He had hoped that little would change, with Mr. Huang’s conversion beyond maybe what days he would have off next.

With this new religion however, came a zealousness that Amir neither expected or wished for. In truth, it scared him. The man had taken to peppering every inch of wall with Bible passages, crucifixes, and artistic scenes from the New Testament.

It made Amir feel as if he’d been kidnapped in the once familiar office, forced to work in the house of a Christian extremist rather than a secular accounting firm. It made him so uncomfortable that Amir was even hesitant to pray as he usually did, fearful that Mr. Huang or somebody else would force him to stop.

And he wasn’t alone in his discomfort either. Several other co-workers, two Buddhists and an atheist, felt similarly about the crowding of Christian imagery in their workspace and met privately to discuss their options.

In time it was decided, that Amir as the most seasoned and loyal employee would meet with Mr. Huang over their concerns. He didn’t like it, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make things bearable at work again.

So it was with quiet trepidation and trembling heart that Amir knocked on Mr. Huang’s door.

“Come in,” Mr. Huang greeted, his voice muffled but much louder than he expected. Amir entered.

Mr. Huang sat calmly at his desk, filling out information on his computer. He looked vastly different than before his conversion.

For one Mr. Huang looked decades younger, his face nearly free of wrinkles, while his bald spot had been covered by a thick crown of wavy brown hair. He smiled.

“What can I do for you Mr. Khan? I hear you have a list of concerns from you and a few of your other co-workers,” he greeted, pausing from his computer with his hands folded on his desk.

“Well, myself and others have grown concerned over the overwhelming nature of Christian imagery in the office. We feel that as a secular accounting office that both employs and receives clients of many faiths that while some displays of your personal faith are acceptable, that what we have now is too much.

”We just ask that some of the Christian imagery is toned down, while asking that you promise to maintain a sense of religious tolerance among staff. I have a list of signatures agreeing to such proposals right here,” Amir explained, revealing a list of 4 signatures including his own.

“May I have a look at that, please?” Mr. Huang asked and Amir obliged, handing it to him. He nodded after examining it.

“Then, I will see to it that everyone on this list feels perfectly comfortable and tolerated working here. We’ll be a solid unit,” Mr. Huang said, getting up from his chair.

It was then that Amir noticed that Mr. Huang not only looked younger than but was slightly taller and far more muscular as well. When he gripped his hand, Amir’s own hand felt small and delicate, as his boss’s which had once mirrored his own in age had gained a flourish of youth and strength.

In the next few days, it was announced that a team building exercise would take place at the local Summer camp on Saturday.

It would consist of Mr. Huang, Amir Khan, Kelly Zhao, Tyre Blake, and David Cheng. It didn’t take long for everyone to deduce that the only people going besides their boss were those who had signed their names on the complaint letter. Amir considered lying about being sick to avoid it, but he felt it’d be wrong if he left his co-workers out to dry while he hid at home so he opted to go.

When the day came and they all drove to the campgrounds, they were all greeted by Lawrence Daniels, a stoic and smooth-talking young man who introduced himself as a kind of guidance counselor.

Also attending to everyone’s surprise was Mr. Huang’s adult son, Eric. The last any of them had seen of Eric he was arguing with his father in the parking lot of their office. Eric had been dressed in a revealing nylon crop top and pair of skinny jeans while covered entirely in body paint. From what Amir could gather, Mr. Huang had bailed Eric out of jail after being caught trespassing with an illegal homosexual night club. Apparently the hope had been that Eric would abandon such foolishness and go back to school so he could work at his father’s company but that very quickly fell through. At least that’s what Amir had thought.

Yet this Eric dressed in a white button down shirt, khaki pants, and upright posture seemed entirely different from the man Amir had known of. This Eric looked like a younger splitting image of his father, similar in rigidity and strength.

Amir followed the pair inside. It was a dining hall with connected lunch tables crowding from one side of the room to the next. As people took their seats at one of the tables, Amir struggled to move his legs, the pain in his old knees was too much.

“Try sitting on the edge next to me, Mr. Khan,” Eric’s charming voice offered. Amir, surprised, did as Eric suggested, sliding in next to him on the corner after Eric comfortably sat down.

“Hello there, welcome everyone. My name is Lawrence Daniels and I’m a pastor at Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church,” all of them but the priest, Mr. Huang and Eric Huang looked to each other to confirm what had just been said.

Not only had Mr. Huang converted to this priest’s church, but he was most likely just trying to convert them all as well. This possibility drew collective annoyed glares and heavy sighs from the non-Christian participants.

“Alright calm down everybody, I’m only here as a secular facilitator of today’s team-building function, nothing more. Just thought I’d be honest about where most of my work experience as public facilitator has been,” Pastor Daniels admitted, not expecting such resentment.

“It’s quite alright, Pastor. Please continue on,” Mr. Huang said in an authoritative voice.

“I hope I can leave early. My knees are particularly bad today,” Amir whispered to himself. Eric nodded.

“This won’t take long, we’ll be out of here soon,” Eric said with a wink in his direction.

“Now I’ve heard that we’ve had some trouble with disunity around the office. So together we’re going to work through some exercises to improve company cohesion. Now before we start I’d like you all to fill out these brief questionnaire sheets,” Pastor Daniels explained, handing out sheets and pencils to the table.

Amir stared down his questionnaire. It asked him basic questions about his age, his marriage status, his skills, his interests, his faith, his education. His whole life on a single sheet of paper. It didn’t take long for him to finish.

When all the papers were collected, Pastor Daniels skimmed each one before coming to a stop.

“Amir Khan?” Pastor Daniels asked, scanning the room. Amir’s stomach lurched like he had been called on in class.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels?” Amir refused to call him his pastor.

“I’ve noticed a few strange discrepancies on your form. Are you being completely honest with me?” Pastor Daniels asked, pointing at the papers. Amir looked around flabbergasted.

“I have nothing to lie about,” Amir answered with a shrug.

“It says here you’re 67, but that can’t be true. You look about 30,” Pastor Daniels said with the voice of a school teacher impatient with childish pranks.

Amir wanted to counter him but suddenly found that he couldn’t. Years were peeling off his face as the seconds clicked by. His wrinkles were receding, his hair was growing and his body was regaining a sense of vitality he hadn’t felt in ages. Across his face, his wispy gray mustache and well-kept beard had faded and become replaced with a dark and luxurious mustache that Amir felt the sweet urge to twirl between his fingers.

“And here, you say that you are unmarried yet you have a gold wedding ring across your finger. Or is that mere jewelry, Mr. Khan?”

A solid gold ring materialized on Amir’s finger and with it a name, Jasleen. Amir had thought they had lost touch after he emigrated to the United States and yet he remembered that they had married, that she had come with him, and that she was young as he was. In fact, they already had a son and there was another child on the way.

“Nope, proudly married. I wrote that as a joke,” Amir said, half-confused as he tried to save face. Everyone gave him looks that varied between pity and annoyance.

“Maybe try to keep such jokes between friends, right, man?” Eric whispered with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, sorry,” Amir said, awkward and dazed. He vaguely remembered Eric Huang as his boss’s unemployable gay adult son but that was impossible. Eric worked as a major consultant for his father’s accounting firm with the hope to inherit it after Mr. Huang’s retirement and he was engaged to a woman. Eric was one of Amir’s closest friends and yet he couldn’t remember the two working together. Did this mean that Amir never worked there?

“Now for what you wrote for interests, you put math puzzles and reading but that doesn’t sound like you at all. Of all I’ve heard from Eric, you only love football, nutrition, and exercise.”

Amir groaned as his whole body ballooned underneath him. His neck widened, his chest expanded, his arms and legs and torso packed on muscle. While never the most unathletic man in the world, Amir had played tennis in college, he felt larger and more powerful than he had ever felt. Memories of tennis soon gave way into football, and Amir suddenly gained a deep and reverent joy in the sport that had never died with age.

Suddenly his small tweed sweater and corduroy pants felt too small for him, too old for a muscular young man such as himself. Before he could focus too hard on his outfit, he found himself in a snug gray crop top, a pair of nylon shorts and sneakers, as if he was in the middle of a run.

“And with faith, you wrote Islam but as a non-pastor you have one of the strongest and loudest senses of devotion to our church. You’re obviously a deeply pious Christian man,” Pastor Daniels pointed out.

For much of his life Amir’s faith had always been a private matter. A relationship that was intimate and quiet, achieved through reflection and reverence. Made all the more quiet, in such a county where his religion was often regarded as a threat.

Yet in that priest’s voice, Amir felt a sense of electrifying zealotry that he never had before. A devotion that could not be contained in quiet contemplation but had to be shared with all the people of the world.

His new faith too, had come with a sense of community Amir had long craved. Every week, if not more, he could go to church and pray among the throngs of the faithful. No longer isolated, Amir could be as open about his faith as he wished and would often find others in town who shared his views.

“I’m a Christian first before anything else, Pastor. I would never write any other faith as being more important than the one we share,” Amir said, raising his eyes to heaven with the passion of a Sunday preacher.

“Right of course, my apologies. You did write ‘Christian’ here. Never should have thought differently, though there is one other complication, Brother Khan,” Pastor Daniels said, pausing for dramatic effect before he went on. The dining hall was silent. A bug buzzed by the window. Kelly Zhao yawned.

“Why did you fill out this sheet at all? You work as a gym teacher and football coach at the local high school. I still don’t know why you even came in here.” Memories writing and rewriting themselves to fit the current situation blurred into Amir’s mind.

“I was carpooling with Eric to the school gym when he got a text to come here to act as co-facilitator from Mr. Huang. So not wanting to be bored in the car, I tagged along and wrote down some information on one of your forms. Wanted to see how far I'd get before you noticed,” Amir said with an impish grin.

“Why were you heading to the school gym?” Mr. Huang sternly asked Eric who shuffled nervously in his seat.

“It's Saturday at midday, I have the keys, and the basketball team doesn’t practice till 6. Figured we’d have the whole place to ourselves,” Amir admitted, idly twirling his mustache.

“Well Eric, while I still need you here, it should be no harm to take a few minutes to drop Mr. Khan off at the school. Please do so before we have another distraction,” Mr. Huang said, hand waving the pair away.

Both of them grunted as they slid up from their seats, their muscular legs were too large to be able to stand up and out of them.

Amir, for all his new personal history that had just become cemented in his head in the last half hour, still marveled at the fact that his knees, still the weakest part of his body, were strong enough to successfully hold up his massive new weight.

Eric let out a sigh of relief as the pair left the dining hall behind.

“Thanks for trying to make my Dad’s team building exercise interesting, Amir. Though probably not the best to make jokes when my Dad’s trying to bring people into the fold,” Eric said politely as Amir swaggered out in his muscular new form.

“You’re welcome, bro. I find that adding humor in discussions of faith, improves everybody’s mood and can help make people more amenable to the word of God,” Amir said, confidently.

“You also work with teenage boys everyday. So what works with them might not work with my co-workers, or my father,” Eric said, dreading the future argument they would have. Eric unlocked the car from a distance.

”You think Pastor Daniels is really going to successfully convert the Sinners back there?” Amir asked, twirling his mustache with deep satisfaction.

In the walk to Eric’s car, Amir noticed an old gray Saturn that felt uncannily familiar. It was a small, old car, seperate from the others, probably abandoned. Amir quickened his pace, unnerved, only satisfied until they reached Eric’s own Jeep.

“He hasn’t failed yet,” Eric answered, getting into the driver’s seat. “Honestly, I have no idea how those pastors at our church do it. It worked on my father and our family, and you know how obstinate he is.”

“They’re really building a new world. God’s heavenly kingdom on Earth and we all get to be a part of it,” Amir said with a grin and a mighty flex of his muscular arm before he got inside the passenger's seat. Eric started the car.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Eric answered quickly, so quickly he hoped Amir didn’t hear. The man didn’t seem to notice, smiling with unaware bliss as he twirled his mustache.

In the coming days and weeks, Amir quickly solidified himself as both a major aid and hindrance of Wentworth Falls Public High School. On one hand, the man was an excellent football coach, encouraging his players to victory in a way they haven’t seen all season. However, Amir was also proving to be a major source of controversy. While once afraid to do so much as pray in public as a Muslim, as a Christian in the United States, Amir was emboldened to invoke Jesus and the Church, even to the point of working to convert some of his students.

While this new Amir had come to lack the eloquence of people like Pastor Daniels or the quiet subtlety of Pastor Agosti, he was able to utilize his position to convert young wayward souls to the Church as Pastor Carter would do once the Church basketball team was set up.

Many in the school’s admin were opposed to such open proselytizing in a public school, and tried to use threats of suspension to force Amir to stop, but certain conservative religious and private interests blocked any real chance of that happening. The influence of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment was growing. It was only just the beginning.

[persuasivetfs]

So no pedos and no racists but homophobes and misogynists are fine apparently

Never said I was morally consistent. Just that this is the kind of thing I find hot. So if you don’t like it go somewhere the fuck else 🤷‍♂️

Also I’m gay so if I happen to find homophobia in some of my sexual fantasies hot then so be it.

[persuasivetfs]

In His Father's Shoes

With bated breath, Timothy tiptoed into the family's home office. Hoping to find his stashed birthday present, but instead found his father, Tim. Tim's smug expression made it clear Timothy's entrance was expected.

"Don't even bother pretending to be surprised this time, Jr. I catch you every year trying to sneak a peek at your birthday present." Tim snickered.

Timothy laughed. "Fine. Fine. So, what's the punishment, old man?"

"No punishment," Tim said plainly. "In fact, I'm going to reward your childishly devious behavior. You can have your present early this year."

Timothy beamed with surprise. "What!? Really!?"

Tim's expression got even smugger. With one foot, he gently pushed his kicked-off and well-polished dress shoes in front of his son. "Happy birthday, Jr."

Timothy's expression quickly went from joyous anticipation to disappointed confusion. "Your… shoes? That's my present?! You're joking, right!?"

"Try them on." Tim teased, pushing the shoes closer to Timothy.

Timothy's confusion only grew as he looked down at his father's, well, his new shoes.

"Where's the enthusiasm? Where's the gratitude?" Tim teased even further.

Timothy sighed, slightly smirking and jokingly rolling his eyes. "Fine, I'll humor you, old man. But I better get my real present after!"

With a raised eyebrow of suspicion, Timothy slipped his bare size 9 feet into his father's size 12 dress shoes. The shoes clearly hadn't been off his father's feet long - warm like a heated blanket. Oddly, the warmth was comforting to Timothy.

"How are they, Jr?" Tim teased.

Timothy exaggerated the look of confusion on his face. "Strange… they're a little too big for me."

"You can't fool me, Jr." Tim teased, slightly less playful this time. "You love them."

"Okay, Dad. No more fooling around. Where's my real-" Timothy lost all thought, silenced by a faint voice suddenly popping into his head. "He's right. You do love them. You could easily spend all day standing here in your father's shoes… your shoes."

"You look a little tense all of a sudden, Jr." Tim teased. "You're hanging out with your old man. Nothing stressful about that. Just relax."

"He's right. Your father is always right. Relax. Relax. Relax." the voice droned, this time louder than before. The word "Relax" echoed through Timothy's mind, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. Suddenly, Timothy felt as if he had just gotten done having a full body massage - every inch of him utterly relaxed.

"There, much better." Tim relished in his son's newly calm expression. "You feel nothing but relaxed. Too relaxed to think. Too relaxed to do anything but stand there. Let all thought dissipate. Let it all evaporate. Clear your mind completely. Let my words be the only thing that resides within your mind."

"No thoughts of your own. Only fathers. Only fathers. Only fathers." the voice rang throughout Timothy's head, erasing all apprehension. He felt blank. Empty and still, like a statue.

Tim maliciously smirked. "My words are truth. My words are your reality. Do you know why, Jr? Because I'm your father. I made you. I'm your creator, your god."

"He made you. He created you. You're his son, his creation. He owns you. Owns your body. Owns your mind." the voice droned, no longer resembling a stranger but his very own inner voice. Suddenly, Timothy was washed over by a wave of faith, deifying his father in his mind.

Tim looked his unmoving son up and down, grinning like a supervillain, enjoying every second of his son's blank expression. Trying to contain his laughter as Timothy began to drool. "You know, those shoes are a little big on you." he teased, his eyes now on the perfectly-polished dress shoes. "Big shoes require big feet. Size 12 feet."

"Size 12 feet. Size 12 feet. Size 12 feet." Timothy's new inner voice droned. His feet vibrated, slowly expanding and widening, stopping only when his feet fit perfectly into the shoes.

"Much, much better." Tim smiled, but his satisfied smile only lasted for a moment. "Hmm, now your feet are almost too big for your body, Jr! Big feet belong on a tall, meaty body."

"Tall. Meaty. Tall. Meaty. Tall. Meaty." Timothy's inner voice droned. His ankles pulsed, spreading up through his entire body. His clothes tore as his legs stretched and thickened; torso broadened; butt swelled; chest expanded; neck and arms bulked. Timothy was now as tall and wide as his father.

"Perfect. Simply perfect." Tim was beyond thrilled with his son's new and improved physique. "Hmm, that baby face of yours doesn't quite match your new masculine physique, does it, Jr? A strong, masculine face is what a masculine body requires. A face like mine. My face."

"Father's face. Father's face. Father's face." Timothy's inner voice droned. His face pulsed, losing all sense of boyishness as it morphed into chiseled statuesque perfection. His wavy hair receded, leaving it short and more mature. His face now resembled his father's exactly - a mirror image.

"Perfect. However, Do you know what should come from such a manly face? A deep, manly voice. A voice like mine. My voice." Tim scoffed.

"Father's voice. Father's voice. Father's voice." Timothy's inner voice droned. His newly thickened neck vibrated, significantly jutting his Adam's apple.

"Let's hear that new manly voice in action, shall we, Jr?" Tim teased. "Speak, boy."

"Sir, yes, Sir." Timothy expressionlessly stated. His voice now identically resembled his father's - deep, rugged, and undoubtedly manly.

Tim's satisfactory smirk returned. "Perfection." He got up from his chair and walked up to his son. He softly caressed his son's newly chiseled jawline with his index finger, examining him like a freshly chiseled statue. He then looked directly into his son's eyes. "You may look empty, but I know you're still in there, Jr."

Timothy looked like he checked out long ago, but, in reality, he'd been watching from afar. Locked away in the empty darkness. Trapped in his own mind - a helpless observer. Forced to watch himself be converted into his father's likeness.

Tim maniacally grinned, once aging, gazing back down at the perfectly polished dress shoes his new and improved son was wearing. "You know what they say about big feet, Jr.: Big feet. Big meat."

"Big feet. Big meat. Big feet. Big meat. Big feet. Big meat." Timothy's inner voice droned. His crotch vibrated, swelling and growing. His already torn pants tore more as his cock released itself. He now had a thick, juicy member between his legs: just like his father - exactly like his father.

"Perfect!" Tim sat back down in his chair. He looked his son up and down once more, prideful in his work. "Now, you resemble me completely. However, the body must match the mind, Jr. My body. My mind."

"Father's body. Father's mind. Father's body. Father's mind. Father's body. Father's mind." Timothy's inner voice droned. Suddenly, he has flooded with his father's interests and personality. Far back in the darkness, Timothy felt himself disappearing - not evaporating but sinking. Falling further into darker nothingness as his father's mind replaced his own.

"Sink, boy," Tim commanded. "Lose yourself to me. Feel yourself drain into your balls. Fill them. Swell them with your essence."

Timothy sunk further, now melting into his balls. Losing all sense of humanity as he morphed into thick, hot cum. Timothy's cock stiffened as his balls swelled with his old self. A small part of himself still hung on by a thread.

"Let go, boy," Tim commanded, his malicious grin beaming ear to ear.

Timothy's newly low-hanging swelled balls pulsed. The small part of Timothy that remained filled with dread, as he knew his time was soon up. His newly-thick member stiffened to an uncomfortable degree, ready to fire off at any moment.

"Cum!" Tim demanded.

With that came a massive load. What was left of Timothy's mind jettisoned out onto the floor. Timothy was now nothing but a sticky mess on the home office carpet. With a moan of gleeful satisfaction, Tim pressed his beautifully shaped, perfectly adorned foot into the puddle of his son's expelled essence. He wiggled his toes around, absorbing his son into his warm, sweaty dress socks - enriching the masculine scent of his godly size 12 feet. Timothy was gone. All that remained was Tim.

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Blessed Contentment Part 2

Demetrius shifted uncomfortably in his chair as hair and makeup of Channel 4 News performed their last minute touch ups before broadcast.

The man who sat across from him, who had said he didn’t need such “aesthetic comforts” was Pastor Lawerence Daniels of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church.

The pair sat in the church sacristy, a place with high windows, bookcases lined with extra copies of the Bible and books of hymns, and closets lined with holy vestments.

It should have eased Demetrius’s nerves that he was given the chance to interview another Black man but there was something about Pastor Daniels that unnerved him. Maybe it was this segment.

It had been a relief, at first, to learn that he’d be involved in his first serious interview. Demetrius had studied for years at Northwestern to be an investigative journalist, not an anchorman who only worked on fluff pieces.

Yet he still wasn’t sure why he was interviewing this priest? Sure, Our Lady of Blessed Contentment Church was a new place of worship in town, but was it really newsworthy? Besides, Channel 4 News didn’t typically cover stories like this unless there was something in it for them. So not knowing the why was leaving Demetrius feeling unsettled.

“You ever been on television before, pastor?”

Demetrous asked, hoping to mask his discomfort with polite small talk.

“Not yet, but with you here Mr, Carter, I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time,” Pastor Daniels answered dreamily. There was a strange energy from this man that Demetrius couldn’t pinpoint, a static electricity that made all his arm hair stand up on end, but there wasn’t enough time to focus on that.

Eddie the camera guy was giving them the signal. At this, hair and makeup finished their work and retreated behind the camera.

“We are on in 5, 4, 3, 2-“

“Welcome back to Channel 4 News, I’m your host Demetrius Carter,” He greeted with his award-winning smile, “I’m here to interview Lawerence Daniels, one of the founders of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church that opened up just a few short weeks ago. How are we doing, pastor?”

“Wonderful, Mr. Carter, simply wonderful. It’s of the highest honor to have a man of such a high caliber come into our humble house of worship.”

The priest was practically sitting on the edge of his chair, his fingers tapping with an excitement Demetrius was only used to seeing in housewives and gay art students.

“Well that’s very much appreciated. Thanks for having me here. So tell us, Pastor,” Demetrius said, balancing his prominent chin under his two thumbs, “what brings you and your fellow pastor, Father Agosti, to Wentworth Falls? Was it for our proximity to the New Jersey Shoreline?”

“Oh no, no. We came to this town to meet you, of course, Demetrius Carter of Channel 4 News,” Pastor Daniels replied with a disconcerting laugh.

“Right of course. You’re such a kidder,” Demetrius expertly deflected with a warm chuckle of his own.

“So seriously, Pastor, tell our viewers why you picked the humble town of Wentworth Falls to begin your ministry. Have you come to meet the demands of our town’s rising population?”

”Pastor Agosti and I hope to reach many of the people of this town, yes, both newcomers and long-term residents but we mostly came here for you, Mr. Carter,” Pastor Daniels insisted, crossing his legs.

“That’s a lovely thing for you to say, pastor, but why exactly?” Demetrius asked, looking to Eddie for support only to receive a shrug in reply.

“We believe you have potential, Mr. Carter. Potential to be more than a charming television personality who is stuck gossiping about celebrity news and the latest koala birth at the zoo. Mr. Herrera certainly seemed to think so,” Pastor Daniels replied, taking a calm sip out of a glass of water.

Demetrius tried to put on his best poker face.

Mr. Herrerra, the CEO of Channel 4 News, had put Demetrius up to this? Why? Did this church have more influence than Demetrius could have guessed? Was Mr.Herrera a member of their church? Demetrius knew the man was a pious christian, once he saw him praying in his office, but had no idea it was of this particular sect. Was this all an elaborate attempt to get Demetrius to convert for them?

“I don’t understand. Potential for what?” Demetrius asked, narrowing his eyes at the priest. Pastor Daniels leaned comfortably back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

“Do you believe in God, Mr.Carter?”

Demetrius did not want to answer this question.

He was an atheist. An answer he did not want to deliver to a pastor and certainly not on live television, not in this country. He smiled.

“Yes, I do,” Demetrius answered hesitantly, “but I believe in keeping such matters between myself and God. Besides this segment is about you, Pastor, not me so how about we-“

“Let’s make this easier, with no cameras,” Pastor Daniels said. As he did so the red broadcast light went off, as did all the video and audio equipment.

“And no audience,” and at this the supporting Channel 4 crew vanished.

Demetrius nearly collapsed out of his seat. Clutching his chest, he turned from the priest to the empty spot 8 people had been standing in just a moment earlier. Gone with 3 words from the pastor.

“Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Carter. The crew are fine. The Lord merely wished to give us the chance to speak without interruption. Man to man,” Pastor Daniels explained, his voice smooth and calming.

“Where did they go?” Demetrius asked, quietly.

“Away,” Pastor Daniels said with disinterest, “Most likely back to work at the office or in their homes with no memory of what had transpired.

So, Mr. Carter let me ask again. Do you believe in God?”

No matter how much he lied or deflected, the pastor clearly wasn’t going to let this go. Demetrius sighed.

“Fine, fuck it,” Demetrius said, too overwhelmed by the situation to worry about cussing in the house of God.

“No, I don’t believe in God. Never have, never will. Now, I went to church as a child, pastor. Not often but a few times and I was not impressed.”

“Not impressed?” Pastor Daniels asked with amusement.

“There is so much suffering in this world, pastor. Famine, war, genocide. Centuries upon centuries of it. All while the Good Lord sits back and lets it happen without consequence or punishment for those who intentionally create it. So why should I believe in a benevolent, all powerful God?”

Demetrius crossed his skinny arms, and looked away from the Pastor, shaking his head as he did so.

“So you believe in nothing, Mr. Carter?”

“What I believe in is people. The ability for people to do good as well as evil. Many of us can do more than merely wait for an afterlife for our lives and that of others to improve. Things can be better now, if people are willing to fight for it, if they’re armed with the hope and knowledge needed for such a transformation. That is what I believe in,” Demetrius answered. He looked to the priest for a response, expecting him to be angry or bemused, but finding him nodding his head as if in agreement.

“I too, once went down a path such as yours, Mr. Carter. My faith was nearly worn away by the horrors of the world and the contradictions in my faith. I almost abandoned it completely,” Pastor Daniels explained, his forehead creased with many folds.

“Yet it was during one such crisis of faith, when Pastor Agosti and I were sequestered in prayer in the woods, when the Lord Himself shone his divine light upon us. He told us that it was our duty to spread the Kingdom of Heaven upon the Earth. To aid us, the Lord granted us power. The power to remold any man to His divine will,” Pastor Daniels said with a sense of deep wonder in his voice.

“It only works within a certain radius, but within that radius, anything is possible, even the shifting of wider events to make such a change possible.”

“If you truly have such power, why aren’t you focused on ending famine, racism, poverty?

Is conversion all you care about?” Demetrius asked, flustered and irritated. To think that such immense power could be wielded in such a selfish way, unthinkable.

“In due time, Mr. Carter, in due time. With every soul we mold towards the faith, we shift them towards proper, pious action. As the world is united under the divine light of the church, all the world’s ills will dissipate,” Pastor Daniels explained, his palms outstretched as if holding all of humanity tenderly in his soft palms.

“Who is this we, then? You and Pastor Agosti out to convert the world?”

“There is a need for many shepherds to manage such a large flock. A shepherd such as yourself, Mr. Carter,” Pastor Daniels said, his voice bursting with enthusiasm.

“If you can truly mold men into what you wish, why do you need me? Surely there are others more willing to be your puppet,” Demetrius said with a steady glare.

“But don’t you see, Brother? You have the passion, the charisma, the wisdom, the face sculpted by the divine Himself. There is very little that needs to be changed about you, and yet you waste your gifts here, in daytime television?” The pastor became more energized the more he spoke, staring deeply into Demetrius’s soft brown eyes before he sharply turned away, wiping his sweaty hands on his knees.

“The Lord giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, Mr. Carter. The opportunity to truly help people. To bring positive change into the community. Isn’t this what you wanted?” Pastor Daniels asked, still refusing to look back his way. He quickly dabbed his sweaty face with a purple handkerchief from his pocket.

“Not like this, pastor. Not like this,” Demetrius said simply. He was tired of running into walls with this obstinate priest. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Demetrius just hoped he could resist whatever came his way.

“Oh sweet, Demetrius, just as Jonah once attempted to flee his duties as prophet, so shall you be brought into the cloth. In fact, it's already started,” Pastor Daniels said, pointing to Demetrius’s neck.

He touched his skin to find a golden crucifix had appeared, comfortable and snug against his neck, as if he had worn it there his whole life.

And yet hadn’t Demetrius worn it his whole life? It had been a family gift, he had taken to keep wearing it out of habit, and yet there was another reason he wore it, wasn’t there?

The pastor leaned forward, deeply invested into what was about to happen.

“So tell me, what was your journey like coming to the faith?”

“I was raised by secular parents, but I turned to God at a young age. I had always wanted to devote myself to helping people, and by becoming a youth pastor I found the perfect route to do so. Leading the faithful into prayer, inspiring people to convert from wickedness to the way of the Lord. I knew it was my calling,” Demetrius answered, robotically. What he said seemed entirely antithetical to what he believed in, but the more he spoke the more it seemed true.

”So where did this strong conviction lead you to in your education? I heard you pursued an investigative journalism degree at Northwestern, and graduated top of your class,” Pastor Daniels pushed, doing his best to hide his rising joy.

“You must be mistaken. I graduated at the top of my class, yes, but at Duke Divinity School. Have my accreditation right here to prove it,” Demetrius said, as from some strange place, a framed certificate appeared in his hands. He handed it to Pastor Daniels, who took it with great gravitas, examining it.

Internally, Demetrius struggled to make sense of what was happening. Memories of late nights pouring over historical documents turned to late nights studying the Bible, his college days spent

involved in left-wing protest movements and writing for the school paper turned to heated

theological debates with fellow christian scholars.

“And it was at Duke Divinity School that you

began exercising vigorously to bring you closer to faith? I must say, piety has given you quite the impressive musculature,” Pastor Daniels complimented.

With a gasp, Demetrius’s muscles suddenly ballooned underneath him, fibers tensing and stretching beyond what he thought possible. With his changing body came a motivation to fitness Demetrius had never had before, quickly growing in line with his burgeoning christian faith.

“At first I’d been against it as it seemed immodest, but after some words with colleagues and several devout coaches at Duke, I came around to it. The body is a gift from the divine after all. To improve it through exercise I believe is to give honor to Him. I similarly believe that a church that prioritizes athletics among its members has a greater chance to encourage diligence, masculinity, strength of character, and discipline, especially among young men who could otherwise go down the wrong path,” Demetrius explained eagerly. He wanted nothing more to help mold young minds and bodies into the strong and righteous path the Lord wished of them.

It was as he spoke of such changes that years of study into investigative journalism, of internships, and protests wormed their way out of his mind. He had no use for such memories anymore, not with the Lord waiting for him to aid in building His heavenly kingdom on Earth.

”Very impressive Mr. Carter. We’ll have to take such a program into consideration. So since we’re talking about our church, what is it about our theology that has you seeking a role as one of our pastors?” Pastor Daniels asked.

For some reason, Demetrius suddenly felt that there should be a film crew recording their interaction. Yet when he turned his head, there was neither film crew or cameras, in fact, they were in the church’s private office, not the sacristy like he had thought. Which kind of made sense right? He was there to apply as a pastor of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church, right?

“Mr. Carter, you alright?” Pastor Daniels asked, with a frown. “Do you need a glass of water?”

”No, I’m fine, thank you. Was just disoriented for a moment.” Demetrius paused, “What was your question again?”

Pastor Daniels did his best to contain his disappointment. Perhaps, more work was needed to shift the former anchorman into the perfect vessel of the Lord’s will.

“So what is your personal opinion of homosexuality, Mr. Carter?” Pastor Daniels asked with gravity.

Demetrius considered his answer, “In truth, I believe the Bible’s main opposition to homosexual relations is based on a cultural translation error, rather than Biblical truth. The destruction that befell Sodom and Gomorrah had been the result of violating hospitality rules not the sin of homosexuality and-“

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter but that would be incorrect. Homosexuality is indeed condemned in the Bible. You in fact, had told me earlier today how much homosexuality had disgusted you,” Father Daniels said, peering deeply into Demetrius’s eyes. The bigger man frowned, his eyes faced downward, deep in thought.

“That can’t be. I’ve been with men before, women too, but I can’t discount the men. Why would I say that such acts disgusted me?” Demetrius asked, thinking aloud.

“Oh the answer is obvious, Mr. Carter. You were confused then. Charmed into abandoning the virtue of chastity for the allure of lust. But you have repented, and your challenges will inspire the faithless into rejoining the path of the righteous as you have done,” Pastor Daniels explained. He watched the concept absorbed behind Demetrius’s eyes before he gave an affirmative slow blink.

“Yes, thank you Pastor Daniels for understanding. Homosexuality was a dark path I walked on, causing me to stray from the Lord’s. As to answer your earlier question, Homosexuality is a disease that can only be fought with prayer and abstinence. I pray everyday those lost souls return to the Church,” Demetrius answered, confident and re-dedicated to the Lord’s plan.

“Yes, it was a dark path Pastor Agosti and I had walked down upon once a long time ago, but those days are past,” Pastor Daniels commiserated, before taking another sip of water.

“So have you or Pastor Agosti spent time telling the faithful about your shameful histories?” Demeteius asked, shy and nervous on the prospect of telling others.

“Oh no, Mr. Carter. Never and I for one don’t see a reason to. Well anyway, all appears to be in order,” Pastor Daniels said, standing with his hand outstretched. Demetrius stood and shook it.

“Them let me be the first to welcome you into the fold, Pastor Carter,” Pastor Daniels congratulated, shaking it.

“This is the greatest honor, Sir. Thank you for giving me this great gift,” Demetrius said, his heart swelling with joy.

“Well, Pastor Carter, now that you have joined as a man of the cloth, it is time for me to bestow upon you the gifts that have been bestowed upon myself and Pastor Agosti,” Pastor Daniels explained, leading the larger man out of the office with an arm around his broad shoulders.

“Of course, Pastor Daniels, lead on,” Demetrius said, his head bowed in modest contemplation. He could not wait to witness just exactly the Lord had in store for him.

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Sacred Contentment

It was a blistering Summer day and Kevin was struggling in his Naruto cosplay. He had planned to go with his friends to the convention center years ago in December, and so had bought a warmer variation of his costume only for Covid to disrupt everything. By the time things re-convened it was August.

Worsening matters, the bus stop was devoid of shade and with no places to sit, Kevin was baking in his costume. Overwhelmed by the heat, and aching all over, he took off his backpack and plopped it onto the sidewalk.

Next to Kevin at the bus stop stood a middle-aged man with a pencil-thin mustache and beard.

He had been standing there when Kevin arrived, taking a step back just as the bus doors had slammed shut. A strange electricity seemed to radiate off the man, making Kevin’s neck hair stand up on end. It made him uneasy.

The man caught him staring and gave him a warm smile.

“Why hello there,” the man introduced himself, holding out a hand. “I’m Pastor Nico Agosti of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment. What’s your name, son?”

Despite the man’s nondescript appearance, his New Jersey Italian accent was thick. It reminded Kevin of visiting his older male cousins as they smoked cigars and rated women’s breasts the way they rated cars.

”It’s Kevin,” He answered hesitantly, reaching out his hand. The man’s grip was firm and inviting, a far cry from his own loose and sweaty palm.

“Kevin Piazzi,” he elaborated, not wanting to be rude. He kept his eyes to the sidewalk. As a gay man who grew up in the church, he was not eager to speak with a Christian priest.

“You Italian?” the priest asked in English before dropping into Italian, “Do you speak it?”

“My family’s from Naples but I can’t speak the language,” Kevin said, unwilling to meet the pastor’s gaze. He felt the man’s disapproval wash over him, like that of his family members. It felt humiliating for such a feeling to come from a complete stranger.

“Kevin,” the priest said, annunciating his name with disgust, “that’s an odd name for a virile Italian-American male such as yourself. Francesco would really suit you better.”

Before Kevin could protest, his memories and with it, his entire being shifted. What was he talking about, hadn’t he always been named Francesco? No? Then what had he been named?

Wait, he suddenly remembered! Francesco was his name. He had been named after the wandering monk, Saint Francis. He looked to the priest for confirmation.

“What were we talking about again?” Francesco asked, suddenly unsteady on his feet.

“Oh I was merely admiring the sound of your name. Francesco Piazzi,” the pastor said, pointing at the air with every syllable.

“Speaking of admiration, are you on the way to the gym? Your muscles are practically bulging out of your clothes,” the pastor remarked with hunger in his pale green eyes.

Suddenly, Francesco was hit with an invisible wave of energy that radiated over every inch of his body. Muscles grew and strengthened on every part of his body, stretching the very limits of the costume’s fabric. As his body underwent changes, so did the clothes he wore. His overheating Naruto jacket and pants had transformed into a black tank top and pair of athletic shorts, while his spiral headband had disappeared completely, absorbing into his forehead.

”Yeah, I’m on my way to the gym now,” Francesco said in a monotone voice. He took a deep breath. Compared to before he had been overheated and tense, but now Francesco was feeling relaxed and energetic.

“As a fitness instructor, right? I’ve been meaning to get in a session or two myself,” the pastor said, patting his stomach with a chuckle.

The more the pastor spoke, the more it felt like he knew Francesco’s life better than he did, with him always several steps behind.

Of course Francesco was a fitness instructor. He had first started working out in his cousin Vinny Mescatoni’s garage, using milk jugs filled with sand as body weights. While it had been his other cousin Donnie that had convinced him to pursue a degree in Sports Medicine with him, not History like he previously thought.

Before he let Francesco reply, the priest turned to him and asked, “Well Mr. Piazzi, work aside, have you happened to hear the word of our Lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

“I was raised Catholic, Father. I’m not looking for another denomination. Sorry,” Francesco answered with a shrug. Unbeknownst to him, a gold crucifix necklace had materialized around his neck. Being Catholic was a significant part of his cultural heritage, but he was hesitant to go to Mass often. A Catholic education had helped in learning Italian, which was useful, though Francesco never turned out smart enough for learning Latin.

“Oh of course. I was raised Catholic myself. Lots of new practitioners of our church come from other Christian traditions. I’m sure you had issues with the faith of your birth, no?” the pastor asked, taking a step closer to him.

“Yeah, I’ve had problems with the church. As a gay man I found their negative stances on homosexuality abhorrent, and the church's view of women isn’t much better. It caused a lot of friction in my family for years,” Francesco stated.

He had been lucky he had another gay member of the family in Donnie, but it had been years of intense arguments and disagreement before his relatives started to come around.

“But Francesco, I’m confused, I thought you told me you were a normal heterosexual male,” the Pastor said, pinching his fingers together and shaking his hands in utter disbelief.

“Huh? Why would I say that?”

“We were discussing the importance of waiting until marriage to engage in sex. You had been troubled with many strong sexual urges towards women and had even acted on some of them in the past. In our discussions, intercourse with the female sex seemed to be one of the only things on your mind. While intercourse with men seemed entirely out of the question,” the pastor explained with ease.

In Francesco’s mind, memories of Pride parades and making out with twinks coated in rainbow body paint shifted into nights fucking an endless line of different women. Just thinking about all those women, their large breasts, their tight pussies, all of it got him hard under his athletic shorts.

“And now I’m happy to hear of your engagement to Bianca Fiore! Tanta Felicita!” the pastor congratulated, patting Francesco on the back.

A single golden ring appeared on Francesco’s finger. It was strange, the name didn’t sound familiar at all. Yet he remembered Bianca, didn’t he? Didn’t he love her?

Bianca Fiore. Blonde, beautiful, with large breasts to boot. She was the shy girl-next-door type, someone Francesco didn’t notice till his family pushed him to date her.

“Thanks, pastor. Though could you do it a favor and keep it to yourself? We plan on telling Bianca’s parents over dinner tonight,” Francesco answered proudly, head raised high.

“Of course, my son,” the pastor said, doing a zipping shut motion with his lips.

“Now, let’s discuss the reason you left the Catholic church. You told me that the Church’s shift to a more positive stance towards homosexuals had disgusted you deeply,” the pastor said, rubbing a hand through Francesco’s spiky blonde hair. With a single push of his hand, Francesco’s hair shifted itself into a light brown flattop.

“You believe that such a perversion as homosexuality is borne of lax parenting and moral weakness. It's why you came to Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church. Isn't that correct?” Pastor Nico asked, more of a statement than a question.

There was always one part of the person’s will that was hesitant to change, in others it might be their faith, or their hobbies, but in Francesco it was clear it was his homosexuality. If he could just clear this hurtle, he knew Francesco’s soul would be saved.

Francesco scrunched up his face. He didn’t hate gay people did he? Wasn’t he gay? Or bisexual? Weren’t his friends?

Suddenly memories of arguing with his family over his homosexuality with Donnie by his side, turned into Francesco arguing that Donnie was going to burn in Hell if he didn’t stop his decadent lifestyle. Moments where Francesco had been comforted by the church’s glacial changes to tolerating gay people, became bitter disgust and revulsion.

Francesco hated gay people. He even hated gay people like his cousin Donnie enough to cut off his supportive family members. So with Bianca in tow, they left the Papacy behind, and sought a church with a more agreeable worldview to their own.

“I hate faggots, Pastor. Their disgusting lifestyles are infecting society and making a mockery of Christianity. I am so grateful your church hasn’t abandoned all sense of morality,” Francesco said, not catching the tear of joy leaking out of the priest’s right eye.

“Of course, my son, of course. We look forward to seeing you and your Fiance next Sunday for services,” the pastor said, wiping away the tear as another bus appeared in the distance.

“Look forward to seeing you, Pastor. It’s a miracle to have met you out here like this,” Francesco said, smiling as the bus arrived. Pastor Nico then handed Francesco a canvas bag full of belongings he had left on the ground for some reason.

“Wouldn’t want you to forget your change of clothes when you talk to Bianca’s parents,” the pastor said, which Franceaco took with a nod of gratitude. Though how the priest knew was in his bag, was a mystery to him.

Later in the gym bathroom after work, Francesco Piazzi admired himself in the mirror. Dressed in a slim-fitting blue shirt and capris he knew of no better man capable of marrying Bianca.

What was her last name again? Flora? Fiore? Focaccia? It didn’t really matter, as long as she cooked and cleaned, bared his seed, and honored the Lord the right way he would be fine.