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[rokaimi-blog]

Aftermath of The Homo-Bomb - Jack

(Original story posted June 22nd 2023) This story has been Updated!

Read The Prologue first! More to come…

Since unleashing his experiment the night before, Wavell had been hard at work jumping from home to home across the town of Bellmare. Interviewing everyone that’d been touched by his magic and noting down their experiences. All of it helpful for his research.

Having just left the apartment of one of the men affected by the homo-bomb, Wavell closed his eyes and sensed the area. He was searching specifically for human life signatures that’d been doused with his lavender magic. Those were the ones that the homo-bomb had latched onto and effected. The closest one seemed to be just a couple doors down from where he was in the complex. He walked along the corridor until he reached the apartment where the signature was coming from. Room 204. According to the information he’d pulled out of the Landlord’s memories, the resident that lived here was an older man in his mid 40’s. Jack Rivers his name was.

The warlock gave a swift knock to the door, waiting a couple seconds before hearing the shuffling of movement coming from inside. There was a small ‘kerchunk’ sound as the lock came undone before the door opened a crack. “Who are you? What do you want?” A gruff voice asked from behind the door.

“Hello sir. My name is Christopher Wavell. I’m here gathering intel on the strange event that took place in this town. Myself and a few others are interviewing those affected so that we may be able to figure out what exactly caused all this.” Of course Wavell was bending the truth a little but it was more fun that way. “I was wondering if I could come in and have a chat with you if that’s alright...” He looked down at a notepad he was holding before looking back up to seem more authentic. “Jack is it?”

“Yeah that’s my name… But that only happened last night. How do you already know about it?” Jack questioned, just as most other people Wavell had visited had.

The door opened a little wider, revealing a middle aged and quite handsome man. He exuded a very raw and rugged masculine energy. He adorned a very thick and full beard that anyone would dream of running their hands through. The kind of manly beard a lot of men would be envious of. In exchange however he seemed to be completely bald underneath that cap he was wearing but if anything that only enhanced his masculine aura. Wavell tried not to get too engrossed in the man’s deep eyes as his gaze flickered downwards to the rest of his body.

Jack wore a white sleeveless undershirt that hugged his thick torso generously, accentuating the heft of pecs. A thick coating of body hair sweat from his knuckles all the way up his strong arms and across his rounded shoulders before tapering off towards his chest, stomach and back. An eyecatching tuft of chest hair making itself known above the neckline of his undershirt. But perhaps even more noticeable was the abundance of tattoos that covered each arm in a sleeve of inked artwork. The tattoos continued onto his chest and even his neck. No doubt there was more hidden beneath his clothes. Speaking of clothes, his legs were hugged by a tight pair of pants that did little to hide what he was packing down there along with a pair of thick white socks to cover his large feet. Wavell was already beginning to wonder if the man’s lower half was as furry as the top half.

All in all Jack certainly had an ex-jock dad type of build. Very strong and firm muscle being consistent across his body which showed dedication to either the gym or hard labour while also adorning a healthy layer of fat to pad it all out, likely due to not having any kind of diet plan. Long story short, he was a total dream from anyone who liked hot hairy daddies. Hell, Wavell himself was already considering grabbing the back of the man’s head and pulling him in for a rough kiss.

The warlock gave Jack a warm smile as his eyes glowed an almost hypnotic violet. His smile seemed so reassuring. So inviting. So trustworthy. A sudden wave of calm washed over Jack’s entire body, making him feel as though he could trust this stranger with his life for some reason he couldn’t comprehend.

“All that matters is that you tell me your story so we can figure this all out. Trust me. You’ll feel so much better after getting it all out. I’m very good at what I do.” Wavell said in the buttery smooth tone of his.

Jack didn’t hesitate after that. He opened the door wide and offered the suited stranger inside without a second thought. Wavell gave a polite nod as he stepped inside. After closing the door, Jack offered if he could grab him a drink for Wavell, offering beer from the fridge or a coffee. Wavell kindly accepted a coffee as he sat down in the living room. Jack was quickly able to whip up the hot beverage before bringing it to his guest. The burly man then turned and grabbed a couple beers for himself before sitting down on the couch opposite Wavell. The warlock couldn’t help but find it amusing to see this man who’d been so hesitant about him mere moments ago suddenly acting so friendly and accommodating.

Once they were both settled in, Wavell got right down to business. “Okay so I want to start by asking you to give me your full name, age and occupation.”

Jack took a quick swig of his beer. “Well my full name is Jack Ivory Rivers, I’m 43 years old and I’m a carpenter. I work at the little shop down the street. You might’ve seen it?” He explained, right to the point.

“I actually did. Nice place you’ve got over there.” Wavell replied as he jotted down a few notes before looking up again and continuing his questions. “Now tell me, how would you describe yourself as a person?”

The butch man leaned back slightly. “Well…” He began as he thought for a moment before continuing. “I suppose some might say I’m stoic and maybe a little detached? I keep to myself a lot but I try to be a fair and honest man to everyone I meet. I also take a lot of care and pride in the work I do. I like to make sure everything I make at my shop is to the highest standard it can be and that’s exactly what I promise everyone who wants to buy from me. That’s how I keep business I suppose. I like to think I’m reliable.”

“Yup, that’s perfect.” Wavell muttered, scribbling down a few more notes before glancing up again with a small smirk. “Now that the formalities are out of the way, time for the real questions.” His eyes glowed that same deep violet as before, causing Jack's eyes to briefly glow as well as he fell deeper into the arms of Mr Wavell's alluring aura. “First I want you to tell me what’s changed about you. I can tell you’ve been affected by the recent events somehow just by the way that you carry yourself. As if your very identity has been shaken somehow. What did that purple mist do to you Jack?”

Jack shuffled lightly in his seat, seeming a little uncomfortable with the idea of unveiling what'd happened to a total stranger… but he could trust Mr Wavell right? He just wants to help. He would never judge.

“Well… okay I guess I’ll start from the beginning.” Jack took a deep breath and another swig of his beer before casting his mind back to the previous night.

“I was working late at my shop. Being a carpenter is my life you know. It’s what I love and always have loved. So much so that I frequently stay overnight to continue my projects. I’ve been told before that my love for the craft is obsessive. Perhaps even unhealthy. Hell they’re probably right, it’s half the reason my marriage fell apart years ago. My now ex-wife thought I cared more about my work than I did her. But they just didn’t understand…” Jack took a large gulp of his beer, now halfway through the first bottle. “Mike though. He understood. So much so he spent almost as much time in the shop as I do.”

Wavell thought for a moment, scanning back through some of his notes from previous people he’d spoken to. “Mike huh? I don’t believe I’ve spoken to a ‘Mike’ who works in carpentry yet. Is he a work partner of yours? Your son perhaps?”

Jack chuckled a little. “No, he's my apprentice. I’ve been teaching him for a couple years now. He isn’t my son but at times I wished he was with the amount of passion he has. Always eager to learn more from me…” he trailed off in thought for a moment, a look in his eyes that signalled he was recalling a certain memory or feeling.

Wavell was quick to catch the look on Jack’s face. He waited a beat asking his follow-up question. “Can you describe Mike for me?” He said as he took a sip of his coffee, nodding a little in satisfaction after.

It was subtle but the warlock couldn’t help noticing the slight blush that crossed Jack’s expression when he heard that question. He tried to hide it by downing the rest of his first beer before letting out a small belch. “S’cuse me.” He pardoned. “Well uhhh… sure I guess I could.” Jack gulped slightly while leaning back a little in his chair. “I suppose he’s a fine looking young man. 25 years old so he’s still very much in his prime. Quite short brown hair and usually has some stubble. He has these deep green eyes that I couldn’t stop staring at after…” He stopped himself before having to slightly readjust how he was sitting again. “He has a uhmmm… very nice body. Clearly works out a lot outside of work. It definitely pays off. He has pretty large biceps like me and some great shoulders. He usually wears these tight t-shirts or tank tops that show off his pecs really well and…” as Jack continued to describe his youthful apprentice a thick growing outline began to make itself known in his pants, growing larger by the second. Jack tried to hide it by discreetly placing a hand on his crotch but it was still so obvious. “…He usually wears shorts that show off his very well built lower body, you know? They really uhhh… show off his assets. I suppose.”

“Wow. This Mike sounds like quite the stud doesn’t he?” Wavell couldn’t help teasing a little.

Jack didn’t reply to the comment but the telling look on his face was all the agreement Wavell needed. Instead he popped open his second beer and continued his story.

“Anyway. As I said, I stayed late last night. I told Mike he could head home but he said he’d rather keep working. I don’t usually fight with him on it when he wants to work late with me. I’d be a hypocrite if I did. Plus the amount of dedication he has reminds me so much of myself.” He drinks again as he prepares for the next part. “But then as the two of us were working, there was some kind of silent explosion outside. It’s hard to describe. There was this vibration but no sound. After that we looked out of the windows to see a massive cloud of purple smoke quickly making its way over the town.”

Wavell another took a sip of coffee. He’d already heard so many variations of this part from people that’d been awake when he threw the Homo-Bomb. “And what happened after that?”

The burly man hesitated for a second but once again the calming aura of the handsome silver haired man sitting before him gave him the encouragement he needed to continue. “Before we knew it the mist was seeping its way into the shop. Coming in from any entrance it could find. Under the doors, through any open windows. And once it was inside it felt as though it followed me and Mike wherever we went until we had nowhere left to go…” Jack took a large sip of his second beer. “I remember we were back to back when it surrounded us. It was like it was forcing itself into our lungs. Invading our bodies like it was alive. And it didn’t just enter through our mouths either. It felt as though it entered through every hole it could find on our bodies. Even my asshole! Part of me thought I was gonna die for a moment but… I didn’t. I just felt frozen in place for a good few minutes as I breathed in the mist until finally it dispersed.” Jack stopped. He knew what came after that but could he really share it?…

“And what did it do to you Jack?” Wavell pried. “You can tell me anything you know. So just tell me everything. In detail. I want to hear it Jack and I know you’re just dying to tell me as well.” Wavell’s words ironed themselves onto Jack’s subconscious, pressing so deep until they became his truth. He wanted to tell Wavell what happened next. He wanted to so badly!

“The first thing I did was turn around to see if Mike was okay but the moment I did I felt something I’d never felt before. Mike was… gorgeous. Everything about him was hot. The way his muscles pressed against his clothes. How young and handsome his face was. How he just had this masculine air about him despite being so youthful at the same time. God just looking at him made me feel so hot and horny. Hornier than I’ve felt in years!” By this point Jack wasn’t even using a hand to cover his crotch anymore but rather to rub his ever growing erection lovingly instead. “It didn’t make any sense to me. I’d been completely straight my whole life. I’d never even so much as looked at a guy sexually before last night. Hell, back in college they used to call me the pussy destroyer! Not just because of how many chicks I pulled but also for how most of them couldn’t handle how big my cock is… But now I can’t even get hard for women!” He shouted, spilling some beer down his shirt.

By this point Wavell was having to hide his own growing erection just hearing about Jack’s conversion. “So, if I may pry a little further, what happened between you and Mike after this event took place. Did you simply go home?”

Jack’s eyes darted away for a moment, hardly being able to look at the man sitting before him. “N-no. Not exactly.” Ordinary he wouldn’t have dreamed of divulging any further to anyone else, let alone a stranger. And yet… “The more I looked at him, the harder my dick got. I just couldn’t bring myself to look away either. And I could tell by the way he looked back at me and by the growing bulge in his shorts as well that he must’ve been feeling the same thing. It was like there was an invisible force pulling us together in so many ways. Before I knew it my face was inches away from his as we stared into each other's eyes. I could feel his hot breath against mine. Our bulges grazed one another. I even remember how my asshole started to twitch. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything more intimate. And then… we kissed.” Jack’s mind rushed back to that very memory, recounting it in great detail. Remembering how it felt to press his own bearded lips against Mike’s. Remembering just how good and right it felt in that moment. “I placed a hand on the back of his neck to pull him closer and as I did I remember feeling his hands run across my body. One rubbing along my back while the other grabbed at my chest…” The erection in his pants was painfully hard as he imagined himself back in that very moment.

“I don’t mind if you want to get your cock out and jerk a little Jack. Whatever will make you feel most comfortable and relaxed.” Wavell suggested devilishly.

Jack didn’t think twice about it. The moment Wavell made the suggestion he unzipped his pants and whipped his cock out. It bobbed heavily between his legs as he started jerking it while continuing his story. It was huge and thick. Probably one of the biggest Wavell had seen on a natural man. Hell it rivaled his own cock! 9 and a half girthy inches of pure masculinity.

“I have no idea how long we made out. I was just so drawn in by Mike and everything about him. Soon I started groping his body just like he was groping mine. Grabbing at his muscles, his ass and even his crotch. I never would’ve done something like that in a million years before now. Don’t get me wrong Mr Wavell, I have nothing against the gays. I have tons of friends that are gay… but I ain’t homo! And Mike isn’t either! He always used to tell me about the different girls he’d slept with. I swear neither of us are gay… or at least we weren’t.” Jack glanced down, watching his own cock as he slid a burly hand up and down the shaft to the memory of his apprentice. His brain refused to acknowledge how wrong it was to be jacking off in front of this stranger before taking another large gulp of beer followed by another deep belch that rumbled through him.

There was a slight pause as Jack gathered his thoughts, allowing Wavell a moment to drink some more coffee before picking his notepad back up. “Keep going Jack. This is good.”

“Well… next thing I knew we were taking off each other’s clothes until my hands were running up and down the contours of his back while he was cupping my ass. Cocks touching and everything. I told him how much I loved his young, muscular body and he told me how much of a hot daddy. Whispering in my ear about how much he adored how hairy and strong I was.” He blushed a little, more obviously this time, as he remembered to compliment. “We kept saying things like that back and forth between kissing and feeling each other up. And eventually I realised something. I wanted him. I wanted Mike so badly. And so I took his hand and guided him to the back room. I sometimes sleep there after pulling all nighters so there was a bed back there ready for us.” He was jerking off furiously now, his thick giant daddy cock just barely contained by his hand as it leaked precum like a broken faucet.

“And what did the two of you do in the back room Jack?”

The hairy man bit his lip slightly before continuing. “We uhh… we… we fucked.” He admitted, much to the warlock's delight. “M-my first instinct was to fuck him. To throw him on the couch-bed and slam my cock inside him. But before I even had a chance Mike spun me around, knelt down behind me, and shoved his face into my ass! He dug his tongue deep into and around my hole while telling me that he loved how hairy and juicy my ass was. Mmmhh god… Why did it feel so gooood?!” Jack grunted a little as he squirted a little cum prematurely at the memory. “After that he was the one tossing me on the couch-bed, face down so he could keep worshipping my ass. My hole just felt so needy. As if I’d been denying it the pleasure of having a cock thrust inside myself. And in that moment Mike was the only thing that could satisfy that craving…” He kept going, taking yet another swig of beer. “After that he began slowly kissing his way up my back until his lips reached my neck. As they did I felt his dick slide between my cheeks, practically rubbing against my hole. His dick isn’t as big as mine but it was big enough. Around 6 inches maybe?”

“Wow. You must’ve really enjoyed yourself last night to remember all these fascinating details.”

Once again Jack was too embarrassed to reply. Instead finishing off the rest of his second beer before tossing the bottle to the side so he could focus on his dick and the story. “At first I was a little worried. I’d never even considered putting anything up my ass before so the idea of having a dick shoved up there was pretty scary. But at the same time so damn hot! And so I just sorta ignored my worries and started begging Mike to fuck me. To shove that young cock of his inside my hairy dad ass… fuck.” He bit his lip as his mind replayed the scene in crystal clear detail.

“And did he?” Wavell pryed.

“Oh fuck yeah he did. He lubed himself up with some spit and the next thing I knew I could feel the tip of dick pushing inside me. I expected it to be extremely painful, or least pretty sore, but I felt nothing but pure pleasure. It was like my asshole just opened up to him, as if it’d been waiting for a dick to fill it all my life.” Jack hardly paid any mind to the sticky white stream flowing from the tip of his cock and coating his hand. “You know all my life I’d been the one dominating women in bed. But right then, I was the one having my face pushed down into the cushion below as another man slammed his cock inside me. A man I’d been teaching for years. A man who’s 18 years my junior dominating me in every sense. And I loved it. The feeling of his dick sliding in and out of my ass like it belonged. The feeling of his balls smacking against me. Even the way he told me how sexy I was as he destroyed my hole.”

By this point Wavell wasn’t even bothering to hide his own arousal anymore, having unzipped his pants and allowing his own fat cock to spring out. He gave it a light stroke between writing notes. “You know I wouldn’t have taken such a manly guy like yourself to be a submissive bottom Jack. Guess it just goes to show we shouldn’t judge by appearance.” Wavell added with a smirk. “Anyway, please continue”

“There isn’t whole lot left to say… he fucked my brains out and I loved every second of it. He kept saying I was his hot hairy daddy now and all I could do was moan and agree. I think he meant in a way like he owned me or something. He just kept fucking me and fucking me. Then at some point he got me to turn over and put my legs over his shoulders so we could look at each other as he destroyed my asshole.” Jack’s lowered tone of voice made it sound as if it were reciting a memory that was sweet and tender even if his actual words suggested nothing but rough, raw and primal.

“After that it wasn’t long before he let out a long deep grunt, the kind I’d never heard from him. Then I felt it. His load filled me up completely. I couldn’t believe I’d just had my ass bred for the first time.” Remembering the moment caused Jack’s ass the clench instinctively. “In that moment it was like a switch flipped in my mind and suddenly I was blowing a load all over myself. Some of it even shot up onto my face and in my beard.” Jack seemed as though he was trying his best not to blow another load right here and now as he described it. “After that we were both so exhausted that we ended up cuddling together and falling asleep at the shop. I only got home a couple hours before you arrived…”

Wavell scribbled down a few more notes before looking back up at Jack again. A satisfied look spread across the suited man’s face. “Well. That's quite the story you’ve got there Jack. I think it’s fair for me to assume that your sexuality seems to have been altered by the mist. But just to be sure, have you noticed anything else that’s changed since last night? Besides your new capacity for taking dick of course. Like any mental or physical alterations to yourself? Changes in your mood? Or even something as small as your eyes changing colour?”

The husky man stopped jerking for a moment to think. “Uhhh… I don’t think so? I still feel like myself… except I just can’t stop thinking about dick now.” His eyes then settled on Wavell’s exposed cock. Jack had never seen another cock anywhere near the same size as his own 9 and a half incher before. And yet here this silver fox of a man was. Packing a very similar level of heat that could only make Jack’s mouth salivate and his ass twitch.

“Well then I suppose it’s safe to say that you’re a common case Mr Rivers. The majority of formerly straight men like yourself have reported no longer feeling anything towards women and instead feeling elevated levels of sexual attraction for other men.” Wavell confirmed… except Jack didn’t seem to hear a word he’d said. Instead the hairy daddy could only focus on the giant cock between Wavell’s legs. He raised an eyebrow almost smugly. “Jack, if I may ask, are you attracted to me as well.”

Not being capable of lying to the warlock, Jack answered truthfully. “Y-yes.” He stammered, jerking himself again while staring at Wavell. “I’ve been trying to ignore it but since the moment I opened the door I’ve wanted to kiss you. And your cock it’s just so… fuuuck.”

Wavell’s expression turned playful. Without a word he beckoned Jack to come closer. The entranced man did so without a second thought, practically leaping out of his seat and standing at attention before Wavell with his cock as stiff as a steel rod. The warlock once again beckoned him to lean forwards, to get even closer. Jack complied until their faces were mere inches. Then, with a gentle smile, Wavell leant forwards a little and kissed the newly gay daddy. Wavell’s short, groomed beard colliding with Jack’s thick and slightly bushy one. This kiss must’ve lasted a good 20 to 30 seconds or so before Wavell pulled them apart.

“There. Wish granted.” He chuckled. “Now I do have one little thing I want to give you which might help with your new situation.” Seemingly out of thin air Wavell summoned a small pill. “This pill has the power to make some adjustments that you might find rather savoury. Buuut if you want it then you’ll have to give me a really good blowjob.” Wavell might’ve been a bit more classy when he was in this form but that didn’t stop him from being a perv from time to time. Who could blame him when his power left any man helpless in his presence.

Some might’ve taken a moment to think about the proposition Jack didn’t give a second of thought. He dropped to his knees before Wavell even had a chance to explain what the pill does and immediately wrapped his bearded lips around as much of Wavell’s giant cock as possible. As Jack had already found out, the magic had not only made him gay but also loosened his asshole and reduced his gag reflex to make him a better cock slut. Despite that Jack still found himself sputtering a little as he tried to take all of Wavell. All the while Wavell couldn’t help holding the other man’s head down, enjoying every second. Jack sucked him off vigorously, using his tongue, lips and hands perfectly to give as much pleasure as possible. It was almost hard to believe he used to be a straight man before all this. Now all he wanted was to suck dick and have his hairy ass bred with as much cum as could get stuffed up there. Wavell couldn’t help but notice how Jack arched his back slightly, showing off said hairy ass a little. No doubt hoping Wavell would fuck him. For a moment the warlock considered it. He knew Dane didn’t mind. But he decided to focus on his ‘interviews’ for now. Maybe he’d come back for a visit later down the line though…

After a while Jack seemed to adjust to Wavell’s cock and had no problem taking the entire length down his throat. He sucked it happily as if it were something he was always born to do. Being a hungry cock sucking daddy. The more he thought about it, the more passion he put into the blowjob. Servicing the dick before him like nothing else mattered. He’d tuned out from the world around him so much that he didn’t even register Wavell’s groans above until Jack felt a flood of thick cum pouring down his throat. The taste was nothing short of divine. He made sure to suck out every last drop before pulling off and falling onto his back. He used both hands to jack his cock furiously while savouring the taste of Wavell’s load until he busted his nut all over himself once again.

As Jack was blowing his load, Wavell had already tucked his dick away and zipped up his pants. “Welp, I suppose I owe you this.” He placed the pill on the small coffee table next to his empty cup. He waited a few moments for Jack to refocus before explaining. “It’s a magic pill I designed. It’s capable of swapping the cocks of two men. All you have to do is break it half, you take one half and the other guy you’re swapping with takes the other. After that his cock will turn into yours and vice versa. I suggest you bring it up to Mike the next time you see him. After all I’m sure you’re curious what it might feel like to have that monster dick of yours shoved up inside you.”

The small part of Jack’s brain that was still trying to remain rational didn’t want to believe what he was hearing and yet he couldn’t help taking Wavell’s word as fact. A pill that would allow him to swap dicks with Mike? He glanced down at the softening cock between his legs. It’d always been a huge source of pride for him knowing how giant it was. He knew most men weren’t anywhere near as big or girthy as he was. That part of him didn’t want to give it up… and yet just the thought of Mike swinging it between his legs instead sounded so hot. Teasing him about it. Maybe it was the right thing to do? After all he couldn’t see himself ever being a top again now he’d gotten such a strong taste for bottoming. Perhaps he didn’t deserve a cock this big if he wasn’t gonna use it properly?…

“I’ll leave you to think about it.” The suited man placed his hands on his knees before pushing himself up from the chair. He offered a hand to Jack before pulling the hairy man up off the floor, clothes still stained with cum. “For now I’ve got some more people to interview for my research. I hope things between you and Mike go well though. I'll be sure to check in.”

With that Wavell flipped his notepad shut and tucked his pen back into pocket. He thanked Jack for the coffee and this time before saying goodbyes. Jack blushed slightly as he turned and walked Wavell out.

Before long the warlock was stepping outside of the apartment once more as the door closed behind him with a soft click. He took a deep breath with a satisfied smile knowing he’d taken plenty of notes and had a lot of fun doing it. “Alright. Who’s next?” He muttered as he closed his eyes in search of his next interviewee.

[rokaimi-blog]

Bodybuilder Expo

"Another day, another dollar." You tell yourself as you pull into the construction site.

It's the same thing you tell yourself everyday before work. It usually reminds you why you need to do this, and motivates you enough to get through the day. Though it doesn't stop you longing for something more.

"At least the sun's coming out." You mumble as you pull off your toque and jacket.

You walk through the empty site searching for your foreman, but to no avail. All you find is a uniform sitting in the dirt, most likely left there from the day before. It's not uncommon for your foreman to be late, so you find a stack of skids to sit on and wait.

Your mind wanders for a brief moment of silence, before an unfamiliar voice breaks it.

"Hey man... Do you know where the beach is?"

His voice sounded slow but somewhat charming. You turn towards the voice and see the most ripped man you've ever seen. His arms and legs are thicker than your head and covered in veins. Every muscle in his body is bulging under his artificially tanned skin and glistening in the sun as he's wearing nothing but a speedo and sandals. You watch in awe as he walks towards you, the world seems to slow down. He places his hand on the skid and leans toward you, letting you see every detail of his perfectly toned body. You stare at his muscles, admiring the god in front of you.

"You okay man?" He asks, snapping you out of your trance.

"Ugh, yeah it's just around this building." You say, pointing behind you.

"Thanks buddy." He flashes a charming smile and slaps you on the shoulder.

Without shame, you stare at him as he walks away. But in a moment of clarity, you notice a pair of sunglasses sitting beside you. They must be his.

"You forgot your sunglasses!" You shout while waving the glasses in the air.

The man turns his head, barely letting you see the smirk on his face as he says, "Keep 'em." Before walking out of sight.

You feel bad for a moment, but that quickly goes away when you realize you just got a free pair of sunglasses. You quickly slip them on, happy to have some reprieve from the sun.

A wave of confidence flows through you as you imagine how hot you look with the glasses on. Your shoulders relax and you lean back, the sudden confidence making life seem a lot less stressful.

*CRACK!*

A loud noise echoes through your head, making you jump up. It was your jaw. You run your hand along your jaw, feeling the sharp edges of your much wider and squared out jaw. You even feel prickly hairs grow in, making your patchy facial hair into a well trimmed beard.

*Shwoomp*

You hear another noise as you explore your jaw. Your hands move upwards, feeling the weathered skin over your much more defined cheekbones. Your fingers run through wrinkles that were not there this morning as you feel your brow bone growing more prominent. You even notice that your nose has grown significantly.

What is happening?

Your mind struggles to process what has just happened, almost like a dense fog has flooded your brain. You slowly take off the sunglasses and turn them around, looking at the stranger in the reflection.

It takes you a moment to realize it's you. Somewhere under the wrinkled skin and sharp bone structure is still you. You tilt your head back and forth just to confirm.

Deep down, you know you should be scared but you can't be bothered enough to care. If anything, that sudden confidence is growing stronger the longer you look at yourself in the mirror. You're so distracted that you fail to notice the rest of your body changing.

The sunglasses begin to look smaller and smaller as your hands start to grow. Each finger thickens as your hands double in size. Then your forearms grow larger than your biceps, with defined muscles and veins covering the surface. Your biceps explode with muscle, easily ripping through your tiny sleeves as they grow as big as your head. Similar to your forearms, veins surface all along the mounds of muscle on your biceps.

Finally, you notice the changes in your arms. You put the sunglasses back and flex your biceps, letting out a chuckle as you admire yourself. As you do so, your shoulders broaden as your traps rise like a loaf of bread, making your arms look even larger.

The transformation spreads through the rest of your body like an infection, first to your chest. Your flabby pecs twitch as the muscles start to inflate. All the fat melts away, leaving two giant slabs of meat that create a shelf over your stomach. Speaking of your stomach, your small belly begins to grow. It surges outward into a thick muscle gut that tears right through your shirt before the fat melts away, leaving behind a perfect set of washboard abs.

You stumble forward, not used to your changing center of gravity. You grab on to some scaffolding, a fleeting reminder of your old life, a life that's currently fading away under hundreds of pounds of muscle. But the transformation is far from over.

Your jeans start to tighten around your expanding ass. First your belt snaps, then the button pops off. You lean forward, trying to relieve the growing pressure.

*RIIPPP*

Your jeans tear in half straight down your crack, letting them fall to the floor. You let out a moan as the pressure is released, noticing how deep your voice has become. But that only makes you more horny about your testosterone fueled body. Your hand drifts down your rock hard abs and towards your crotch. Pulling back your skin tight underwear, you warp your massive man hands around your dick. It feels small in comparison to your hands, but that doesn't last. With each stroke, your cock grows longer and thicker. 7 inches, 8, 9, 10 inches and as thick as a pop can. Your knees tremble as ropes and ropes of cum shoot onto the wall in front of you. Your legs nearly give out after the near thirty second orgasm, but they've grown much stronger in the meantime. Even your feet have grown at least 10 sizes, leaving your boots in pieces.

As the transformation comes to an end, you start to compose yourself. You stand up straight, reaching a hulking 6"5, and puff your chest out, letting your fake tanned skin glisten in the sun.

As you're basking in the sun, a vehicle comes around the corner. A familiar looking man with a thick gut hops out of the truck and walks toward you. All you think about is how pathetic it is for a man to let himself go like that. But as he approaches, you take off your sunglasses and put on a fake smile.

"Sir, you're on a private construction site. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." He says in an angry tone.

"Sorry, I just got turned around. Do you know where the beach is?" You ask.

"Ya, it's just around the building." He scoffs.

"Thanks buddy." You flash a charming smile and slap the side of his gut, leaving the sunglasses on his belt.

You turn and walk towards the beach, giving a perfect view of your ass to the construction worker.

"Hey! You forgot your sunglasses!" The man yells as he realizes you left them behind.

You turn your head with a smirk and say, "Keep 'em." Before walking around the building.

It's not a long walk until you get to the beach. There's loud music and sweaty guys all over the place, just your kind of scene. You absent mindedly walk behind some sort of stage where a man whistles you over.

"You're late! Where were you?" Your agent yells as you approach him.

"Just got a bit lost." You say trying not to laugh.

"I don't want to hear excuses, you're on in one." He panics.

He grabs a razor and trims your beard, then slathers gel in your hair.

"What is this underwear!?" He says looking at your skin tight boxers. "Nevermind it doesn't matter, go!" He pushes you towards a set of curtains. Opening them reveals a whole crowd of men just like you on the beach. Your face lights up when you realize they're cheering for you. And as if it was instinct for you, you start to put on a show.

[rokaimi-blog]

Twink Turnabout

In desperate need of release, dom daddy Rob hits up the nearest twink he can find on Grindr. Arriving at Mattie's though, the king of the gym and femmest of bottoms find their identities realign as they grind a mile in the other's shoes.

Been a minute since I did a steamy one! Here's a muscle theft/role swap, Twink -> Dom and vice versa, hope you enjoy! -Occam

It had been a long day at work for Rob. Going hard at the gym only riled him up more. Thank GOD there’s always twinks down to fuck clicking on his faceless Grindr profile. Checking his pump and changing into a slightly less sweat stained tank, Rob leaves without showering to an uptown address sent by some easy to please bottom. 

There’s little on his mind besides lust as he walks down the city streets, while one bitch in the hand is worth two in the bush, he can’t help but try and cruise on the way. Never know when an even easier fuck’ll present itself, not like he owes anything to this ‘Mattie.’ Rob’s sure the hole’ll find someone else to fill it before the sun rises. Though, smirking, Rob knows no one who’ll be nearly as good a lay as himself.

Today the streets are quiet. Rob returning to Plan A of getting his much needed release, arrives and waits to be buzzed up to the twink’s third floor studio. Opting for the stairs to work up a little more musk, bitches love that, he sprints up in short order and aggressively knocks on Mattie’s door. Impatiently waiting before knocking even more, he takes a few moments to actually look deeper at the twink’s own profile.

Eyes grow wide at what a prize he seems to have caught, assuming he’s not being catfished. Fuck- man’s so fem he might as well be a chick. The trade’s cock throbs against his gym shorts as he bites his lip to distract from his overwhelming lust. Bitch can’t look this good in person, he tells himself. No way. Shifting in place he makes sure his bulge is obvious to make sure that when the door’s answered that Mattie will have no choice but to notice.

Groaning in impatience as his cock only grows harder, the hot headed stud slams his fist into the door even harder. After a second round of this the door opens and Mattie is revealed to be just as, if not more, alluring than his profile suggests. Seeing his pouty lips and an almost translucent nightgown hanging off his thin figure, Rob has to hold back from tackling him at the threshold. 

Looking him up and down with a hunger few can understand, Rob pushes it down and greets him as he would literally anyone else, with a nod and intensive lowering of his already deep voice, he offers a “Sup.” Rob tells himself the blush painted on the twink’s face is from seeing him rather than the makeup it clearly is.

Mattie’s focussed eyes glitter with something Rob doesn’t even try to understand, the words that spill from his mouth are all that matters, “Come on in daddy~” Stomach turning from how much he needs this twink bouncing on his cock, he has no choice but to oblige. 

Following in his footsteps for but a moment, as soon as he closes the door behind them Rob rushes to grab the fae Mattie. Thick sweaty arms wrapped around his impossibly thin shoulders and a dripping bulge pressed firmly into the twink’s back, Rob has no idea in his mind but to get this done quick and dirty. His plans are promptly shot as Mattie turns in his arms and puts a finger to the brute’s lips. 

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves Rob. Wouldn’t want you to have me at anything but my best~” Directing the dom to sit on his bed and wait while he finishes preparing, Mattie delights as the horny animal groans in impatience. Hearing the man constantly shift from discomfort on the bed, Mattie taunts him as he disrobes and takes in his reflection.

Thin fingers trailing down his pale neck as he allows his ephemeral robe flitter to the floor, Mattie’s sharp eyes drift from appreciating his own porcelain face and perfumed locks to staring at Rob squirming on the bed. “So, DomRob2, I take it as soon as you bust a load in my ass you’re back out the door?” 

Almost drooling as much from his mouth as his cock is dripping pre, the top rolls his eyes. Ugh. He can never just pump and dump these days. These fucking twinks ride his ass, they’re just as bad as chicks. For half a second Rob considers his response before realizing he doesn’t care enough to get in the bitch’s head. Mattie seems like he wants foreplay, being honest’ll probably seem like playing along.

Scratching his pubes through his stained athletic shorts he shrugs, “Yeah, that was the plan.” Finally Mattie turns from basking in his reflection, coyly smiling with a dark look in his eyes that Rob simply assigns to hunger. Finally. Small bulge revealed in tight, white briefs the twink saunters over to join Rob on his bed. 

Gently resting his arms on Rob’s back as the top almost vibrates with need, Mattie leans in close. Gently biting his ear, the twink whispers, ethereal, “All I needed to hear.” Rob’s rough hands find the man’s impossibly thin waist as he begins to grind against the jock’s crotch. Thick fingers race down to free his throbbing cop but Mattie reaches down to keep the hands focused on himself, forcing them to cup his thick ass.

Mattie’s wet lips swiftly shift to Rob’s mouth, scratching his cheek against the man’s beard as he does so. Rob’s own mouth twitches as the twink moves to begin making out. Ugh, he hates kissing his lays, just needless distraction from what really matters. His cock. Nevertheless, when Mattie’s pillowy lips find their way to his own, Rob is immediately beside himself in delight at how much he loses himself in Mattie’s mouth as his deep moans echo in the bedroom.

Fingers tracing against Rob’s muscular back as he pulls off the trade’s top, stuck to him with sweat, Mattie continues grinding against the man’s leaking crotch. Ever possessed with his pleasure alone, Rob doesn’t notice or care as Mattie performs his work in silence, completely buried by selfish lust and his own loud, needy grunts and groans.

Aggressively forcing his tongue into Mattie’s mouth as his thick hands creep into Mattie’s tight briefs, as soon as he feels the smooth ass directly, Rob opens his eyes to find Mattie staring directly at him. Pulling back in shock his moans immmediately stop as he grunts out a “what the fuck?” before his hips flex and he loses control. Mattie pushes him back onto the bed as the dom whines and thrusts into his shorts. All the while Mattie continues to grind into him with a grin.

Rob’s voice cracks as Mattie lies down over top of him, aiming to cover the burly man like a blanket with his own smooth body, feeling his cock twitch between two layers of fabric through two layers of fabric. He interrupts Rob before his cracking voice can form words, “Girlll- Thought you were an alpha not a one-pump chump?” Mattie’s taunts can barely be heard by the man as his mouth falls open as he cums loosely into his shorts. Mattie sits up and grins as the real show is soon to start. 

Struck woozy from just how powerful his release is, Rob struggles to sit up. Groaning, his arms feel weak as he pushes up off the bed. Must’ve gone harder than he thought at the gym? It’s not just that though, it’s like he’s completely drained? His legs under Mattie feel similarly tired despite the total lack of effort involved in his brief session with Mattie. Or no, it’s like, Mattie suddenly feels heavier?

Sitting up his arms almost reflexively go to hug the man sitting on his lap before he grimaces. Ugh, what’s gotten into him? This bitch’s mind games got him feelin’ all types of ways. Ignoring the fact that he wanted to embrace, he tells himself he’s gotta get out of here before the twink catches feelings. And then, Mattie pointedy rests on Rob’s crotch once more. And despite cumming seconds ago, Rob’s eyes cross from how pleasurable it is, his cock still rock hard.

Jaw clenched to avoid losing control again, immediately. He pushes down pleasure and turns his attention to Mattie and his blood runs cold. No wonder he feels heavier, he is. Rob gasps as he sees the man smirking as he scratches at his no longer rail thin chest. Briefly biting his tongue, he winks before taunting Rob, “Something the matter Daddy?” The man sneers before leaning in close to rub his whole form against Rob’s bare torso.

Rob feels delirious as his body reflexively moves underneath the force of Mattie’s assault. Eyes focused on the twink’s face he sees the dyed hair revert to its natural color before restyling itself into something far less fem. He feels the scratch of stubble against his cheek as Mattie rubs his face against his, tongue tickling his beard as he can’t help but grind into the twink. 

Weariness still plagues him as Mattie continues to pressure him further, his voice clearly lower as he continues to taunt the man, “Oh what? Too manly to fuck someone who’s not hairless? Or is all that gerar you’re taking making it hard to get it up? Fat lotta good it’s doing haha!” Rob feels the man’s lower torso begin to prickle with hair, tangling with his own thick sweaty treasure trail. Rob grunts out a denial as he tries to fight back against his lust as his cock only grows needier, precum coursing down its length.

Something’s wrong. Every inch of his exposed skin feels more sensitive than it ever has before. He struggles to push Mattie off of himself. Struggling to think against pangs of pleasure, he throws his all into flipping over and straddling Mattie. He should be stronger than this. His arms burn with effort. Panting, he hears his gasping breaths and cries out as his dick is caught at an uncomfortable angle. 

Stumbling back, away from the man whose touch must be doing this, Rob feels his shorts begin to fall, the elastic waistband somehow sliding off his waist. Stumbling off the bed he turns to see his reflection and almost falls over in shock. He sees a man that is not himself. His hands fly to the chest that he has spent years defining, the same fucking pecs that got this bitch to swipe right on him to begin with, he feels them give under his fingers as they continue to atrophy.

Moving upward across the shrinking peaks of his powerful chest, ignoring his thinning shoulders, his hands instead clutch at his jaw. His fingers feel his beard give way to smooth skin as the beard he has used to project what a man he is since he has been first able to grow one begins to turn patchy and thin. Crying out to Mattie, his voice cracks even higher as he struggles to access the rage that has always been second nature, “whAT are you doing to me!? You- you? Fucking-” 

Tears welling up in his eyes, he doesn’t finish the sentence as Mattie rises from the bed, now standing well taller than he was when he answered the door. Rob clearly remembers being a full foot taller, and yet as he turns to see the lanky twink-no-more standing to his new height they make direct eye contact. Dripping with sweat and fear Rob backs away as his cock continues to throb with need that only grows as he sees what a man Mattie is becoming.

Rolling his eyes Mattie makes it clear the changes are not skin deep as his tone shifts deeper and darker, “Don’t know what you’re on about babe? Actin’ all emotional n’ shit.” Rob tries not to stare at the fingers scratching at pits now laden with a forest of hair. Mattie stretches as he begins to saunter over, a world away from the sashay he did on the way to straddle Rob earlier.

Doing a double bicep pose Mattie smirks as his itchy stubble fills into a full chin beard. Rob shivers and gasps as he backs away and stares at the twunk’s newly bulging biceps. At the same time he begins to feel his own arms atrophy, shrinking into two thin sticks that haven’t a chance in hell to push off the growing man now approaching him.

With each step closer, Matt continues to loom higher over him. The sneer on his face only grows cockier as he paws at his growing crotch. Robbie feels an emptiness within him as his still hard dick suddenly can’t keep his shorts up anymore, when they fall he is revealed to no longer be commando though, instead wearing a patterned jock that frames his perfect ass, the only part of his form that seems to have not lost mass.

“Matthew, please can you just give me a sec? I think something isth seriously wrong!” Hearing Robbie’s voice tinged with a new lisp, Matt groans as his little bitch refers to him as anything but Matt. Stuffing his hand into his tight shorts to readjust. Smirking as he feels his hand quickly coated before as his shorts begin to tear from his bulking thighs and bulging cock, Matt allows Robbie the few seconds demand of him. 

Even as he whinily begs for a break however, Robbie wonders why he even needs one. Mouth watering, almost drooling as he takes in the sight of the new Matt, his eyes keep flickering down to the softball sized bulge in his pants. Robbie wonders why he’d want anything but to feel that cock in his ass.

His waifish fingers feeling his thin waist and hairless chest, Robbie chews on his thicker lips as he rapidly begins to forget being anything but Matt’s cock-hungry slut. Leaning against the cold mirror behind himself, Robbie feels himself change into his final form, turning to present his ass; he sees his reflection as he becomes the exact type of twink he once hated. Barely enough muscle to ambulate, only the hint of a mustache on his face and a single hair on his chest. His pale, smooth face burns with blush as he sees Matt’s reflected sneer, hungry. Behind him, inching closer like a predator to prey, his top grows larger. Legs lengthening as feet push wider. His paltry facial hair hangs lower as it grows into a thick beard that even at his most masc Rob could never pull off. Pecs pushing out as they grow a garden of curls. The idea that his hair was ever some highly styled dyed coif is laughable as it pulls into a shorn caesar cut. 

Finally reaching the twink presenting himself in the bathroom, Matt leans over him and whispers into his ear in a voice so deep it sounds like a growl, “God you’re fucking desperate aren’t you?” Robbie only moans in response, so needy it's a wonder if he’s even able to think. Matt’s underwear tears off completely as his cock grows too large to ever be contained and the pair begin the first fuck in their new forms, of their new lives

Sweaty handprints are left in the steamed mirror as with each thrust the pair are more cemented into who they are, who they must always have been. Feeling Matt’s thick pubes against his bouncing ass, Robbie can’t imagine wanting anything else in the world as it almost seems to feel better with each bounce. 

Manhandling his twink as if he were a doll, there is a part of Matt that knows he did this somehow. Forced this hungry twink to know his place, to become his perfect little bitch. Feeling him fulfill his needs better than any of his toys ever could he figures he might as well keep this one around, seems good for this if nothing else. Taking time to admire his thick new arms and heavy pecs in between thrusts, Matt finally cums and becomes the dom top that Rob wished he was. 

The pair awaken some time later in the bed, something in the back of Matt’s head swears this is his apartment but looking around at the gay decor he can’t imagine that’s the case. Turning to look at the still sleeping Robbie with a beauty mask on his face he scratches his pube and laughs at his ignorance, duh- he lets his bitch decorate, anything to appease the princess. Less work for him that way.

Heading out to start his day, early as it always is, he throws on a hoodie and shorts that fail to hide his massive bulge and starts his jog before the sun can rise. Before he even makes it a block his phone rings with the telltale sound of a Grindr notification. Cock conditioned as well as pavlolv’s dogs, his cock begins to rise. 

Knowing his bitch won’t mind as long as he saves some for him after he gets his beauty sleep, Matt sends a quick selfie and amends his route to head over to the address sent. When he finally returns home, Robbie’s just about done with his morning beauty routine and demands all the deets. 

Before he even gets to the fun part of his retelling, both of the men are already raring to go for another round. And so they go on, dicks at a hair trigger no matter the time of day. Whatever turnabout that occured between them clearly heightened their libidos more than perhaps sustainable. Though neither seems to mind.

In his new form, with his new needs, Robbie finds more fulfillment than he ever did as the twink seeking top he once was. Hearing tell of his alpha’s exploits only make him needier for his cock. On the other hand, from the start Matt was always looking to put people in their place. Now that he stands tall and catches the eye of every bottom, top and vers the new brute is more than happy to share his new self. All in all, the two could ask for no better lives than what they have found after swapping everything that made them, them.

[rokaimi-blog]

Cheat Meal

Thanks @aigains for the photos and inspiration

Ryan kicked open the door to his apartment, still toweling sweat from his dirty blond hair. It was the usual post-gym ritual—protein shake in one hand, Nike hoodie clinging to his sculpted, sweaty chest. His abs peeked through the open front of his hoodie, the kind of body that made people turn heads at frat parties or beach trips. He wasn’t cocky about it—well, maybe just a little—but he worked hard to stay this cut. Track team in high school, gym almost daily, and a clean diet—except tonight. Tonight, he wanted a cheat meal.

He ordered pizza on impulse. Something greasy. Something he could devour while binging whatever dumb action flick Netflix shoved at him. He almost forgot about it until the doorbell rang.

When he opened the door, the guy standing there wasn’t the bored, acne-pocked delivery dude he expected. This guy—Tommy—was hot. Like, “should be modeling for a leather jacket brand” hot. Brown hair in a lazy side part, some scruff on his chin that looked sculpted, not accidental. He had a sharp jaw, sly brown eyes, and a confident smirk that made Ryan pause mid-step. Tommy handed over the pizza with one hand and sized Ryan up with the other. There was no subtlety in his gaze—it slid up Ryan’s hoodie, lingered at the line where abs dipped into basketball shorts.

“You look like you earned this, man,” Tommy said, voice smooth like warm syrup. “Been working out?”

Ryan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… yeah. Just got back from the gym actually.”

Tommy stepped a little closer—barely noticeable, but enough to tighten the air between them. “Bet you need to refuel. Cheat night?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Just felt like pigging out a little.”

Tommy’s smile deepened like he knew something Ryan didn’t. “Good. You’ll like this one. It’s... special.”

Ryan blinked. “Special?”

Tommy shrugged and turned, leaving a faint musky scent in his wake—woodsy, rich, with a hint of sweat. “Call it a house recipe,” he said, walking off into the night.

Ryan was weirdly unsettled—but also a little flushed. Something about Tommy had clicked something deep inside his chest. Or maybe lower.

He opened the box, and the scent hit him like a punch: garlic, cheese, meat, oil. It was almost too much—but he dug in, moaning softly at how good it was. Way better than any pizza he’d had on campus. That night he ate the entire thing without thinking. The last slice left a slick smear of grease on his fingers he licked off slowly while watching a mindless action scene.

The next day, he felt fine. Maybe a little... slower? He skipped his morning run. Just didn’t feel like it. The pizza had been heavy, and his stomach felt bloated in a way that was weirdly satisfying. He tugged at his hoodie—it fit a little snug in the chest? Probably the laundry.

That night, he ordered again. From the same place. Same delivery guy.

“Back already?” Tommy said with a teasing smirk, holding the box like it was a gift. He wore a tight black T-shirt this time, and Ryan noticed the shape of his chest under it—broad, a little soft, with a noticeable shelf. He looked strong but comfortable in his size.

“You put crack in these or something?” Ryan joked.

“Only the good stuff,” Tommy said, brushing a finger against the edge of Ryan’s palm as he handed over the box. “I added something extra tonight. You’ll love it.”

Ryan barely remembered closing the door before diving into the pizza. It was even greasier this time. Strings of cheese clung to his chin. His fingers were soaked in oil. He didn’t care. His stomach bulged slightly by the time he finished, and he sat back with a dumb grin, rubbing the dome of his belly through his hoodie.

That night he passed out on the couch, shirt halfway up his abs.

———

Over the next week, Ryan’s cravings became impossible to ignore. He wasn’t even waiting until dinner—he’d order a pizza mid-afternoon, and Tommy was always the one to deliver it.

“You’re glowing,” Tommy said once, leaning against the doorframe as Ryan stood shirtless, sweat beading on his chest from the heat.

“Yeah?” Ryan asked, rubbing a hand over his chest. His pecs felt… puffier? “Guess I’ve been bulking up.”

Tommy smirked. “You sure are. I like it.”

Ryan flushed. He had no idea why Tommy’s compliments were getting under his skin. He wasn’t into dudes. He was sure of that. And yet when Tommy’s hand brushed his as he handed over the box, Ryan held the contact a beat too long.

That night, he didn’t wait. He sat on the floor, box open in front of him, his fingers and chin slick with grease. He ate like a beast. Tommy had left a handwritten note inside the box: “Keep growing for me ;)”

By the second week, his routine had changed. No more runs. Gym skipped “just this once.” Hoodies felt tighter. Shorts dug into his waist. He started noticing how winded he got walking across campus. His breath would catch after stairs. At first he tried to hide it, but the wheezing was real.

His track buddy Mason clapped him on the back one day. “Yo, Ry. What’s going on, man? Haven’t seen you at the gym. And, uh…” Mason motioned vaguely to Ryan’s middle.

Ryan looked down. His tee—an old Under Armour one—was clinging to a subtle curve of a belly now. The abs were mostly gone, replaced by a slight softness that bunched when he sat. His thighs looked thicker too, like his muscles were starting to blur with fat.

“Bulking season,” Ryan lied.

Mason laughed. “Looks more like hibernation season, bro.”

Ryan laughed with him, but it stung.

He shaved less. It started as laziness. Then the stubble grew longer, thicker. One morning he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—shirtless, with a soft, light dirty blond mustache beginning to form over his lip. His cheeks had dark fuzz. And his chest hair was spreading—wispy but growing darker, denser.

He considered shaving it. But something stopped him.

Tommy noticed too. The next delivery came with a raised eyebrow and a low whistle. “Damn, you’re starting to look... real good. Real manly.”

Ryan looked down at himself. He wore boxers and a too-small tank top, his gut poking out slightly. Grease was already staining his fingers from the slice he’d half-finished before even greeting Tommy.

“You think?” he said, shy.

Tommy didn’t answer. He stepped forward, gently reaching up to rub a smear of cheese from Ryan’s cheek. His thumb lingered there. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

“Let me feed you,” he said softly.

Ryan blinked. “Wait, wha—”

Tommy took the slice from his hand, brought it up to Ryan’s lips, and fed it to him. Slowly. Grease ran down Ryan’s chin. He opened his mouth, chewing, flushed, his breath heavy. When Tommy leaned forward, their mouths inches apart, Ryan didn't back away.

Their lips met. Softly at first. Then hungrily.

Pizza grease smeared between them as they kissed—Ryan’s first kiss with a man—and something inside him broke open. He moaned softly into Tommy’s mouth as the delivery guy’s hands found the growing swell of his belly.

“You’re getting perfect,” Tommy whispered against his lips. “Keep eating for me, Ryan. Don’t stop.”

It had only been a few weeks since Ryan first noticed the softness around his stomach, but now his abs were completely buried under a thickening layer of fat. He still wore the same tank tops, though they clung tighter and rode up more, exposing the subtle curve of his gut and the first hints of a happy trail that hadn’t been there before. The same trail that now had dark blond hairs snaking higher each day—coarser, thicker, spreading outward across his stomach like ivy.

Ryan tried to ignore it. Maybe it was bulking season. Yeah. He’d just do a cut soon, he told himself. But even he didn’t believe that anymore—not when he couldn’t stop thinking about pizza. Or, more specifically, Tommy.

That delivery guy kept showing up at his door like clockwork, somehow always on shift when Ryan placed his orders. The guy never wore a full uniform—just joggers or jeans, a tight tee or sometimes no shirt at all. Every time he came over, he smelled like cologne and fresh dough. And every time, he brought something extra: an extra garlic crust, a tub of dipping sauce, a double-thick milkshake, “forgotten” breadsticks. Ryan didn’t ask for them, but Tommy just winked and said it was a “loyalty reward.”

The worst part? Ryan kept accepting it all.

One night, Ryan opened the door in only his boxers—too lazy to throw anything else on. His belly had definitely softened. A faint crease had formed under it when he slouched, and his thighs brushed slightly as he shifted from foot to foot.

“Damn, Ryan,” Tommy murmured, eyeing him up and down. “You’re looking real good these days. Comfortable.”

Ryan blushed. “Dude, you say that every time.”

“’Cause it’s true,” Tommy said with a smirk, stepping inside without being asked. “And you’re only getting hotter.”

Ryan didn’t reply. He was too distracted by the smell of the pepperoni and the way Tommy’s arms bulged through his sleeves. Tommy watched him the whole time he opened the box, those dark eyes glittering.

“You want a slice?” Ryan asked, grabbing one. He paused halfway to his mouth.

Tommy plucked it from his fingers. “Let me.”

He fed it to Ryan slowly, watching grease pool in the corner of his lips before wiping it with his thumb and licking it off. Ryan shivered. His cock stirred in his boxers, but he didn’t say a word. He just chewed, slowly, shamefully aroused.

“Grease looks good on you,” Tommy whispered.

Ryan was still chewing on that moment—both figuratively and literally—a few days later when he dragged himself to the gym for the first time in a week. He barely lasted ten minutes on the treadmill before his breathing got ragged. His shirt stuck to his sides in wet patches. And when he caught sight of himself in the wall mirror, he didn’t see the athlete he used to be.

He saw a sweaty, bloated dude with a plush belly and a thickening line of chest hair peeking through his stretched neckline.

He went home early. And he ordered another pizza.

By mid-month, people were starting to talk.

“Bro, are you okay?” asked Connor, one of the tight ends from the football team. They’d caught Ryan halfway through devouring an entire box of cheesy breadsticks on the quad lawn. “You used to be all about meal prep and macros. What happened?”

Ryan blinked at him, cheese still stuck to his lip. “Dunno. Just chillin’. Feels good, y’know?”

Connor laughed nervously. “Yeah, but, like... you’ve kinda let yourself go, man.”

Ryan just shrugged, unbothered. He stretched back and let his hand rest casually on his belly, which now pushed his hoodie out in a subtle arc. He was still in denial, but he couldn’t pretend anymore that this was just “bulking.” His face had rounded out, his jawline fuzzier than usual—not just from the extra padding, but from the dirty blond mustache that had started growing over his upper lip. He hadn’t bothered shaving it off. Tommy had said it looked “scruffy in the best way.”

The first time they kissed, Ryan had already outgrown his favorite jeans.

He’d been lying on the couch, belly exposed under a too-small tee, groaning from the amount of food he’d just eaten. Tommy sat beside him, watching with a lazy grin and running his fingers through Ryan’s now noticeably hairy thighs. The contact made Ryan twitch—and not from discomfort.

“Look at you,” Tommy purred. “You were so tense the first time we met. Now you’re soft. Warm. Heavy.”

Ryan didn’t respond. He just looked at Tommy with a strange mix of guilt and hunger.

Tommy leaned in, slow, deliberate, until their noses almost touched. “You know you want it.”

Then he kissed him. Deep. Greasy. Hot.

Ryan moaned into it, letting Tommy’s hands slide over his belly, under his shirt, thumbs brushing his newly grown treasure trail.

By the time finals rolled around, Ryan had practically dropped his gym schedule altogether.

He spent most of his time sprawled on his bed, shirtless, snacking between naps and study breaks. His legs had thickened, covered in wiry blond hair. His armpits were rank by noon most days, and he’d stopped caring. His cheeks looked fuller, his mustache was connecting to a beard now, and there was a dark shadow of hair down his chest that made even him pause in the mirror sometimes.

He started wearing sweats more often, not just because they were comfy—but because his old jeans simply didn’t fit anymore.

“Dude,” said Nate, another teammate, during a library group session. “Is that a beard?”

Ryan scratched his cheek lazily. “Kinda. Dunno. It just started growing.”

“You’ve been different lately,” Nate added, eyeing Ryan’s belly bulge under his oversized hoodie. “Tommy got you under a spell or something?”

Ryan chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

That night, Tommy showed up with two boxes of pizza instead of one.

“You need more fuel,” he said with a grin.

Ryan didn’t even protest. He just opened his mouth for the first slice, juice and oil dripping down his scruff as Tommy pushed it in. He burped afterward, lazily licking his fingers.

“You’re my favorite customer,” Tommy said, eyes gleaming. “So soft. So sexy.”

Ryan leaned back, groaning, full and happy and just a little drunk on whatever spell Tommy was weaving.

His gut pushed high, round and proud, the new fuzz spreading around it like a halo. His beard caught some cheese. Tommy licked it off.

They made out again. Longer this time. Dirtier.

And Ryan knew—deep down—he wasn’t going back.

[rokaimi-blog]

Ryan and Connor

It hadn’t always been like this.

Ryan used to be the one turning heads. Just two years ago, he looked a lot like Connor—tight waist, broad shoulders, gym-cut arms always filling out his sleeves just enough to get noticed. He and Connor had even met in the campus gym, spotting each other on the bench, exchanging those subtle nods and sweaty grins that jocks did when sizing each other up.

Back then, Ryan was on a meal plan, protein shakes, Greek yogurt, grilled chicken. He tracked macros religiously. His dorm had practically been a temple to lean mass and low body fat. But life had a funny way of derailing things.

It started small—just a semester off the gym due to a shoulder injury. Then a breakup that hit him harder than he admitted. One late night turned into two. Post-class beers turned into six-packs. The chicken got replaced with drive-thru, the protein shakes with milkshakes. His shirts got tighter, then stayed in drawers. The beard came in thick, and shaving just felt like too much of a chore.

By the time graduation came around, Ryan had ballooned past recognition. His abs were long gone, buried under a heavy, round belly that sloshed when he moved. His thighs rubbed together when he walked. His back was always damp with sweat. And the smell? Let’s just say deodorant wasn't part of the new routine. He'd embraced it. Gotten comfortable.

But Connor hadn't changed. If anything, he’d doubled down. He was up early every morning, off to the gym with that stupid stainless steel water bottle and sleeveless hoodie. Still lean. Still fresh-faced. Still that slightly cocky, clean-cut golden boy who turned heads just walking down the street.

Ryan hated how much he still wanted him.

They’d moved in together after college to split rent in the city. A two-bedroom apartment, modest but clean, with a decent kitchen and a shared bathroom. Ryan took the bigger room—he needed more space. And every day, he watched Connor glide through life effortlessly, brushing his perfect teeth in front of the mirror while Ryan’s belly jiggled as he scratched at his armpits and yawned through his morning stink.

Connor never judged. Never mocked. He just was—all sleek and athletic, like a permanent reminder of what Ryan used to be. Or worse—what he wanted.

At first, Ryan kept things to himself. He’d peek through doorways when Connor was shirtless, catch a glimpse of that faint Adonis belt. The smooth V of his hips. His hairless, taut chest rising and falling as he slept. It wasn’t fair. Guys like Ryan weren’t supposed to want guys like Connor. But he did. Badly.

And then came the feeding attempts.

The Food Strategy Ryan started small. Cooking a bit more, offering second helpings. “You’ve been working hard, man. You should eat more,” he’d say, sliding another greasy grilled cheese across the table.

Connor would raise an eyebrow but eat it. He was polite like that. Ryan upped the portions. Bacon for breakfast. Burgers for dinner. Pizza for midnight snacks. He always made enough for two, always made sure the food was rich, oily, heavy.

Connor ate. He was too nice not to. But it never stuck.

Ryan watched, annoyed, as Connor's body refused to change. He stayed lean. Shredded. You could see the veins in his forearms, even after half a pizza. He didn’t even seem to bloat. He just burned through it all like a furnace. Must’ve been all the workouts—those endless 6 a.m. runs, the late-night ab sessions, the way he still took the stairs to their fifth-floor apartment without breaking a sweat.

Ryan, meanwhile, was winded from rolling off the couch.

He got desperate. Tried adding heavy cream to sauces. Started using lard in the scrambled eggs. Bought weight-gainer powder and hid it in protein shakes. Connor didn’t notice—he was used to chugging them.

But still, nothing.

Ryan started muttering to himself. “Why won’t it stick?”

He began watching Connor more closely. His daily rituals. The way he moisturized his skin. How his towel always hung neatly over the rack. The lemon-scented soap. The whitening toothpaste. The order of it all.

Ryan looked at his own routine—if you could call it that. He hadn't trimmed his beard in months. His gut was always sweaty. His sheets smelled like man-musk. His room reeked of old food and body spray. He was the opposite of Connor now. And maybe that was the problem.

He couldn’t make Connor love him by feeding him.

He had to make Connor become him.

The Plan Ryan’s turning point came one night while scrolling through obscure message boards on his phone, lying shirtless in his unmade bed. A post caught his eye: “Got hair envy? Tired of feeling like a twink in a bear’s world? Try THIS.”

He clicked. The site was shady. No branding. Just glowing testimonials and an anonymous checkout. It promised: “Rapid follicular stimulation, body composition modulation, and pheromone augmentation.” A single bottle. A mist. Unscented. Untraceable. Delivered in plain packaging.

He didn’t even hesitate.

When the bottle arrived, it was small. Glass. Brown. No label. But Ryan could feel the weight of it in his hand. He knew it worked. He just knew.

That night, he walked into Connor’s room like a man on a mission. His roommate was snoring gently, shirtless under the sheets. The moonlight glinted off his smooth chest.

Ryan’s hand shook as he uncapped the bottle.

If the food won’t change you… this will.

He misted it over Connor’s chest. Then his arms. His neck. Three spritzes, like the instructions had said. He waited. Nothing happened. But he hadn’t expected fireworks. This was long-game stuff.

He stepped back, smiling. The first step was done.

He was going to make Connor his. Not just in heart. But in body. In scent. In everything.

And when it was over, they’d finally be equals. No more pretty-boy prince and his slob roommate. No more distance.

Connor would be his mirror.

And he’d love it.

It started with the hair.

Connor had always been smooth. Not by effort—he just didn't grow much hair. His chest was bare, arms lightly dusted, and his jawline clean with just a day's worth of subtle, sandy stubble when he let it go. He shaved once every couple days, mostly for his girlfriend Madison, who liked him "polished and fresh."

But that week, something changed.

It was after one of his early morning runs. He'd come back to the apartment, sweaty and flushed, stripped off his shirt like usual, and hit the shower. But as the water hit his chest, he paused.

There were hairs.

Not a lot, but enough. Fine, light brown ones curled just beneath his collarbone, growing down the middle of his pecs in a line he'd never noticed before.

He frowned, running his hand down his chest, feeling the soft bristle that hadn't been there a few days ago. He shaved it, of course. Thought it was a fluke.

But by the next day, it was back. Thicker.

And by day three, it wasn't just on his chest.

"Dude, your arms okay?" asked Ryan, standing in the kitchen in nothing but a stretched-out tank top and boxer briefs. He was scooping instant mashed potatoes straight into a bowl of shredded cheese, eyes flicking toward Connor's biceps.

Connor looked down. His forearms had grown darker. The hair there was coarser now, more obvious. He flexed his hand, and the muscles still popped—but so did the trail of fuzz up to his elbows.

"Yeah, I guess," he muttered. "Kinda weird."

Ryan just smiled.

"You're finally catching up to me, man. Bout time."

Connor rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He didn't realize Ryan was watching him carefully, noting how the scent around him had started to shift—less like citrusy deodorant, more like sweat-soaked gym towels and musk.

The smell came next.

It clung to Connor's shirts by the end of the day. Not awful, just strong. Masculine. Earthy. But persistent. No amount of antiperspirant seemed to help. Madison noticed first.

They were cuddled on her couch, watching a movie, when she subtly leaned away.

"Did you… go straight from the gym to here?" she asked.

"No," Connor said, frowning. "I showered right after."

She gave him a look. Not mean, just uncomfortable. "You smell kinda… ripe."

That stung.

Connor went home, scrubbed harder in the shower, even used some of Madison's exfoliating soap. But the next morning, it was still there. And his armpits itched more than usual. When he checked in the mirror, he saw why.

His underarm hair had doubled in thickness. It curled wildly now, deep and dark, clinging damp to his skin.

By the end of the week, his chest hair had grown back fully—denser than ever. A dark patch had started blooming between his pecs and branching out toward his stomach. There was a trail down his abs now, one that thickened daily.

Connor tried shaving again, but it itched terribly when it grew back. And it always grew back. Faster.

Madison snapped when they met up the next weekend.

"Connor, seriously? You didn't even try to clean up before this?"

"What are you talking about? I just showered," he protested.

"You smell like you've been sitting in a locker room for a week! And what's going on with your… everything? You look like you haven't shaved in months."

He opened his mouth, but she kept going.

"I just… I can't. This isn't what I signed up for. You used to be clean. Smooth. You cared about hygiene! Now you reek, and you've got more chest hair than my dad."

"Madison, come on. It's just—I'm under a lot of stress. And I don't know, maybe it's hormones or something."

She shook her head, stepping back.

"I'm sorry, Connor. I just can't be with someone who doesn't take care of themselves."

And just like that, she was gone.

Connor came home miserable.

He flopped onto the couch, still in his gym clothes, head in his hands. Ryan, already there with a plate of loaded nachos on his bare stomach, looked up.

"She dumped you, huh?"

"Yeah."

Ryan sat up, set the plate on the coffee table, and grabbed another one from the kitchen. Within minutes, he'd piled it high with food: fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, cornbread.

"C'mon. You need comfort food."

Connor hesitated.

"Dude. One cheat meal won’t kill you. Plus, look at you. You could gain a few pounds."

Connor managed a weak laugh and sat down.

Ryan watched him closely as he ate. And he did eat. A lot.

The food comfort continued. One dinner turned into a habit. Connor stopped counting calories. Ryan always knew where to go: steakhouses, burger joints, pizza buffets.

"Appetizers too, yeah?"

"You sure you don't want your own fries?"

"You finishing that milkshake?"

And Connor, hurt and drifting, said yes more and more. The food made him feel warm. Safe.

He didn’t notice that his gym visits were becoming less frequent. Or how tight his compression shirts were getting.

His friends did.

When he met them for drinks, his buddy Jordan laughed.

"Damn, bro, what happened to you? You look like a bear."

"You been camping or something? You smell like firewood and armpit."

Connor laughed it off, scratching the dark beard that now covered his jaw. He hadn’t bothered shaving it since Madison left. What was the point?

Ryan leaned back in his chair, smiling smugly.

It was working.

Connor was cracking.

He wasn’t just hairier.

He was slipping.

And soon, Ryan knew, he wouldn’t want to go back.

Connor stood in front of the bathroom mirror, towel barely clinging to his waist, eyes locked on the thick forest creeping across his chest. The coarse hairs had spread over the last week, connecting in patches that now formed a solid, dark mat stretching from his pecs down to his stomach. His armpits had become dense and wiry, a jungle of scent that lingered even after long showers. Worse, the hair wasn’t just multiplying—it was coming in darker, denser, sweatier. His skin had taken on a constant sheen of sweat, no matter how much deodorant or cologne he applied.

Connor’s reflection didn’t lie. No matter how much he tried to suck in his stomach or twist to find the best angle, the gut was there—round, hairy, soft, and unmistakably growing. It hung slightly over the waistband of his now-snug joggers, pressing against the fabric with a slow confidence. His pecs, once defined and high, had softened too, the edges blurred with fat. And his arms? They’d grown thicker, but not with muscle. There was a puffiness to them now. He scratched at his chest—coarse hair spilling over his fingertips, a constant itch that reminded him how different his body had become.

At first, Connor still clung to old routines. He dragged himself to the gym, hoping to reclaim something of his old self. But the gym had changed for him—or rather, he had changed for the gym. His body felt heavier. Movements that once came easily now required effort. Jumping jacks left him winded. His T-shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat before he even reached the halfway mark of his routine. Worst of all, when he tried a simple plank, his gut sagged, brushing the floor, a hairy curtain swaying beneath him.

And the smell. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. No matter how many showers he took, there was always a musky scent. Strong, persistent, deeply masculine. He’d overheard one of the trainers whispering to another guy, “Does he not know he reeks like a high school locker room?” It stung. Connor finished his session early and didn’t look back.

Ryan was waiting at home, greasy takeout containers spread across the table like a buffet. “Rough day?” he asked, already reaching for a fried chicken drumstick. Connor nodded and sank into the couch. Ryan slid a cheeseburger into his hands.

“It’s easier to let go,” Ryan said softly. “Let the world stop judging you.”

That week, they went out to eat almost every night. Ryan knew all the best greasy diners, burger joints, and rib shacks. Every time, he ordered more than Connor said he wanted, acting surprised when Connor inevitably cleaned every plate. "You're just hungry, man. You’ve been starving yourself with all those greens and powders for years. Your body’s thanking you."

Connor's clothes were beginning to lose the battle. His favorite jeans dug into his waist so hard they left red lines. His gym shorts barely pulled past his thighs. Even his shirts started riding up, exposing the growing curve of his belly. One morning, standing in front of the mirror, he lifted his arms to stretch and the hem of his shirt got stuck halfway over his gut, revealing a thick trail of belly hair and two love handles.

“I think we need to go shopping,” Ryan said, peeking his head into the room.

They hit a department store downtown. Ryan insisted on tagging along in the changing room, passing Connor size after size until they settled into XL territory. The first time Connor pulled on a loose tank top and it actually fit, he sighed with relief—but also with surrender.

"Looks good," Ryan said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Connor’s friends weren’t as subtle. “Dude, what happened to you?” Marcus asked at a house party. “You used to be, like, gym-hot. Now you’re just... comfy?” He tried to laugh it off, but the words hit.

At home, even the shower had become a new experience. He bumped the walls more. His belly, covered in matted hair, jiggled when he washed it, his hands lingering longer than necessary. He’d find himself cupping his chest or dragging his fingers through the hair on his thighs, lost in thought.

One night, Connor caught Ryan watching him. Not subtly. Ryan's eyes followed every movement as Connor dried off in the hallway, towel clinging around his thick waist, hair curling damply on his chest and stomach.

“You’re really filling out,” Ryan said, voice lower than usual. “Looks... good.”

Connor felt a rush of heat in his face. He looked away, mumbling a thanks, but the words got caught in his throat. Later that night, they ended up eating wings together on the couch, fingers greasy, laughing at something on TV. Their thighs touched, and neither moved away.

Connor knew. He knew. Ryan had been behind something—maybe everything. But the thought of confronting him... took too much energy. And truth be told, when Ryan looked at him now, Connor felt seen in a way he never had before. Not for who he was, but for who he’d become.

The cravings were stronger. The gym, further and further away. His world now centered around heavy meals, sweat-damp shirts, and Ryan’s gentle, guiding hand on the small of his back.

Connor had officially given up trying to fight it.

It started with a moment. A lazy, quiet Sunday morning, sunlight cutting through the blinds, the house heavy with the warm scent of bacon, butter, and something muskier—something unmistakably them. Ryan was in the kitchen in just his stretched-out boxers, frying sausage and singing off-key. Connor was sitting at the table shirtless, arms crossed over the mound of belly that now pressed against his thighs when he sat. His chest hair curled thick across his pecs. His once-tight sweatpants had rolled down under the soft swell of his gut. He caught a glimpse of himself in the dark window and blinked. That can’t be me.

But it was.

And part of him… didn’t hate it anymore.

It had been weeks since he tried the gym. And when he finally went back, it was a disaster.

Everything was wrong. His old gym tank rode up above his navel, revealing the thick trail of hair that led from his wide chest down across his belly. His sneakers barely fit—his feet puffier now—and just tying them left him winded. He caught stares in the mirror. His once-proud arms now jiggled when he moved. When he tried the treadmill, his thick thighs chafed. Sweat poured off of him—and he stank. Not like regular BO—something richer, more primal.

He lasted fifteen minutes before giving up.

He saw himself in the locker room mirror: puffy, hairy, red-faced. His gut, heavy and furred, sagged enough that he couldn't see his feet. One guy passed by and muttered, “Damn, Connor really let himself go.”

It hit like a punch to the chest.

He drove home and walked in the front door to the smell of fried cheese and garlic knots.

Ryan looked up from the couch. “Rough day?”

Connor nodded and collapsed beside him. “It’s over. I’m done pretending.”

Ryan passed him a garlic knot. “You did your best. But some guys weren’t meant to be gym rats.”

Connor took a bite. Then another.

Then the whole basket.

Over the next week, everything accelerated.

Connor’s appetite exploded. Ryan took him out constantly—diners, BBQ joints, taco trucks. At first, Connor resisted. But Ryan always ordered extra. “Just in case.” Then he'd nudge it toward Connor with a smirk.

“You sure you’re done?” “Well, if it’s already here…”

His belly pressed tighter into his shirts. His jeans no longer buttoned. He started borrowing Ryan’s clothes—loose sweatpants and oversized tees that clung in new ways. On laundry day, Connor stood shirtless and barefoot, scratching his stomach, looking at the pile of his old clothes that no longer fit. Ryan walked in and whistled.

“Lookin’ good, big guy.”

Connor blushed. “Shut up.”

The shower became a new battlefield.

He barely fit in it now. His sides brushed the glass. When he bent down to soap his legs, his gut hung heavy, swaying. His pits stank stronger than ever. His beard was fuller now, matching Ryan’s, and his chest hair was a jungle. Steam clung to his skin, to the thick curls across his back and shoulders.

He ran his hands across his belly. It felt good. He squeezed it, watched the flesh move. There was a strange pride forming.

When he stepped out of the shower, Ryan was brushing his teeth. Their eyes met. Connor caught himself staring at Ryan’s wide, hairy chest. Ryan noticed.

It happened the next night.

They were watching a movie on the couch, close, shirtless, both nursing greasy paper baskets of fried chicken. Ryan reached over, casually rubbing Connor’s belly. Just a little at first. Circles. Slow. Connor didn’t stop him.

“You’re really filling out,” Ryan murmured. “Looks good on you.”

Connor grunted. “Shut up.”

Ryan leaned in. “You know… I always liked you.”

Connor turned his head, mouth full. “What?”

“I’ve always liked you. But you’d never look at a guy like me. So I thought, maybe… if you were more like me…”

The words hung there. Heavy. Like everything else in their lives now.

Connor sat up, belly bouncing. “You… did this to me.”

Ryan didn’t deny it.

“I used the serum. I made the food. I wanted you to see how good it feels.”

Connor stood, but struggled. He waddled to the door, shirt clinging to his back, breathing hard.

He made it two steps outside. Then stopped.

The cold hit his sweaty skin. His belly gurgled. His thighs rubbed raw.

He looked back at the warm light of the house. The smell of fried chicken. Of Ryan. Of home.

He returned inside.

Later that week, they went out to eat together in public. Shirtless in a dive burger bar, hairy bellies on full display. The waitress wrinkled her nose. The family at the next table moved. But they didn’t care. They were too busy laughing, feeding each other fries, and making out between bites.

At one point, Connor leaned back, stomach covered in sauce, licking his fingers. Ryan leaned in and licked a bit off his beard.

“You’re mine now, huh?”

Connor didn’t even fight it.

Connor was sprawled on the couch in their shared apartment, the late afternoon sun spilling lazily through the window and casting warm golden light across the room. In his lap rested a greasy cheeseburger, half-eaten, juices slicking down his fingers and dripping onto his thickening belly.

Ryan sat beside him, comfortably stretched out and flipping through a magazine without a care in the world, his own ample frame a soft cushion next to Connor’s growing mass.

Suddenly, breaking the quiet hum of a distant TV show, a loud, unapologetic burp erupted from Connor’s chest, the sound echoing off the walls. He froze, cheeks flushing crimson as he lowered his eyes to the mess on his hands.

“Uh… sorry,” Connor mumbled sheepishly, embarrassed beyond words. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, but the scent of grease and the faint musk of sweat clung stubbornly to his skin.

Ryan chuckled warmly and ran a hand over Connor’s belly, the soft flesh wobbling beneath his touch. “You’re just full, big guy. Nothing to be sorry about.”

Connor shifted uneasily, but before he could reply, a sudden, unmistakable fart escaped him—loud and lingering, a ripe mixture of musk and grease that filled the room. He gasped, covering his face in shame.

“Oh god,” Connor groaned, “I can’t control this stuff anymore.”

Ryan laughed, eyes twinkling with mischief and something softer. “You’re turning into me, little dude. Just gotta own it.”

Days blurred together, but Connor could feel the change inside him growing heavier than the weight he carried physically. His mind felt foggy, as if thick molasses had seeped into his thoughts. Reading textbooks became an exhausting chore, letters swimming on the page until his vision blurred.

He tried to focus, determined to hold on to who he’d been, but it was like grasping at sand slipping through his fingers.

One afternoon, as he sat in the living room, Connor accidentally left a greasy fingerprint on his laptop screen. He stared at it blankly for a long moment before he realized he should wipe it off. The simplest task felt monumental.

Ryan noticed the dazed look in his eyes and gave him a teasing smile. “Hey, big dumb bear,” he said affectionately, fingers brushing through Connor’s thickening beard.

Connor sighed, the haze around his brain thickening with each passing day. “Feels like my head’s turning to mush.”

Ryan pulled him close, rubbing slow circles on his belly. “It’s okay. You’re softening up. You’ll get used to it.”

Connor rested his head against Ryan’s chest, comforted despite the creeping realization that the sharpness he once prized was fading away.

One evening, while scrolling through his phone, Connor received a notification—a message from an old group chat with his college friends.

“Hey man! We’re hitting the pool tomorrow. You in?” one message read cheerfully.

Connor hesitated, the knot tightening in his stomach. He hadn’t seen any of them since the changes started, and fear gripped him tightly. What would they say? Would they recognize him under the thick hair and growing belly? He was no longer the lean, clean-cut guy they remembered.

Despite the anxiety, he agreed, telling himself it was good to try to stay connected.

The next afternoon, Connor pulled on his trunks, grimacing as the fabric stretched painfully tight over his swollen gut and fuzzy legs. His chest hair matted against his skin, and the scent of sweat and musk clung to him like a second skin.

At the pool, his friends froze.

“Whoa, dude! What happened to you?” one blurted, eyes wide in disbelief.

Another shook his head, awkward laughter escaping. “Man, you really let yourself go, huh?”

Connor’s cheeks burned with shame. His thick hair curled wetly around his arms and chest, and the extra weight shifted uncomfortably as he tried to move.

“I—yeah, guess I did,” he muttered, trying to cover his belly with his hands.

The friends exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond to the new, heavier, hairier version of their once fit buddy.

Connor’s heart sank. The unspoken judgment weighed on him more heavily than his expanding waistline.

Over the following weeks, the comments grew more pointed, more biting.

“You used to be ripped,” one friend remarked during a casual hangout.

“Now you’re just… there,” another muttered under his breath.

“You’re making us all look bad,” someone else joked—though the humor was cold and empty.

Connor tried to laugh it off, but each remark cut deeper. He felt trapped in a body that no longer obeyed him, covered in thick hair he couldn’t shave away, smelling stronger and muskier every day. His scent clung to him even after showers, and the teasing didn’t stop.

One night, after a particularly harsh comment, Connor shaved his arms and chest, desperate for control, for a reminder of the clean-cut self he once was.

But the hair grew back overnight—darker, curlier, and even more abundant than before. He ran his hand over the prickly new growth and sighed.

His friends didn’t notice the hair so much as the weight—the slowness in his movements, the way he avoided meeting their eyes.

After one particularly brutal day of social judgment, Connor trudged home, his shirt damp with sweat and embarrassment, eyes red and stinging with unshed tears.

Ryan greeted him with open arms and a warm smile.

“Rough day, huh?”

Connor collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in Ryan’s broad chest.

Ryan lifted Connor’s chin, revealing tired, shining eyes, and handed him a giant plate piled high with greasy fries, crispy chicken wings, and a huge, frothy milkshake.

“Let me take care of you.”

Connor ate slowly, the familiar taste soothing his aching heart. Ryan’s hands never left his belly, rubbing slow, comforting circles, fingers tangling in Connor’s beard as he pet him gently.

“You’re perfect like this,” Ryan whispered, voice low and full of affection.

Connor leaned into the touch, the weight of judgment outside melting away as Ryan’s love wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

Over the next few days, Connor found himself staring longer into mirrors, tracing the outline of his once lean frame, now hidden beneath a thick blanket of hair and fat. His face, once sharp and clean, had softened around the edges, his jawline blurred by a growing beard that he no longer bothered to trim meticulously.

His gut pressed forward, stretching shirts beyond recognition. He noticed his hands, pudgier now, fingers thicker and slightly swollen. The fine hair on his arms darkened and thickened, climbing toward his shoulders like wild vines.

One evening, alone in the bathroom, Connor ran a hand down his chest. The hair there tickled his skin, rough and wild. He could feel the weight beneath—his own breath heavy in the room.

The scent of musk lingered on his skin despite the long hot shower he’d just taken.

He let out a deep sigh, half frustration, half something else—an odd calm settling in him.

The guy he’d been, the sharp, fast, athletic Connor, was vanishing like mist at dawn. The new Connor was softer, slower, more animal than man. And somewhere in that loss, he felt a strange pull—not just fear, but something quietly thrilling.

Ryan, ever patient and warm, began showing signs of deeper affection—not just through teasing or comfort food, but subtle, intimate touches.

During one quiet night, as they watched a movie, Ryan shifted closer, fingers brushing lightly against Connor’s furry arm.

“Hey, big guy,” Ryan murmured, voice low and smooth.

Connor’s heart skipped. He tried to pull back but found himself leaning in, drawn to the warmth.

Ryan’s hand moved to Connor’s belly, fingers tracing lazy circles through the soft hair.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Being this way.”

Connor swallowed hard, conflicted. The softness, the smell, the slow warmth of Ryan’s touch tangled his thoughts. He wanted to resist, to fight back, but his body betrayed him—he relaxed, letting Ryan’s hand soothe and claim him.

One weekend, Ryan dragged Connor out for a casual lunch with some of their old mutual friends. Connor dreaded it, imagining the cruel comments, the pitying looks.

They arrived at the bustling café, Connor’s belly noticeably filling the chair, his shirt straining across his broad, hairy chest.

Friends’ eyes widened instantly.

“Oh wow, dude. You’ve… changed,” one said awkwardly, voice barely hiding judgment.

Another joked, “Looks like Ryan’s really got you under his thumb now.”

Connor flushed, the familiar sting of embarrassment burning hot.

But Ryan squeezed his hand, whispering, “Ignore them, you’re amazing.”

They ordered huge plates of comfort food, and Connor ate with surprising ease, the greasy sauces clinging to his beard and chest hair. He could feel eyes watching him, hear the whispers.

But he didn't care.

[rokaimi-blog]

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[rokaimi-blog]

Data transfer

🇬🇧 ("Trasferimento di dati" Versione Inglese)

“Ok, the program has processed the image and should be ready to replicate it by transferring the data into my body.”

Right after pressing enter, the blond guy I had just slept with tripled in size. I was so mesmerized by his swelling package that I didn’t immediately notice the striking tribal tattoo appearing on his arm. I had come about fifteen minutes ago, but seeing that scene made me instantly hard again. Since we were both in our underwear, my erection was impossible to ignore, and he noticed it right away, smiling. I tried to tame my instincts and satisfy my curiosity by asking:

-“So, with this method, you can copy anyone’s appearance?”

-“Exactly. I just need a photo where the face and body are clearly visible, and the artificial intelligence takes care of the rest.”

-“So, the blond guy I just fucked wasn’t really you?”

-“It was me, with the appearance of a guy I saw in an old magazine. By now, he’s probably at least thirty years older.”

-“I almost feel bad seeing him disappear like this… but I must say, I like your new look too.”

-“He doesn’t have to disappear” he said, turning back to the computer screen.

From a folder full of photos, he retrieved the one of the extremely slim blond, then dragged it onto a gray icon labeled “User 2 - Enter Name.” The program recognized the file instantly, a sign that it had already been processed before. Instantly, I felt a tingling sensation all over my body, and as I looked down, I saw it changing, becoming toned and slender. I had never been so turned on, my cock was rock hard, but I noticed that it, too, was shrinking along with the rest of my body.

“I like playing the twink role, but I have to say, that look suits you too,” he said, running his large, strong fingers over my newly slim and bony body. The roles had reversed, and we were both eager to start round two.

[rokaimi-blog]

Military Entertainment

I'm starting to get suspicious that the lieutenant was lying when he said this was an important reconnaissance mission. I just got recruited to the military and I thought I got my lucky break when my boss asked me to join an important mission. I should have known something was up from the moment he asked me.

Now I'm in a convoy full of new recruits like me. A bunch of scrawny guys with no experience. There is no way this is a mission, it's a trap, and I don't think I have a way out.

My suspicions are unfortunately confirmed when a thick smoke fills the truck, and within moments I pass out.

-

I come to, my ankles chained together and my hands tied above my head. My head is spinning and I can't think. What is happening to me? I don't know, I can barely feel a thing. I look to my sides and see my fellow recruits, tied up like me. Why would they do this to us? I don't have the capacity to think about it though. I pass in and out of consciousness, I blink and it feels like minutes, maybe hours pass in an instant.

This time, I blink and suddenly there are two men approaching each of the tied up men. I can't quite see what's going on, but it looks like they're letting us go. We're getting saved. This nightmare is finally over. But my heart sinks when I realize something is off. They're doing something before they let them go. I couldn't see what was happening further down, but as the two men get closer to me it becomes clear. The recruits are not the same when they are let go. They're bigger, stronger, hotter? I saw these men in the convoy, none of them were that big. My vision is blurry, but all I can see are big hunky guys in blue speedos.

My heart sinks once again when they get close enough to see. One of the men is older and is wearing a business suit, he seems to be barking orders at a younger guy. The younger guy is going from recruit to recruit, changing them. With each touch, their bodies seem to mold into what he wants.

He gets to the man tied up beside me, and I watch in horror as he turns him into something unrecognizable. First his flat chest puffs out into a pair of juicy pecs, and his flabby stomach hardens into a chiselled six pack. His shoulders broaden as his biceps triple in size. His thighs thicken with muscle and fat as his ass becomes fat and plump, straining against his speedo. The man grabs his dick, and his bulge grows until it looks like it's gonna burst through his speedo. Even his hands and feet grow large and thick. Finally the man rubbed his hand across the recruits face. The 20 year old man now resembles closer to his mid thirties as a beard covers his chiselled jawline.

The transformation was complete and he was left unrecognizable from the man he was mere minutes ago. The recruit seemed to regain consciousness as soon as it ended, and they untied his restraints. He didn't run, he didn't fight, he just stood and smiled, like the rest of them. He was tall, handsome, and seemingly without a thought behind his eyes.

My heart raced as the man turned his attention towards me. I don't want to become like them. I give all my strength to trying to get out of the restraints, but it's no use.

"Hey boss, this one's awake." The younger one calls to the older man in the suit.

The older man approaches me, and stares at me for a moment. He has a well kept grey beard, bright blue eyes, and a soft belly that spilled over his belt. I try to remember what he looks like in case I get out of here.

"He seems stronger than the rest. Make him the leader." The older man instructs.

I look up at him and try to muster words. "I... just wanted to.. serve my country." I manage to get out.

The man leans close to my face and smiles like a villain in a movie. "Oh you will." He says ominously. "Make him big and intimidating." He says before walking off.

I hang my head in defeat as the younger guy gets to work. I look down at my body as it begins to change. My torso widens as my flat stomach grows into a fat round gut. My growing love handles spill over my speedo, along with my gut. My chest then grows soft, becoming two oversized man tits that rest on my belly. Even my nipples grew large and sensitive. This whole process feels a lot better than I thought it would, I almost feel relaxed.

I feel my shoulder broaden as my arms grow with muscle and fat. I feel so strong as the muscle pours into my biceps, but they still look soft under a thick layer of fat. Even my hands thicken to the point that they start to strain against the rope tied around them.

I feel my speedo tighten against my skin as my ass grows. And my crotch feels tight as my growing dick bulges out of the speedo. My thighs grow to the point that I have to spread my legs to keep them from rubbing against each other. And my feet grow at least twice the size, big enough that it would be hard to find shoes in my size.

The man hesitates for a moment. I can hear him repeating "Big and scary" under his breath. He seems to have an idea, before getting back to work on my body. I feel my body stretch as he makes me taller. My feet used to hang above the ground, but now sit firmly grounded. And my arms tied above my head now can reach the ceiling. Judging by how much I have to look down just to see the man in front of me, I have to be close to 7 feet by now. It makes me feel strong and imposing, despite being tied up. The man then starts to rub his hand across my entire body. He leaves a trail of thick dark hairs wherever he touches. First covering my gut, then my chest, arms, legs, and back. It is not long until I am covered in sweaty hairs all over my body. I feel my speedo get tighter as my dick hardens. I should be scared, but for some reason I'm not, I'm horny. Really horny. To the point that this is getting me off.

As I'm struggling to contain my horniness, the man gets to work on my head. I can feel my face thicken, my brow bone becomes more prominent, and a prickly beard grows over my face. I can even feel my hairline recede, becoming slicked back with gel and sweat.

Soon after I start to feel tired and woozy again. It's getting harder to think. Harder to remember anything about myself. Why am I even here? What's my name? I can't even think about why I was so stressed. Though the memories quickly come back to me. I'm a businessman. Of course how could I forget. Memories of a new life flood into my mind, and I start to relax.

"What the fuck am I doing tied up!?" I yell in a deep echoing voice.

"Sorry sir, I'll get you down right away." The man unties my restraints and leaves the room.

I stretch out my new body, getting used to how it feels and how it moves.

It's not easy being a big guy like me. It takes a moment to gain my balance.

A moment later, the older businessman walks in.

"Ha! You turned out perfect!" The man yells in excitement as he examines my body.

"You're big." He says as he grabs my gut.

"Intimidating." He rubs my beard.

"Oh and I'm sure you're aching for a fix, huh big guy?" He asks as he cups my dick. A feeling of pleasure shoots through my body, making me tense up.

"Yeah you are." The man chuckles. "Well here, have these clothes and get out there." He tosses me some clothes. The pants manage to get all the way on, but end up looking like capris on me. And the shirt won't even button up.

"We can get you bigger clothes, big guy." He says, punching my arm.

"Go on, you have a business to run." He slaps my ass as I walk away.

I duck under the doorway and into the club. I see a bunch of older military men in uniform sitting around the club. Some are watching the new strippers I have on stage, some are getting lap dances, some have gone to the back rooms for... extra service. Business is going well now that I have a stream of young hot men to entertain these insatiable military men.

I grab one of my men by the wrist. "You're with me tonight." I growl as I drag him into one of the back rooms.

[rokaimi-blog]

Grok story: The Bear Awakening

Tom, a straight accountant, visits a fair where a mysterious fortune teller gives him a potion. That night, he drinks it under a full moon and awakens transformed into a massive, hairy gay bear with a muscular build, big belly, bald head, and full beard. Shocked but curious, Tom embraces his new identity, finding love and confidence in the bear community while adapting to his altered life.

Tom Harper was an unassuming man, 38 years old, with a lean build, a mop of brown hair, and a quiet life as an accountant in a small Midwest town. He was straight, had dated a few women over the years, but never found "the one." His days were predictable: work, gym, a beer with friends, and bed. That is, until the night everything changed.

It was a Friday, and Tom had been dragged to a local fair by his buddy Mike. Among the cotton candy stalls and Ferris wheel, there was a peculiar tent draped in velvet, with a sign that read, Madame Zorina: Fortunes and Fates. Mike, ever the joker, dared Tom to get his fortune read. Tom rolled his eyes but went in, more to shut Mike up than out of curiosity.

Inside, Madame Zorina, an elderly woman with eyes like polished obsidian, peered at him over a crystal ball. "You seek change, whether you know it or not," she said, her voice low and smoky. Tom shrugged, skeptical. She handed him a small vial of shimmering liquid. "Drink this under the full moon tonight, and your true self will awaken." Tom chuckled, pocketed the vial, and left, thinking it was all a gimmick.

That night, under a bloated full moon, Tom found himself oddly compelled. Standing in his backyard, he uncorked the vial and downed the liquid. It tasted like honey and lightning. A warmth spread through his body, then a sharp jolt. He stumbled, dizzy, and collapsed onto the grass. The world went black.

When Tom awoke, the morning sun was high, and something felt... wrong. His bed creaked beneath him, the sheets stretched tight. He tried to sit up, but his body felt heavy, unfamiliar. Staggering to the bathroom mirror, he froze. The reflection wasn’t his.

Gone was the lean, boyish Tom. Staring back was a mountain of a man: broad shoulders, thick muscles bulging under a layer of fat, a prominent belly that strained his now-too-small undershirt. His arms were massive, covered in a dense mat of dark hair that spread across his chest and down his rounded gut. His head was bald, gleaming under the bathroom light, and his face was framed by a full, neatly trimmed beard. He looked like a classic "bear" from the gay subculture he’d only vaguely heard about. He touched his face, his meaty hands trembling. "What the hell?" he rumbled, his voice now a deep, gravelly baritone.

Panic set in. He rummaged through his phone, googling "sudden transformation" and "magic potion," but found nothing useful. His clothes barely fit—his jeans wouldn’t button, and his shirts tore at the seams. He threw on a stretched-out tracksuit and paced, trying to make sense of it. Then, another shock hit: his thoughts felt different. Flashes of men—rugged, hairy men like himself—stirred feelings he’d never had before. His heart raced, not with fear, but with a strange, warm curiosity. He was still Tom, but his desires had shifted, as if the potion had rewritten his very core.

Desperate for answers, Tom returned to the fair, but Madame Zorina’s tent was gone, as if it had never existed. A vendor nearby shrugged. "Some folks say she’s a witch. Shows up, changes lives, then poof." Tom’s stomach sank. This was permanent.

Over the next few weeks, Tom grappled with his new reality. Physically, he was a powerhouse. He could lift weights that would’ve crushed him before, and his presence commanded attention. People stared at the grocery store, at the gym, on the street. Men, especially, gave him lingering looks, and to his surprise, he didn’t mind. He started to explore this new side of himself, cautiously at first. He downloaded a dating app, one he’d never have considered before, and matched with a guy named Chris, a burly mechanic with a kind smile.

Their first date was at a dive bar. Tom was nervous, his massive hands dwarfing the beer bottle. But Chris’s easy laugh and warm touch put him at ease. They talked for hours—about cars, life, and the weirdness of change. When Chris leaned in for a kiss, Tom didn’t pull away. It felt right, like a piece of himself he’d never known was missing had clicked into place.

Tom never found Madame Zorina again, but he stopped looking. The potion hadn’t just changed his body or his orientation—it had forced him to confront who he was and what he wanted. He kept his old friends, his job, his love for classic rock, but he embraced the new parts too. He grew to love his bulk, his beard, the way he filled a room. He loved the bear community, their warmth, their unapologetic authenticity. And he loved Chris, who became a steady presence in his life.

Sometimes, late at night, Tom would stand under the moon and wonder why Zorina chose him. Was it random, or had she seen something in him he couldn’t? He’d never know. But as he looked at his reflection—huge, hairy, powerful, and proud—he was grateful. He was still Tom, but he was more. And for the first time, he felt truly alive.

[rokaimi-blog]

The perfect fit

Male tf - clothes tf - short tf - black tf - muscles

It was one of those lazy afternoons where the sun filtered through the windows of the shopping mall, casting warm beams on the polished floor tiles. Jake, a young white man with fair skin and tousled blond hair, wandered aimlessly into a small boutique tucked between a bookstore and a smoothie bar. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just killing time.

“Hey, brother,” called a voice from the back of the store.

Jake turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered Black man in his early 30s, rocking a stylish beanie and an easy smile. His name tag read MARCUS.

“You look like you’re hunting for something bold,” Marcus said, holding up a folded black T-shirt. “Try this one. Trust me.”

Jake took it with a curious chuckle. “You’re sure about the size?”

Marcus winked. “It’s not about size. It’s about the message.”

Jake raised an eyebrow but headed into the fitting room. He pulled the curtain closed behind him and unfolded the shirt. As the letters came into view, his fingers paused midair.

BLACK LIVES MATTER

He stared at it. Not because he didn’t agree—he did, in principle—but he suddenly felt awkward. Was it performative? Would people think he was trying too hard? Would it seem fake?

He turned to the mirror, holding the shirt in front of him, trying to imagine it on. His reflection looked uncertain, as if even the mirror had questions.

After a moment, he poked his head out and called softly, “Hey, man… Marcus?”

Marcus walked over, leaning casually against the fitting room wall.

“Yeah?”

Jake looked a little sheepish. “I mean, I get it. I support it. But… is this shirt really for me? I don’t wanna look like I’m co-opting something that’s not mine.”

Marcus gave him a thoughtful look, then smiled warmly. “Look, Jake—allyship ain’t about being the star of the show. It’s about showing up. That shirt ain’t a costume. It’s a signal. A message. And if it makes you a little uncomfortable… maybe that’s part of the point.”

Jake nodded slowly. “Alright. You convinced me.”

He pulled the shirt over his head.

At first, it was just fabric brushing his skin. But then it began to feel... different.

A sudden heat bloomed in his chest. His breath hitched. His arms started to ache—not from pain, but from something stranger. Like they were stretching.

“What the—” Jake gasped.

He looked down. His pale hands were growing darker. His fingers thickened. He ran to the mirror, watching in stunned silence as his features shifted. His shoulders broadened, his jaw sharpened, and his golden hair curled tightly, rising into a voluminous afro.

He let out a loud, startled cry, stumbling back into the curtain. “What the hell?!”

The curtain flew open, and Jake stepped out, trembling, eyes wide in shock.

Marcus looked up from folding a stack of jeans. He burst into laughter the moment he saw him.

“I knew that look would suit you,” he said, pointing a teasing finger.

Jake blinked, mouth still half-open. “What… what did you do to me?”

Marcus just shrugged with a grin. “I told you, man. It's not about the size."

Jack stood in front of the mirror, lifting his shirt with both hands. He stared at his new body with a mix of fascination and disbelief. His stomach was firm but fuller, more muscular—more real. A line of hair trailed down from his navel, a detail that felt oddly intimate, as if even his skin had a history he didn’t yet know.

“I have abs,” he whispered, poking at them. “And... a belly?”

It was strange—not the chiselled six-pack of Instagram influencers, but a powerful, natural build. He looked strong. He looked alive.

His fingers traced the edge of his waistband. The jeans groaned slightly as he shifted his stance. Everything still felt tight. Not just physically—emotionally, mentally. Jack wasn’t used to seeing himself like this. Not just as someone else—but as someone more.

Jack sat on the small wooden bench inside the fitting room, panting lightly, beads of sweat on his forehead. His new body felt alien, heavy with strength and unfamiliar proportions. He looked down, eyes wide as he wiggled his toes inside a pair of too-tight white socks.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “My feet are massive…”

He leaned forward, tugged the sock down, and winced as he tried to stretch it. It clung stubbornly to the wide ball of his foot, refusing to budge. The seams groaned in protest.

“Of course. Of course even my damn socks don’t fit.”

There was a knock on the wall just outside the curtain.

“You alright in there?” came Marcus’s voice, laced with barely-contained laughter.

“No!” Jack shot back. “My feet are killing me, my pants are suffocating me, and my whole body feels like it’s going through puberty on steroids!”

Marcus chuckled. “That’s called growth, my man. Sometimes it squeezes a little.”

Jack opened the curtain and poked his head out, eyes wild. “You could’ve warned me! I mean—how is this even possible? You gave me a T-shirt, not a magic spell!”

Marcus leaned casually against the wall. “Who says it’s not both?”

Jack glared. “You’re enjoying this.”

Marcus gave him a grin that confirmed it.

“Listen,” he said, stepping closer. “You asked if that shirt was for you. You doubted whether you belonged in it. But now? You’re wearing it. You feel it. And something deep down decided it needed to match the outside.”

Jack sighed, running a large hand through his new curls. “I don’t know who I am right now.”

Marcus shrugged. “That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it all out at once. Just… walk in the shoes you’ve got. Or, you know, the ones we’ll have to get you now because those clodhoppers ain’t fitting back into anything you wore in here.”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “So, what? I just walk out of here like this?”

Marcus tilted his head. “Why not? Or… you could walk out of here as him. Whoever he is.”

Jack stood up, barefoot and wobbly, but taller, grounded. He looked in the mirror once more—this time not with fear, but curiosity.

Then he turned to Marcus.

He dropped the shirt and backed away from the mirror.

Marcus, waiting just outside the fitting room, leaned against the wall with arms crossed and an amused smirk.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

Jack opened the curtain and stepped out, barefoot and cautious, eyes still wide.

“This is insane, man. I don’t even recognize myself.”

Marcus shrugged. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe you weren’t seeing your full potential before.”

Jack frowned. “But... what now? I can’t go back out there like this. My ID, my clothes, my life—it’s all built around someone who doesn’t look like this.”

Marcus stepped forward, voice softer now.

“You asked me if the shirt was ‘for you.’ You thought maybe you didn’t belong in it. But you didn’t ask what would happen if you did. You put it on, and your body just... caught up.”

Jack was silent for a moment, taking it in.

“You’re saying this is who I’m meant to be?”

Marcus grinned. “I’m saying you’re finally seeing the world from a different angle. Feet too big for your old shoes? Good. Time to walk a new path.”

Jack looked down at his feet—broad, bare, and definitely not fitting into his old sneakers. He exhaled, then laughed nervously.

“You’re really enjoying this mystical-mentor thing, aren’t you?”

Marcus winked. “Just a little. But you gotta admit… it’s a pretty badass origin story.”

Jack finally smiled. He still didn’t know who he was exactly—but for the first time in his life, he was curious to find out.

Jack stood bare-chested in the fitting room, still catching his breath. The crumpled T-shirt hung limply in one hand, sweat glistening on his forehead. His jeans were halfway undone, begging for mercy from the bulk they were never meant to contain.

Marcus appeared at the curtain, holding out a folded pair of soft gray sweatpants.

“Try these,” he said with a knowing smirk. “Trust me, they’ll breathe a little better than those poor jeans.”

Jack took them without a word and slipped back inside.

A moment later, the denim dropped to the floor with a satisfying thud. He stepped into the joggers, tugged them up over his thick thighs—and paused.

The fabric slid comfortably over his hips, warm and soft… but as it settled into place, Jack blinked in surprise.

The sweatpants clung in places he didn’t expect.

He looked down.

The outline was unmistakable—long, thick, and unmistakably real. The soft gray material wasn’t exactly subtle. His new anatomy extended boldly down the leg, curving toward the middle of his thigh. Jack exhaled sharply, caught somewhere between disbelief and pride.

“Uh… Marcus?” he called out.

Marcus was already grinning when Jack peeked through the curtain. One glance was enough.

“Told you they fit,” Marcus said casually. “That’s a statement piece, right there.”

Jack stepped out slowly, standing a little taller now, his movements more confident—like he was growing into the power he hadn’t asked for but suddenly felt… worthy of.

He gave Marcus a look. “This is kind of… a lot.”

Marcus nodded, but his eyes twinkled. “Maybe. But sometimes, ‘a lot’ is exactly what gets noticed. It shows you’re not afraid to take up space.”

Jack turned back to the mirror, adjusting the waistband slightly. He didn’t feel awkward anymore. He felt solid. Present. Like someone impossible to ignore.

“This isn’t who I was,” he said quietly.

Marcus stepped beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” he said. “But maybe it’s who you were always becoming.”

Jack reached down and pulled the black T-shirt back over his head. The familiar fabric slid into place over his broad shoulders, hugging his chest snugly. The bold white words—BLACK LIVES MATTER—stretched across his torso like armor. This time, he didn’t hesitate to wear them.

Just then, Marcus returned, holding a box under one arm and grinning wide.

“I figured your old sneakers weren’t gonna cut it,” he said, placing the box at Jack’s feet. “Try these.”

Jack opened it and blinked.

“They’re huge,” he muttered, lifting one of the sneakers. “What size are these?!”

Marcus laughed. “Yours.”

Jack sat back on the bench and slipped the shoes on. His feet slid in like they were home. The arch support, the soft padding, the firm grip—it was perfect.

He stood, bounced once on his heels, then smiled. “Okay… I didn’t know shoes could feel like this.”

Marcus nodded, satisfied. “Every step you take now—you take in comfort and confidence.”

Jack looked at him, surprised by how calm he suddenly felt. For the first time since walking into the store, his posture was steady, his breath even. He caught his reflection once more: powerful, present, grounded.

Marcus stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm.

“You’re a brother in arms now,” he said seriously. “You share this fight with us—not just by wearing the words, but by walking the walk. You see it, feel it. And now... you carry it.”

Jack didn’t know what to say.

“I think it’s time for a new name,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “The man you were walked in here with doubt. The man standing here now... stands with us.”

Jack looked up, eyes focused. “What name?”

Marcus grinned. “Malik.”

Jack repeated it quietly. “Malik…”

“It means ‘king’,” Marcus said. “Feels right.”

Jack nodded slowly, a warm strength settling in his chest. He looked again at the message on his shirt. Not just fabric and ink—but meaning, identity, truth.

And for the first time since everything changed… he felt like he belonged.

Marcus stepped back and opened the curtain.

“You ready to meet your brothers?”

Malik looked at the reflection one last time. Not Jack. Not confused. But Malik—strong, proud, and home.

He stepped forward. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

[rokaimi-blog]

Hey!

How: I found an ad for this hotel online and need a place to stay for my powerlifting comp nearby and this place was the closest and cheapest. 

Self Description: short 5’6 ish, bald and bearded. Slightly muscular. Shy but wants to be friendlier and more confident 

Room Number: 450

Thanks for whatever you change me into

The hotel seemed like a normal place when you walked in. Nothing fancy, just a comfortable bed and an old-fashioned closet. But when you opened the closet to hang up your clothes, you saw it: a plain gray t-shirt with a faded powerlifter logo. It wasn’t yours, but for some reason it called to you.

“What could be,” you thought, slipping it on without thinking too much.

And then it happened.

A sudden heat shot through your body, as if something was awakening inside you. You felt the muscles in your back contract, expand, push against the fabric. Your chest swelled, your pectorals thickening until the shirt felt like a second skin. Your arms began to throb, your biceps bulging, your veins rising to the surface, running along forearms that now looked like columns of stone.

You looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize yourself anymore.

Your beard, once short and neat, had become thick and wild, framing a wider, more masculine jaw. The shirt was now part of you, impossible to take off, as if it had fused with your skin. The fabric had adapted to your new physique, showing every curve, every detail of a body that was no longer slightly muscular, but huge.

And the shyness? Gone.

You felt a new confidence coursing through your veins, an energy you had never felt before. Your voice was deeper, your gaze more direct, your posture more dominant.

The door of the room opened by itself, revealing the hotel corridor. Outside, someone exclaimed: "Oh, fuck!"

You smiled.

It was time to show the world what you could do.

[rokaimi-blog]

Buzzed

Male tf - short tf - weight gain - bald - hairy

The sky was a dull, overcast gray, matching the heaviness in Thom

as’s chest. He had walked aimlessly through the wet streets for nearly an hour, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, head down, avoiding reflections in puddles as if they might show more than just the sky.

Everything felt like it was crumbling. The job, the relationship, the sense of who he was. There wasn’t much left to salvage—just a tired man looking for a way to feel something new.

As he turned the corner onto a quiet, almost forgotten block, a sign caught his eye. “The Golden Shear - Barber Shop”, written in ornate, old-fashioned lettering on a wooden sign that swung gently with the wind. It didn’t look like a modern place—no neon, no slick branding. It looked... timeless. Warm light glowed from inside, casting a soft amber hue on the wet sidewalk.

Without thinking too much, Thomas pushed the door open. A small brass bell jingled, its sound unexpectedly soothing.

Inside, the air was thick with the rich scent of sandalwood, tobacco leaf, and something faintly metallic, like old coins. The room was dim but cozy, with dark wooden walls, heavy green drapes, and a single barber chair placed squarely in front of a large, ornate mirror framed in gold. A record played softly in the background—something jazzy, hypnotic.

And behind the chair stood the barber.

He was a massive man, barrel-chested and imposing, with a full beard as black as ink and piercing gray eyes. His presence was magnetic. He wore a crisp white smock, spotless, and moved with a quiet grace unexpected for someone of his size.

“Good evening,” the barber said, his voice a low, velvety drawl that seemed to curl around Thomas’s ears like warm smoke. “Come in. You look like a man in need of change.”

Thomas hesitated only a moment before nodding and stepping further inside. He sat down in the chair without a word, letting the weight of his body sink into the leather. He stared at himself in the mirror. The reflection stared back—tired, drawn, with scruff on his jawline and hair growing wild. He barely recognized himself anymore.

“I was thinking something drastic,” Thomas murmured. “Maybe a buzz cut. Real short. Just... start over.”

The barber nodded slowly, placing a large hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “A new beginning,” he said, almost as if savoring the words. “Yes. A transformation of the outer self to heal the inner one. Very wise.”

Thomas gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah. Or maybe I’m just losing it.”

“Sometimes,” the barber said as he reached for his clippers, “one must let go of the man they were to become the man they’re meant to be.”

There was something calming in how he said it. The sound of the clippers buzzed softly in the background, not yet turned on, but waiting.

Thomas looked at the mirror once more, eyes catching the barber’s in the reflection. “Let’s do it.”

Thomas sat still, his hands gripping the armrests as the barber adjusted the cape around his neck with precise, almost ceremonial care. The mirror reflected every flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“So,” the barber began, voice like molten honey, “how short are we thinking for this... reinvention?”

Thomas took a breath, hesitating. “I don’t know. Something like... five millimeters?”

The barber nodded thoughtfully, turning to a drawer behind him and pulling out a gleaming set of clippers. “Five millimeters. Enough to make a difference. Enough to let go—but still keep a shadow of who you were.”

Thomas gave a faint, unsure smile. “I guess that’s what I want.”

The barber turned on the clippers with a satisfying buzz, the vibration humming through the air like the start of a ritual. He gently placed a hand on Thomas’s head, guiding it downward.

“You may find,” the barber said softly, “that shedding the past comes with a certain... weightlessness.”

The first pass was slow, deliberate. Hair fell in small tufts down the cape and onto the floor, each lock seeming to take a piece of Thomas’s weariness with it. He watched himself change in the mirror, line by line.

But then, something in him jolted.

The sides of his head were now visibly bare. The cut was harsher than he’d imagined. His temples felt exposed, his face sharper. For a moment, panic flared in his chest.

His eyes widened. “Shit... I—I didn’t think it’d look like this.”

He instinctively raised a hand to touch the sides of his head, fingers brushing the unfamiliar stubble. His breathing grew shallow.

“It's too much,” he said, almost to himself. “I shouldn’t have—maybe we should stop here.”

The barber remained calm, a knowing smile playing at the edge of his lips. He set the clippers down with care and moved behind Thomas without a word. His large hands came to rest gently on the sides of Thomas’s head.

“Breathe,” the barber whispered, his voice low and deep, like the murmur of distant thunder. “Feel where tension lives. Let it melt.”

His fingers moved with purpose, strong and practiced, pressing into Thomas’s scalp, tracing slow circles along the temples, the crown, the base of the skull.

Thomas's muscles unwound before he could resist. His shoulders dropped. His eyes slipped half-shut. The panic ebbed like a wave pulling back into the sea.

“You wear it well,” the barber said softly. “Clean lines. Honest features. The noise of the old world has been cut away. What’s left is real.”

Thomas let out a long, slow breath, closing his eyes fully now. “It does feel... lighter.”

“Mm,” the barber hummed approvingly. “You’re letting go.”

His fingers traveled downward, gently pressing behind the ears, then sliding back up with a steady rhythm. Every motion was hypnotic, like he was kneading thoughts out of Thomas’s head and replacing them with silence.

“You know,” the barber continued, voice laced with honey and gravity, “if you truly want to be free of the past... there’s one step further.”

Thomas barely stirred. “Further?”

“One millimeter,” the barber said, the words floating like a spell in the warm air. “A whisper of hair. Barely there. Just enough to remind you that you are flesh, and alive.”

Thomas hesitated, caught in the liminal space between thought and surrender. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Okay,” he said, voice soft and faraway. “Go ahead.”

The barber smiled—not with triumph, but with quiet satisfaction. He picked up the clippers again, adjusted the guard, and placed a steady hand on Thomas’s crown.

“This,” he murmured, “is where you begin.”

The hum of the clippers faded to silence, replaced by the steady rhythm of Thomas’s breathing. He sat motionless, eyes closed, his head freshly buzzed down to a soft shadow. The mirror before him no longer reflected hesitation, only stillness.

The barber set the clippers aside with reverence, as if closing the first chapter of a ritual. Then, with both hands, he began once more to massage Thomas’s scalp—slow, gliding motions that warmed the skin and sent small ripples of relaxation through his spine.

Thomas exhaled, deeper this time. The world outside the barbershop seemed impossibly far away.

“You are nearly there,” the barber said gently, his fingers tracing the curve of the skull, “but you’re still holding on… just a little.”

Thomas murmured something unintelligible, almost a question. But the barber didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering like a secret passed between old friends. “Would you trust me to take it all the way down? Completely bare. A clean slate. Not just short... but pure.”

There was a long pause. The fingers continued their slow circles.

Thomas opened his mouth slightly, then closed it. His jaw slackened. His body, heavy now with calm, gave in.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Go for it.”

The barber smiled—broad and warm, as if something long awaited had been granted. He reached for a straight razor and a hot towel, expertly wrapping Thomas’s head with the steaming cloth. The scent of menthol and eucalyptus filled the air.

While the towel softened the stubble, the barber retrieved a small brush and whipped a bowl of shaving cream into a soft foam. He applied it gently, coating Thomas’s scalp with even strokes, every movement fluid, hypnotic.

When the blade finally touched skin, it glided smoothly—silent, clean. With each careful stroke, the last trace of Thomas’s old self was scraped away, vanishing into the warm lather and linen.

He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.

The razor passed again and again, until there was nothing left but smooth, naked skin that glistened faintly under the soft glow of the shop’s lamps.

Once finished, the barber gently wiped his head clean and resumed the massage, fingers sliding over bare skin now. The sensation was otherworldly.

“You’ve done well,” the barber murmured, working the muscles beneath the skull. “You’ve let go.”

Thomas, floating somewhere just behind his closed eyelids, smiled faintly.

“I feel... like someone else.”

The barber chuckled softly. “Not someone else,” he said. “Someone new.”

The barber set down the straight razor with the same reverence one might place a sacred instrument upon an altar. He examined Thomas’s freshly shaved scalp—a smooth, gleaming surface, still warm and faintly pink from the blade. A canvas reborn.

Thomas remained in the chair, utterly calm. His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths. His smile was soft, almost childlike.

The barber reached to a small shelf behind the chair and removed a dark glass bottle—unlabeled, thick with age, its amber contents catching the low light like liquid gold.

“This,” the barber said, as he uncorked it, “is my own blend. An oil crafted from roots, barks, and seeds known to the old world. It nourishes. Awakens. ”

The scent hit the air—earthy, musky, with hints of spice and something ancient, almost like petrichor after a thunderstorm. The oil shimmered as it poured slowly into the barber’s large palms.

Thomas gave no reply—he was deep under, breath steady, a man far beyond tension or concern.

With both hands, the barber began to massage the oil into Thomas’s scalp. His fingers moved slowly, intentionally, pressing into pressure points at the base of the skull, behind the ears, the temples. The oil warmed under his hands, melting into the skin, gliding effortlessly.

The sensation was more than physical. Thomas’s fingertips twitched once. A soft murmur left his lips. His breathing deepened again, this time almost like a sigh of surrender.

The barber moved his hands downward, now gliding over Thomas’s neck, the nape, circling over the tops of his shoulders. The oil seemed to penetrate more than skin—it sank into the very structure of him.

Then the barber paused, placing his hands firmly on either side of Thomas’s head. He leaned in close, speaking not aloud, but into the space between them—his voice now like the low rustle of wind through tall grass.

“You’ve shed your skin, Thomas. But the man beneath… he’s still unfinished. Hidden beneath layers of time and denial.”

His thumbs pressed into the hollows behind the jaw, then slowly down the sides of the throat, stopping just above the collarbone.

“Shall we continue?” the barber asked, a whisper riding on a wave of oil and heat.

Thomas gave the faintest nod.

The barber smiled.

“Good.”

As the barber’s fingers continued to press deeply into Thomas’s scalp and neck, the oil seeped into him, carrying warmth deeper into his bones. The sensations expanded, spreading softly down his spine, into his chest, and across his shoulders.

Thomas remained motionless, his eyes gently closed, unaware of the transformation silently beginning.

Beneath the black cape, Thomas’s flat stomach began to ripple softly, flesh gradually rising, losing definition, swelling into a soft, chubby belly. The barber’s hands pressed lower, gliding over Thomas’s neck and shoulders, and with each stroke, Thomas's body shifted further:

His lower back and hips gently widened, softening into gentle curves, the first hints of small love handles pressing against the chair.

The barber’s hands moved lower still, passing softly over Thomas’s jawline and down his neck. With each touch, Thomas's jaw softened, his face growing subtly rounder, softer.

His chest filled slowly beneath the cape, flabbier, heavier, forming into soft, padded moobs. Thomas’s thighs quietly expanded, pressing gently together, filling the chair, soft and plush. His buttocks bulged outward dramatically, widening the seat beneath him.

His arms, once lean and firm, softened, losing muscle tone, replaced by gentle curves of soft tissue. His shoulders and upper arms pulsed quietly outward, coated now in a layer of plush softness, merging with the fullness around his neck.

Hair silently began sprouting across his newly rounded cheeks and chin, a short, soft beard adding a gentle maturity to his appearance.

Thomas’s body continued shifting beneath the cape, moving from softness to clear obesity, his once modest belly now swelling generously into a prominent, heavy gut with a clear underbelly roll resting on his lap. His thighs thickened dramatically, lush and broad. His groin area padded significantly, turning soft, pillowy, generous.

His back thickened, forming a pronounced fat roll above his prominent love handles. His hands, resting limp on the armrests, became thicker, fingers rounded, palms cushioned softly. Even his feet pressed outward slightly in his shoes, growing rounder, heavier, chubbier.

Hair softly appeared all over—arms, chest, legs—turning him comfortably, reassuringly hairy, accentue his newfound bulk and mature form.

And still, Thomas sat, deeply relaxed, completely oblivious.

The barber slowly lifted his hands from Thomas’s scalp, letting the final touch linger. Silence filled the shop like incense—thick, peaceful, powerful.

Thomas blinked slowly, surfacing from the trance. A dreamy smile lingered on his lips.

And then, as if returning to himself for the first time, he looked up at the mirror.

He froze.

His brow furrowed, blinking again. His reflection blinked back—unchanged, yet wholly transformed.

His face was rounder. Fuller. Softer. A beard framed his cheeks and jawline like it had always been there. His shoulders were broader, more padded, his arms thick with comfortable weight. The black cape draped over a body he didn’t recognize—but felt strangely familiar.

He slowly reached up, one hand brushing along his now gleaming bald scalp. His palm traced over the curve of his head, down his cheek, to his chest. His fingers hesitated at the soft swell of his chest, where flat pecs had become weighty moobs. He pressed gently, watching the give beneath his fingertips.

Then his hand traveled downward, grazing his belly.

He paused.

The soft, rounded mass of it pressed out against the cape, warm, heavy, undeniably his. He shifted in the chair. The way his thighs touched. The soft resistance in his lower back. The quiet bounce of flesh as he moved.

“What...?” His voice was soft, deeper, almost husky.

The barber stood behind him, smiling like a father proud of his son.

“You’ve let go of what you thought you had to be,” he said. “Now you are who you were meant to become.”

Thomas touched his face again, then his belly, then his thighs. He looked at himself—really looked—and found no fear there. Only quiet awe.

“I feel... calm,” he murmured.

“Because you are,” the barber replied. “You’ve traded sharpness for fullness. Tension for comfort. Uncertainty for presence.”

Thomas ran his hand down one of his arms, feeling the extra softness, the comforting heft in his upper arm and forearm. His fingers curled around his now-thicker wrist.

“I look...” He hesitated, searching for the word.

“Complete,” the barber offered.

Thomas met his own gaze in the mirror. For a long time, he said nothing. He simply sat, the corners of his mouth slowly rising—not with glee, not with disbelief, but with acceptance.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

The barber gave a small bow of his head. “You were always in there,” he said. “You just needed help seeing him.”

Thomas sat in silence for a long moment, staring at his reflection—his new self. The soft rise and fall of his chest matched the calm that had rooted deep inside him. A peace that no longer asked for approval. A knowing.

Then, slowly, he reached up and grasped the edge of the black cape.

The fabric whispered as it slid off his shoulders, and with a single, fluid motion, Thomas stood.

The cape fell away completely, pooling at his feet like the discarded skin of an old life.

He was larger now—broad, fleshy, powerful in a way that defied shame. His arms hung thick at his sides, the soft curve of his belly swelled over his waistband, and his thighs stretched the seams of what had once been well-fitted jeans.

But those seams no longer held.

As he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a loud crrrrk echoed in the quiet room. His shirt, once tight, now strained desperately at the shoulders and chest. The stitching along one side gave out, splitting open to reveal a patch of pale, hairy skin, warm and alive beneath the fabric.

He raised one arm slowly, curiously, feeling the pull of new weight in his shoulder. As he lifted, the sleeve of his shirt stretched wide, the fabric parting easily at the seam to reveal the soft, hairy flesh of his underarm. He glanced down at it, then leaned his head toward the space, inhaling gently. His brows lifted—not in shock, but in amused discovery.

A grin curled on his lips. It was his scent—warm, earthy, musky. Honest.

As his arm came down, he noticed something else. The hem of his stretched T-shirt didn’t rest where it used to. It hung awkwardly above the full curve of his belly, leaving a crescent of skin exposed beneath it. The bottom seams had split slightly, threads dangling loosely, surrendering to the volume that pressed out from beneath.

He placed a hand on his round gut, lifting the hem with the other, and gave a gentle rub. The flesh jiggled slightly under his touch, warm and covered with a generous dusting of coarse, dark hair. He scratched absentmindedly at the curve, smiling again. It felt good. Familiar. Right.

Turning slightly, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—just enough to see the backside of his jeans.

His eyes narrowed with amusement. A long, clean horizontal tear had opened up just beneath one of the back pockets, revealing a pale flash of flesh underneath. The denim hadn’t stood a chance.

He shifted, and the rip widened a little, the fabric straining around his thickened thighs and the full, rounded swell of his rear.

Thomas chuckled softly.

With a slow breath, he turned toward the mirror fully, stepping close. His reflection met him, unchanged yet completely transformed.

He leaned in.

His face was rounder now, undeniably so—full cheeks, a softened jawline framed in a thick, well-shaped beard. His eyes sparkled with something deeper than surprise. Something like admiration.

He brought a hand to his chin, fingers disappearing into the beard, stroking the dense hair with care. It was coarse, but clean, and suited him in a way nothing ever had before. He smiled again—broader this time.

Then he looked down at his shirt.

What was left of it clung loosely to his shoulders and upper arms, stretched to its limit and sagging beneath the weight of what he’d become. The side seams had given up entirely, exposing more skin and hair with every breath.

He gripped the fabric near the collar, planted his feet, and pulled.

The sound of tearing cotton filled the quiet shop as the shirt ripped open down the middle, its final seams unraveling like the last chains of an old life. He cast the shredded cloth aside, letting it fall beside the puddled barber cape.

There he stood—bare-chested, round, soft, strong. Hairy. Content.

The barber, still standing silently in the background, watched with a subtle nod, his arms crossed in approval. “You see it now, don’t you? The man you were always meant to be.”

Thomas glanced down at himself, running a hand along the swell of his belly, then met the barber’s eyes in the mirror.

The barber nodded, stepping close behind, his hand resting on Thomas’s shoulder. “Your belly suits you. Full. Proud. It speaks of presence… of a man who takes up space without apology.”

He let his hand trail slowly down Thomas’s back, then lower, gently brushing against the curve of his jeans. “And those jeans... well, they didn’t stand a chance, did they? These hips—this backside—you were built to be admired, not confined.”

Thomas chuckled softly, his face glowing with quiet confidence. “You’ve grown into yourself, Thomas. Into a body that reflects what you carry inside—comfort, depth, and gravity. Walk out of here like you own it. Because you do.”

Thomas nodded. Then turned fully to face the door, his broad back relaxed, his bare skin glowing in the golden light. The barber smiled behind him, the master of quiet reinvention.

“Welcome to your new beginning.”

Thomas’s transformation is only another barber shop story. The barber’s hands have shaped more than hair—he's sculpted destinies, unlocked hidden selves, and awakened truths buried beneath the skin. From quiet reinventions to surreal metamorphoses, each visitor leaves changed.

Ready for more? Explore other unforgettable transformations behind the golden mirror:

[rokaimi-blog]

Hey hi!

I admit I’m just confused and trying to get some clarifications. My bf and I are on a trip and he just stopped by this huge hotel I never seen. He said he already had a reservation for room 153, but I feel like he would have told me no?

Anyway, I’m a pretty average looking skinny guy, 26 yo, long blonde hair, a short beard and a mustache. My bf is 32 yo and more bear shaped, sadly minus the beard.

He keeps talking about how much can’t wait to bottom and ride me all night long, which like, I’d love to but I’m just still a bit concerned about this mysterious hotel. Any tips on this place?

The door opened to a room that looked like a cross between a movie set and a gilded cage. Neon lights reflected off mirrored walls, a four-poster bed with black silk sheets, and that lingering smell of leather and silicone. “Damn the GPS,” I muttered, dropping my backpack. Then the heat came. A wave of liquid fire ran down my back. My shirt clung to my body like a second skin, tightening, until it tore along the seams as my pecs exploded into two sheets of smooth, tattooed muscle. A black ink snake uncoiled between my abs, its forked tongue pointing toward my navel. My arms swelled hairlessly, my skin suddenly shiny and flawless. Tribal tattoos bloomed on my biceps, designs I didn’t remember choosing but that seemed to tell a story of dominance.  In the mirror, a stranger stared back at me: square jaw, nonchalant jet black hair, and those eyes—two black wells filled with dirty promises. His pants fell to the floor, revealing sculpted thighs and a package that couldn’t be mine. My hand shook as I touched my new erection, as hard as the rest of me.

On the nightstand, a script opened to page one: *MAIN SCENE* *Story: Ex-nerd becomes star* *Actions: Take what he wants* The bathroom door creaked. “Ready to audition?” a voice growled, making my new muscles vibrate. It wasn’t a question.

[rokaimi-blog]

Lev Goldberg (2014 vs 2024)

[rokaimi-blog]

Grow Up, Bro - The Dream

Fuck.

He needed to come. Now.

His cock was already rock hard—leaking, pulsing, demanding attention—and it had been for what felt like hours. He didn’t know when it started. He just knew he was soaked in sweat, his sheets kicked halfway off the bed, his heart pounding like he’d just sprinted a mile.

He fumbled for the drawer. Found lube.

His hand shook as he uncapped it and slicked his cock—hissing through his teeth the second he made contact.

Jesus. He was sensitive. He was burning up.

He needed something.

The stroker was there. On the floor. Or maybe he’d already suctioned it to the mirror? He couldn’t remember. Didn’t care.

He got up—legs heavy, cock bouncing, mind blank with need—and staggered toward the mirror.

And stopped.

Holy fuck.

That was him?

He stared at his reflection, chest rising and falling. He looked—he looked like someone else. Like a fucking porn fantasy.

Huge. Broad. Cut.

Not bloated gym-bro muscle either. This was cover-of-Men’s-Fitness shit. Shredded, sweaty, veiny. His pecs looked thick as armor, his traps rose like hills, and his shoulders flared out wide and round.

And hair—

Dark, dense, perfect. Spreading across his chest, down his stomach, curling lightly around his navel. The kind of body hair that belonged on a man like this.

He couldn’t stop staring.

He looked like a fucking god.

Big. Bold. Fuckable.

Fuck. He was gonna come just looking at himself.

He got closer to the mirror. His cock bumped the rubber sleeve—

“F-fuck,” he grunted. Just touching it made his knees shake.

He lined himself up, breath shuddering.

Slid the tip in slow—

“Shit.”

It hugged him. Tight, warm, obscene.

He couldn’t hold back.

Thrust once. Hard.

The stroker slapped against the mirror, suction popping. He caught it just in time, pushed back in deeper, watching his own body jerk with the movement.

He braced one hand on the wall, the other gripping the sleeve.

Started moving.

Slow at first.

Then harder. Faster.

He couldn’t stop watching himself.

His thick thighs bracing wide.

His sweaty chest bouncing with every thrust.

His face—lips parted, jaw clenched, flushed red from heat and need.

This was him.

He looked like a fucking alpha.

He was the alpha.

He started talking without meaning to.

“Yeah… fuck yeah, bro…”

Growling, low, possessive.

“This is what a real man looks like. Look at you. Fuckin’ stallion.”

He reached up, ran his hand over his pec. It was solid. Heavy. A thick shelf of muscle that felt like it could crush a guy’s skull.

He groaned. Rolled his thumb across his nipple—

“Oh fuck.”

That sent a jolt straight to his cock.

He grabbed the other one. Pinched both. Moaned loud.

Jesus. He was so hot.

So fucking hot.

He picked up the pace.

The mirror rattled against the wall.

The sound of his hips slamming into the stroker filled the room—wet, heavy, urgent.

His cock felt massive. Angry. Like it was too full.

It needed release.

He needed to blow.

He needed to breed.

“That’s it, bro. Fuck. Gonna fill it. Gonna wreck this pussy.”

He wasn’t even thinking. Just saying what felt right.

“Fuckin’ born for this. Built to breed.”

He reached up, flexed both arms—fuck, look at those biceps—

His pecs bounced with the motion, his abs carved and twitching under sweat.

He looked like something from a gay magazine his old self would’ve mocked—but now he wanted to devour it.

And that body was his.

His.

All his.

He slammed into the stroker, over and over, faster and faster—

His legs tensed, his balls pulled up—

He was gonna—

“Fuck, I’m gonna—!”

He—

…

—woke up.

Gasping.

Blankets twisted around his legs.

Hard as fuck.

His heart pounded in his chest. His cock ached. His whole body was hot, damp, tingling.

His boxers were soaked with pre.

He sat up.

And stopped breathing.

There was hair on his chest.

Not a dusting. Not peach fuzz.

Real, visible, masculine hair.

And when he flexed—

His arm bulged.

Hard.

More than it should’ve.

He stared at his reflection across the room.

He didn’t look like he did in the dream. Not yet.

But he looked closer.

And he was still hard as fuck.

[rokaimi-blog]

Grok story: Bear Necessities

this something a bit diffident then i would normally do

Jake and Ethan, a gay couple, win a trip to an exclusive island resort. Jake, a chiseled top, and Ethan, a twinkish bottom, are given a jockstrap and oversized speedo, respectively. Overnight, the island’s magic transforms them: Jake becomes a hairy, hefty bear bottom with a massive rear and rounded belly, while Ethan turns into a towering, muscular bear top, standing 6’5” with enhanced manhood. Their roles flip—Jake now the bottom, Ethan the top—as they embrace their new bearish forms, confirmed by a note welcoming them to the “Gay Bears Suite.”

Jake and Ethan had been a couple for years, their dynamic as solid as it was striking. Jake was a towering, muscular hulk of a man—broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, and biceps that strained every shirt he wore. At 30, he exuded raw masculinity, a confident top who thrived on taking charge, both in life and in their relationship. Ethan, his partner, was the opposite—a lithe, twinkish bottom with an average build, and a shy, playful charm that Jake adored. Also 30, Ethan was content to let Jake lead, his softer demeanor complementing his boyfriend’s dominance.

The two had entered a contest on a whim—a chance to win a week-long stay at an exclusive island resort. Against all odds, they both won.

Upon checking in, they were handed their "mandatory attire" and a suitcase each, labeled with their names. Jake’s initial outfit was a massive jockstrap that barely contained his bulk, the straps digging into his thick thighs—a bold choice he smirked at, knowing it suited his role. Ethan received a bright red speedo with an oversized pouch in the front—far too big for his modest endowment, making him blush and giggle nervously. Inside their suitcases, they found more clothes, each set as bizarrely specific as the first.

Jake unzipped his suitcase to reveal tight-fitting spandex workout gear—tank tops, shorts, and leggings that hugged his massive frame like a second skin. The fabric shimmered in bold neon colors, perfect for showing off his physique. His swimsuit was a green thong, skimpy and daring, which he tossed onto the bed with a chuckle. Ethan’s suitcase contained clothes that looked like they belonged to a bodybuilder twice his size—oversized tank tops that hung off his slim shoulders, baggy shorts that sagged around his waist, and a spandex trunk swimsuit with a comically large pouch that made him squirm. The clothes clearly suited Jake better, but the resort staff were firm: no switching allowed.

"What kind of kinky getaway is this?" Jake teased, flexing as he adjusted the jockstrap.

Ethan rolled his eyes, holding up the speedo. "I don’t know, babe. I’m too tired to figure it out. Let’s just crash and laugh about it tomorrow."

Jake grinned, pulling Ethan close for a quick kiss. "Fine by me." They climbed into the bed, Jake spooning Ethan as always, the twink nestling into his boyfriend’s broad chest. The room was warm, the air heavy with the scent of tropical flowers drifting in from the open window. Soon, exhaustion overtook them, and they drifted into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

Unbeknownst to them, the island had a strange magic woven into its fabric—a transformative energy that began to rewrite their bodies and roles as they slept. Jake’s massive frame shifted: his hips widened, and his glutes swelled into a round, powerful curve, far larger than any bodybuilder’s ought to be. His desires flipped, turning the once-dominant top into a yearning bottom. Ethan’s lithe form stirred differently—his manhood grew longer and thicker, filling the speedo’s oversized pouch, while a surge of confidence rewired him into a budding top.

When morning broke, sunlight streamed through the window. Jake stirred first, blinking groggily as he realized he was clinging to Ethan, his thick arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s waist. His rear felt heavier, pressing into the mattress in a way that startled him. Ethan woke next, his eyes widening as he felt a massive erection straining his speedo—a size he’d never known before.

"Whoa—uh, babe?" Jake stammered, pulling away, his face flushed. His voice carried a nervous edge as he shifted, feeling his transformed glutes.

Ethan sat up, adjusting the speedo with a mix of shock and intrigue. "Holy… Jake, look at me!" His shy giggle was gone, replaced by a bold grin as he glanced at Jake’s altered frame.

Jake stood, his jockstrap digging into his widened hips. "Something’s seriously off here." His gaze lingered on Ethan, a sudden, overwhelming need flaring up—completely at odds with his usual toppy swagger.

Ethan’s eyes sparkled with new authority. "Yeah, but I kinda like it." The air crackled between them, their familiar roles teetering.

Jake swallowed hard, stepping closer. "Ethan, I… I need you. Like, now." His voice trembled, vulnerable in a way Ethan had never heard.

Ethan didn’t hesitate, pulling Jake back to the bed with a firm grip. What followed was a passionate reversal—Jake surrendering to his new bottom role, Ethan taking charge with a confidence that thrilled them both. Their love adapted seamlessly, the island’s magic flipping their dynamic in a single night.

Breathless and tangled in the sheets, they lay there, the absurdity of it sinking in. "Guess you’re the big man now," Jake murmured, tracing Ethan’s chest.

Ethan smirked. "And you’re my big catch." But the day wasn’t over, and the island had more in store.

They dressed—Jake in his neon spandex tank and shorts, Ethan in his oversized tank and baggy shorts—and headed to the buffet. They ate voraciously, especially Ethan, who piled his plate high. As they did, the magic deepened. Ethan’s frame stretched upward, his slim build bulking into muscle, his height climbing past Jake’s to 6’5”. Jake’s belly rounded out, a firm swell pushing against his tank, softening his once-chiseled core.

"You’re getting huge," Jake said, eyeing Ethan’s growth with a mix of awe and nerves.

Ethan flexed, his oversized clothes tightening. "And you’re filling out, babe." He patted Jake’s belly, grinning.

Jake flushed. "This place is messing with us." They finished eating, Ethan now a towering slab of muscle, Jake’s rear and belly more pronounced.

Self-conscious, Jake suggested the gym. "I need to work this off." Ethan followed, eager to test his strength. At the fitness center, Jake hit the treadmill in his green thong, his muscles softening further under layers of fat, hair sprouting across his chest and up to a thickening beard. Ethan lifted massive weights effortlessly, his physique sharpening into a Herculean form, a beard blooming to match Jake’s.

"Damn, you’re a beast," Jake panted, stepping off, his hairy, burly frame jiggling slightly.

Ethan grinned, hefting a barbell. "And you’re my bear." They finished, Jake a hefty giant, Ethan a chiseled titan.

They swam next, stripping to their swimwear. Jake’s hairy bulk glistened in the thong, Ethan’s towering form shone in the trunk. In the water, Jake felt shy about his size but melted under Ethan’s admiring gaze. "You’re perfect," Ethan whispered, pulling him close.

Back in their room, they shed their suits, embracing naked—Jake’s burly, hairy frame against Ethan’s bearded, muscular one. A note on the table read: "Welcome to the Gay Bears Suite. Enjoy your stay."

Jake laughed. "From twink and top to bears, huh?"

Ethan kissed him. "Best switch ever."

[rokaimi-blog]

TF trade: One of the guys in the gym I’ve been Coaching has been very keen on me trying a new kind of workout supplement. Do you know anything about it? I hope that adding it to the mix won’t cause any… sudden changes.

Of course I know about it! And it seems like you're about to find out too.

One scoop in your shake and a sip later and you start to feel warm and itchy all over, dark black hair begins to sprout all over you as you desperately itch away lifting your workout gear to try and get some relief, not that it worked. The next stage is massive and sudden as your muscles begin to balloon up randomly making you look like a disproportionate action figure as slowly the lacking parts of your body begin to catch up.

You run your hands through your hair trying to cope with the full body warmth that is radiating out of you, only for it to fall out in thick clumps leaves you nervous for what's next. Your muscles continue to grow bigger by the second, tearing apart your clothes, you now look like a big meat head who's been abusing roids for years and the look only gets more compelling as your abs swell into a hgh gut and your dick shrinks a few inches.

Letting out a deep grunt you stare at the shake you made missing only a single sip, surely you didn't want to risk drinking the whole thing.....I mean your dick is important right?.......sure you don't want to lose any more size.........and who wants to look like a cartoonish action figure.....

Maybe one more sip, or maybe a mouthful wouldn't hurt...