sanzaibian

[sanzaibian]

Just got informed that my blog turned 1 year old !

I must admit that I didn't expect it to break the 1000 subscibers mark in just one year, yet here I am ! Thank you very much for all your support !

To another year full of horny stories !

[sanzaibian]

For @guytransformedforever

You look at the time.

22:38.

Great. This late there’s barely any bus, and you’re not even sure that the one that will lead you to your home is still making rounds. You curse the project manager. She’s over there making dumb decisions needing tons of work, and if you don’t do it by tomorrow, then you’re fired ! As a results, you have to accumulate overtime, and now you’re out way later than you’re supposed to !

You wander towards the bus stop. Thankfully, there still seems to be a bus going around this late, but the next one is…

… in 30 minutes.

Second curse addressed to the project manager. What are you supposed to do this late for thirty minutes ?! It’s such a long time ! Well, at this point, may as well wander around… you set up an alarm to ring in 20 minutes, and then you go walk around the bus stop.

This late, the cityscape is quiet, but there is still light about. Thankfully, the area your job is situated in isn’t a dangerous one, so you’re not in danger of getting mugged… but you still keep close to your bag. Though one thing you can say is that, will all the paved roads, the lights, the trees, and the quiet buildings, it is quite beautiful. The air is also remarkably fresh, though it’s likely anything but clean.

As you walk around, you stumble a big open-air stadium. Its grass is unnaturally green, and it is bordered by some bright brick red running tracks. It has some extensive bleachers on the side, and is lighten up by some hefty floodlights. You didn’t know there was one over here. Granted, you knew about the high-school in this district, especially by how much the project manager shows off her son’s impressive sports achievements…

Third curse addressed to the project manager.

You also heard something about sports club nearby, but you never put two and two together to guess there was a good stadium in that same vicinity. You yourself are not an athletic person. Quite frankly, the only part of school you didn’t like were the mandatory PE classes. You run out of breath quite quickly on track, you’re hopelessly clumsy with a racket, you have terrible aim, and you can’t lift anything for the life of you.

However, this surprised by the unnoticed presence of such a big stadium, moreover one that is grand open for any passerby to waltz in, you find yourself going in yourself.

Just to take a quick look.

As you wandered inside of the enclosure, you felt the hot light coming from the big floodlights. You looked up at them… and quickly looked down. Light blinds, the sarcastic part of your brain mocks. As a result, you find yourself, just like you do in those long summer meetings, undoing the first few buttons of your shirt. This way, more of your pasty white skin can be shown to the world.

You grimace at that thought. You might not be ugly, but you certainly feel like it. So unbuttoning your shirt like this as if you were the sexiest man in existence is… awkward. But you keep going. The stadium is very quiet, even though it’s grand open and lighten up. How peculiar. You engage yourself on the running tracks, and still the only noise permeating this large court is the distant drone of cars in the highway.

This must surely be a far cry from how it usually is… imagining it, how it would have felt, say, on a training day… You picture the athletes, running on the tracks, sweating, their feet stomping the ground as lightly as they can… You picture the coach, a stopwatch in hand, looking on at his proteges, shouting “Go for it !” “You can do it !” “Come on, you can do better !”… You picture the onlookers sat in the bleachers, some having lively discussions, some checking out the runners, some with a bottle in hand waiting for their friend to finish running, some anxiously recuperating…

Those images are so lively, so vivid. Almost as if they were memories. … You dismiss that thought.

You walk towards the bleachers. You’re sweating, those damn floodlights ! You undo your jacket, holding it by the hand as you notice some abandoned clothes and a bottle filled of a bright blue liquid. It seems that there indeed is someone, here, though they seem to have left this area. And they did it… shirless ? shoeless ? pantless ?

The more you dwell in that stadium, the weirder it seems… You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help but go through these abandoned belongings. They smell foul, like only clothes of an athlete would. However, they don’t look that bad… with blue jogging pants, white tank top, white shoes, and even… Fuck, even underwear ? Just what was that guy thinking ?

Disgusted by that, you pull yourself away. God, the floodlights are oppressive… you take out your shirt fully, and hold it with your hand, not even caring about what used to be your jacket. Looking down, your torso is all hairless, and has its usual speck of tan. After all, you’re quite a fan of hanging out shirtless, meaning that your torso can gain in color, although genetics prevent you from growing darker.

You walk around, trying to find something to do in this seemingly abandoned stadium. You feel like your place is here, yet you can’t quite pinpoint why. Is it because you’re waiting for something ? Is it because you’re waiting for someone ? Or is it because you have something to do here ?

You look down at the red tar you’re walking on. You like its sensation through your dress shoes… you understand why people like to run on it… almost making you want to try it out. But you’re not in the correct clothes, with your dress pants and… the dress shirt you used to wear (where did it go, even ?). How are you going to run in good conditions ?

You look back at the pile of abandoned clothes.

…

No, you wouldn’t…

…

Once you’ve put the abandoned clothes on, fastening the bright white tennis shoes, you walk back towards the tar. You feel your blood pumping, the excitement rising in a way it never had before. Is that how athletes feel each time they perform ?

And so you start running, feeling the air caressing your skin. Your respiration grows more and more professional, taking in big breaths and letting out just as much air, letting all your muscles be perfectly oxygenated. You feel the strength in your legs, the determination in your step, and the oppressive floodlights start to feel more and more like they’re showcasing your caramel muscles. Just like any good athlete, you’re as much running for the glory of being the best as you’re running for showing off to the world the perfection of your body.

You chase away the hair that is flying in your face. Funnily enough, you remember having been to the barber to buzz it short, but this thought now seems ludicrous… if you cut it all down, why in hell would you invest in the perfect products to style it in the perfectly fluffy style you love to wear ? Indeed, as you smell the whiff of your musk hitting your nose, you are reminded of all the efforts you put on making yourself look the best version of yourself you can… and your natural man musk is making all of it pop !

With the big muscles you have developed through sheer dedication (and maybe one or two additives), you look like the king of the world, the most manly of all men ! And your musk, your sweat, your style… everything is there to make it as obvious as it can be ! Fuck, you’re so hot ! No wonder you got gals and guys at your feet all asking to be fucked by that gigantic tool of yours !

Which you do, of course. Both men and women, you don’t discriminate.

All of a sudden, you hear ringing. You stop your run, and look for the origin of that sound… which you locate in your phone. Huh, a reminder about “going to the bus stop” ? Why did you ever set that up ? You’re mid-training, right now !

You walk in the central grass, as you recuperate from all the laps you did. Only five, it wasn’t a lot, you didn’t bring your A-game… though, granted, you were quite busy at work. At least, you still have time to walk down to the stadium in the evenings to work out a bit. Plus, there aren’t many people at that time, so you can show off your hard-earned gains without bringing the ire of those in charge !

“Hey !” you suddenly hear a masculine voice from the other side of the stadium.

You look to the origin of the voice, and see a man in workout clothes similar to you. His face feels familiar… but you can’t quite pinpoint where you know him from. He walks towards you, and slaps your back. You’re a bit confused by this display of bro-affection, but you automatically slap him back, a smirk creeping on your lips.

“Hey bro.” You answer in a deep, velvet voice. ‒ Whatcha doin’ here, Chad ?”

This name makes your neurons fire. Something feels weird about it, both wrong… and right. You know your name isn’t Chad… yet, having people refer to you like this doesn’t feel wrong either ? You remember all the jokes your… friends made with you, comparing you to the gigachad… ‘cause yeah ! You’re Chad ! And you’re a chad ! Plus now you know why you felt “Chad” wasn’t quite alright !

Your legal name is actually Chadwick !

“Oh, I’m just getting the pump in, you know.” You answer dismissively, still trying to find in your hazy memories who that guy is. ‒ Ah, that’s good ! Wouldn’t expect any less from the track team captain !”

Images of your name printed in big capital letters on a mesh jersey flood back in mind. Yes, Chad, the track team captain, this all fits ! You remember all the meetings in the locker rooms, all the times coach put you to the extremes, and all the banter you had with the other members of the team !

You were chosen because you were by far the best runner, and only training on the days where the coach is there won’t slide. Because if you let yourself go to the side, you risk your spot as the captain of the most promising team this side of town. No, no matter what, you can’t disappoint your teammates.

You can’t disappoint your bros.

“Yeah, dude !” You acquiesce, not really knowing what to say. ‒ By the way, bro, are you gonna go to the party tomorrow evening ? I heard the chicks are good !”

Your smile grows, proportionally to your dick as you imagine the big-breasted women of parties. You know they’re vapid, but so you are, to be honest. That’s why you love parties. Though they’re often a bit short on twinks, they more than make up with bro-bonding with all the dudes from the team.

Like that bro you’re talking to.

“Yup, I’m going ! Ain’t no way I’m gonna miss a chance to score chicks, bro !” You mime your dick entering a pussy, making you both laugh, the closeness you have with him slowly coming back into focus. ‒ That’s just you, bro. After all, uni is for having fun, dude !”

Didn’t you work before ? … You remember something about a project manager, but this anger seems more and more distant… Why did you even think you were already over with uni ? You haven’t even had time to do all the good crazy stuff you need to do to get the uni experience of all time ! Yup, thinking back, work only reminds you of summer jobs in the local supermarket. You didn’t really like it, but it made for some good cash you could drop in some great kicks ! Like, the shoes you’re wearing have been bought with your first salary !

You smirk at what Fred just told you. It’s just a truism, something that’s so obviously true that it doesn’t need to be stated. Yet, you love talking about yourself, and all the ways in which you’re such a great guy. And there’s no better person to make that known than your best bro, Fred. Everyone knows about the greatest duo of all time, of Chad & Fred ! You’re two peas in a pod, do everything together, are the greatest confidants and the greatest pranksters !

How could you forget you best bro ?

“Yup. Now, come here, and I’ll show you how to have fun !” You laugh, locking his neck below your armpit. ‒ No fair, dude !” He laughs back, trying to overpowering you.

And just like that, near to the stadium, a bus stopped and went away under the cries of two boys being boys.

[sanzaibian]

Thanks to @fredwkong for all the invaluable feedback !

I love my boyfriend.

He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, really couldn’t find anyone nicer that him, even when scouring through honey bottles ! He always thinks of me first, always takes care of me when I need help, always up to smile when I need to wind down. And when we wind down… we cuddle, kiss, and cuddle. A lot. It’s pure heaven, pure love, and sometimes we even do sex !

He’s always more up to it than me, however. Which is a shame, to be honest, because he’s also so beautiful, so hot so cute ! I almost feel bad hogging such a piece of work out of those who would find such a guy carnally attractive ! I look up at his eyes, his deep brown eyes. He often has a bit of a tired look, his work is quite demanding indeed, but he still prioritizes me at every turn. And he looks at me back, smiling warmly.

“Hey, honey. Are you alright ?” He asks with his velvet voice. ‒ Yeah… just tired. You know, work and all… ‒ Don’t worry, I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

I feel my cheek flush red. He just has the knack for saying just the right thing that will make me fall over heels again and again. It’s almost as if I found another level of love each time he’s like that. I furrow my head under his jaw, as he holds me tight, as my hands also snake down his back. He’s so warm, and I can feel the subtle move of his tight muscles... even the dick coming up to life, though I know that he will do nothing on it that I don’t agree to.

We stay like that a few minutes, me closing my eyes and listening to his breath, him caressing my back, smiling. After a while, Idostart getting cramps to my back, however… unfortunately, I’m not getting younger with time... I extract myself from my boyfriend’s arms and stretch, letting my face face his. He smiles at me. I smile back. God is he just the best man on the planet ! I’m so thankful to have met him ! … if only I had met him earlier, then I wouldn’t have…

I sigh and run my finger on his upper lip, distracting myself from the ghosts of my past. I feel his hairs, all arranged in an orderly fashion, so groomed, so nice…

“You know, I love your mustache… it suits you so well…” I state, as he smiles. ‒ Then, why don’t you grow one ?” He answers, quite tongue-in-cheek.

I feel the familiar bristle of the hairs on my upper lip.

“Well, what do you mean ? I’ve always had one !” I quip back humorously.

I scratch my mustache. Mine is quite beefier than his, both longer and denser than his, because it’s the only part of my beard I’ve let grow. After all only the mustache is good facial hair, I even feel quite uncomfortable with others on my face. But he seems a bit perplexed, somehow. As if he saw something unexpected happen. Though, granted, he’s always had that look as if he was on another plane of existence, so I’ve gotten used to it by now.

It’s part of his charm.

“Yeah, and it suits you well, doesn’t it ?” He asks. ‒ Yes ?” I answer, a bit confused at the question.

He takes his hand, caressing my short hair. I’ve never liked having long hair, whence why I regularly buzzcut it. It doesn’t mean I don’t like longer hair, on the contrary, his hair is absolutely gorgeous in comparison to mine, with his magnificent cascades of curls ! It’s just not for me. Ugh, I don’t deserve him… He then presses his hand on the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss. Mustache against mustache, it tickles ‒ though something feels vaguely weird with this sensation. However the feeling of his hairy chin isn’t really as good as his mustache, scratches a bit on the bare skin.

“It tickles, you know ? Your chin.” I notice when we pull out of the kiss. “You should shave it, mustaches are better, you know ? ‒ Well,” he puts his thumb on my naked chin. “if you had one, maybe you’d like how it feels ?”

He scratches my chin hair, going up to my soul patch.

“Heh, yeah, the goatee is better, I’m glad you went with my suggestion.” I comment, not really sure how to answer that weird question. “Makes us look like a set, don’t you think ? ‒ Yeah, though yours came out better than mine… ‒ I guess I must have better genetics than you in that department !”

I smile. At least, it’s a good way for me to feel good about myself, how my facial hair comes out. It does take a lot of grooming to look right, but I’m willing to go the extra mile just to look good for my boyfriend. He’s such a sweet guy, and such a magnificent piece of work. Unfortunately, I don’t really rise to his level, and I don’t really give him all the experiences he expects eith... I still feel I have to earn his attention, in some way.

“I’m kidding, of course…” I rescind my bragging. “You get all the muscles and the beauty, you’re the one with better genetics…”

He drops a small kiss on my lips, smiling to me.

“Don’t throw yourself down, I love you how you are ! Besides, if you want muscles, then you just have to go to the gym with me !”

It’s my turn to drop a kiss on his lips.

“Is that a threat ? That I’m spending too much time with my gym buddies ?” I smile widely. ‒ I mean, I wouldn’t against doing it together more, you know ? ‒ But then how can I surprise you with my hard muscles ?”

I flex my pecs at him, and he bursts out laughing.

“God, babe, how could I ? At least I beat you in hair drip !” He sticks out his tongue. ‒ True that. Though it must be a pain to maintain, short is much better ! ‒ Well, if you put in the right products, you can maintain longer hair without too much work !”

I rake my afro with my hand. He’s right, products have done wonders for my hair… I can’t tell you how messy and unshaped it was before I met my boyfriend ‒ by now, I can even take out individual strands ! A feat when compared to the shapeless blob it used to be ! Though it’s still not enough for my hair to be easy to manage by any means… using the picks, the combs, the mousse… all that is just bothersome. So I just keep it messy, at least I can pretend it’s trendy !

“Yeah, thanks for the recommendations, by the way. ‒ No worries ! We have similar hair nature, so it’s only natural that we can share products !”

I smile, and we continue cuddling. God do I love my boyfriend… He gives everything for me, be it tips on my hair, a fashion critic, an open ear, or even a gym buddy ! Even if sometimes I feel like I’m not repaying him enough, he still keeps on giving me yet more. Even though I look quite hot, even though we’ve gone for matching styles, even though I show to him all the love he duly deserves… I always feel like my own inabilities will one day drive him away from me…

I know it’s silly, I know he’s reassured me a lot of times about it, but… when you’re feeling a trunk pushing on your leg yet do not taking care of it, you cannot help but feel guilty. Guilty that you’re not meeting his expectations, guilty that you’re denying him this experience.

“You know, there is one thing that I feel like I’m failing at…” I start admitting. “I know we’ve talked about it a lot, but I’m sorry, I can’t help but feel like I’m failing you… I wish‒ ‒ Don’t say it !” He cuts me, eyes wide open, as if I was about to crush a kid’s dreams. ‒ What, can’t I‒ ‒ I said don’t say it !” He looks at me with all the determination he has. “At least not today, okay ? I… I guess I also have… have had a long day, you know ?”

I look at him weirdly.

We can usually talk about anything together, there’s no filter, no taboo, he just listen to everything I have to say and provide clear-headed answers… yet suddenly my fears about my utter dislike for sexual activities are problematic ? I mean, I guess I have talked to him a lot about that inactivity, how he has an ace sister so he doesn’t mind, so he might be sick of it… but did it warrant such a big reaction ? And what was that all about having had a long day, he came back home before me !

“Ugh, okay…” I yield. “We won’t talk about me wanting to match you sexually.”

He looks at me, horrified.

I don’t understand. Why all these theatrics ? … We break the cuddle, and I lie my heard down the pillow. I hear him mumble stuff under his breath… can’t quite make it out. I look back at him… with his gorgeous face, gorgeous hair, gorgeous goatee, gorgeous muscles… god, what’s not to like in such a hot bod ? I’m so glad I landed a guy as hot as him ! Plus, he’s all sweet in addition to it !

This all makes my dick call back to action… god, I’m so hard, almost feel like I haven’t gotten off in a while… Which is weird, honestly. I guess I’ve been too busy recently. And looking at his bulge… he wants it, too… yet we haven’t fucked yet ? How weird ! Fuck… I just want to have sex with him, the horny haze is there and stronger than ever… I don’t even have enough bandwidth to guess why he’s angry...

“So… wanna fuck ?” I ask. “For reconciliation ?”

He looks at me with somehow a feeling of loss behind his eyes. But I don’t really pay much attention, so focused I am on his cute little butt that is just calling for a dick. And I just so happen to have a little monster who is looking for a nice hole to land in… After a short while, he sighs, and starts pushing back the sheets. He stands up, making me rise up as well, though he starts going towards the bathroom.

“Wait for me, I have to douche.” He notifies me, seemingly exasperated. He adds, in a lower voice : “At this point, why not…”

Smiling, I quickly undress the last few pieces of clothing I still had on. I’m so excited,we’refinally gonna have sex !And when he returns, I’m all ready, on my knees, sat on the bed, having had time to crown my dick with a nice condom. My boyfriend takes place on the bed, lying down, ass upwards. He looks back a little while at me, with some kind of half smile, almost as if he was pleading something.

But I’m the one in charge of the bed, right now. ‘Tis my duty to make my boyfriend feel the reach of heaven.

And then, I push in my dick in his ass.

He jerks his head back up front, as he moans heavily.

God, I didn’t think both of us would be so pent up ! This is going to be the best fuck in a long while !

[sanzaibian]

It is late.

I sit on the sofa, waiting nervously for my friend to come back.

It is quite comfy on there, though his whole apartment is quite small and cramped. Plus, he’s not very tidy, meaning that there’s a few clothes thrown around haphazardly, and a lot of… stuff hanging around. No junk, mind you – though he did throw all of that away when I called him for this impromptu request – but rather stuff that doesn’t belong anywhere in particular, like a pack of tissues, the remote, a few pens and some random papers.

But one great thing is that he has a good view out the full-height window in the living room. Granted, it’s not a very romantic view, with the cheap high-rises and the sea of concrete, but I get why he was excited when he found that cheap apartment up for grabs. Perhaps one day I’ll live there… though, honestly, being a gay guy that is both quite nerdy and quite gender non-conforming, I’m not sure I’ll be able to navigate this very macho and tight-knit community.

“Phew ! It was a lot more intense that I thought it would be...” My friend came back from his room, carrying a small white box. ‒ Sorry for having requested it on such a short notice… I swear I’ll repay you later. ‒ Don’t worry about it, I’m more worried about you…” He approaches me, and with a soft but serious tone, asks me : “Ahmed, you’re sure you want to do this ? I won’t be able to reverse it once it’s started, you’ll have to play the whole week with no interruption.”

I do look down and shake my head, set in my decision.

“I know. I’ve already sent a message to the university, and to all those who need to be warned.” I sigh. “I just want to forget, you know… at least for a week… ‒ Yeah, I understand...” He smiles, weakly. “I kinda want to do the same, you know, but when you have… sensibilities like me, you can’t just disappear. ‒ I’m sorry about that.” I sympathize.

He opens the small white box, revealing two airpods. I take it, and pull out the two objects nestled inside. This is it. I’m going to be out for a whole week. No meaningful contact, no worry… an entirely different world. One which has hardships, but one I can escape to.

One in which I feel free from the ways of the world.

“Ahmed, by the way, I have called a friend, you will take his place at the supermarket for the week. Evening shifts, but you’ll be remunerated. ‒ Thanks.” I answer. ‒ A-and if you want to start it, you just have to put it on, you know ? The rest will settle itself out, okay ? ‒ I know.” I give him a bitter smile, trying to calm away his evident agitation. ‒ Y-you’re going to be okay, alright ? Please, stay safe. ‒ I will.”

And before he can worriedly tell me something else, I put both airpods in my ears.

There is music coming from these airpods, funnily enough. Well, if stuff like JUL and Drake can even be considered to be music. It’s so insufferable, yet it’s the most popular stuff in my generation. Though, honestly, I guess I already see the effects, since I immediately recognized their voices. And that the music actually has some bop I didn’t think it had. Is the rhythm a more important part of my enjoyment in music than I thought ?

Thinking about that, I scratch my naked chin, as I feel my hair snaking out of its short style. I guess I had always kept it short because it was more of the twinks’ style, but those ridiculous TikTok mops kinda aren’t bad ? The hair on the top of my head poofs out in a cool mushroom-like bush, while under the line of my ears everything gets shaved down, sharply in the sides, fading in the back. That style’s so bold… yet I cannot help but be proud of it, as confidence starts hitting like a drug.

My skin clears itself, and knowledge of how to care for it start entering my brain, replacing any politics I cared about. Indeed, men’s grooming techniques start overpowering any care I had for the functioning of the country, ‘cause like, it just works, it’s good enough, eh ? But your skin’s not gonna settle itself out ! And I feel some tingling on my lip and my chin, as hairs start snaking out of my skin, forming a sexy goatee. It grows nicely into a thin mustache, all lined up as if it was professional work, and my chin grows just as calculated and deliberate. Nice, I wanted to do that, but now it fixes itself for me ! It makes me look manly ! ... and just like that, the nail polish I was wearing disappears.

My body then starts tensing up, as fat from the start of my belly starts hardening and redistributing. My abs start cutting themselves, the pecs toning up, the biceps getting some definition and the legs… well, you do know about leg day, huh ? Knowledge about sports starts entering my brain as my lean muscles settle themselves in the sexiest of bods. Not only gym, but also soccer, which I follow with a passion I though I only had for... whatever I was learning about in uni. I guess I was passionate about that ? I dunno, it’s all nerdy stuff, not real men’s stuff like soccer.

As my shoulders crack, becoming wider, the sweater I was wearing opens itself, revealing a black ‒ no, red ‒ t-shirt below. As it is gradually being revealed, it is actively gaining a textured look, quite comfy and hot for the cold weather. My sweater, on the other hand, was puffing up, turning black as the growth started sectioning themselves in ranges of packs ‒ kinda like my abs. It gains a shiny quality, and an insignia embroiders itself on the side of the left arm.

I fix up my puffer jacket, but as it settles nice in my broader frame, I feel something hanging on my torso. Looking down, it is quite a big chunky silver chain, that is accompanied by a smaller ‒ but just as chunky ‒ one near the collar of my red t-shirt. An as I admire my getup, I feel pain in my ears, as diamond studs implant themselves in the lobes. Of course, they’re not real diamonds… but that’s a secret between you and me !

I stand up, as smirk installing itself on my face as my shoes morph to become cool sneakers. I stretch upwards, and I can barely hear my black jeans ripping as my field of view shifts upwards. Indeed, the music is so loud… and so good… My train of thoughts starts slowing down a bit, as I absorb the offensive vocabulary used by the artists I admire the most. And as it overpowers all my conscience, I start feeling like I’m forgetting stuff… though I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.

And then I notice my bro on the armchair in front of me. I take out my iPhone Pro, turn the music down, and unplug my airpods.

“Hey, dude, doin’ good ?” I ask, my voice unexpectedly low and raspy. ‒ Uh… hey, Ahmed. I’m alright, and you ?” He answers a bit meekly. I can’t quite read his face, it’s like a mix of happy and sad ? Weird. ‒ I’m doin’ great, bro ! See that new ‘do ? Just went to the barber’s, ‘s looking fresh as heck, dude !”

God, I feel so good ! It’s just because... I look so on point today ! ‒ I mean, I go to the barber’s every other week, but like, it’s kinda necessary to maintain a great cut like mine !

“Yeah, looking great ! …” He laughs. ‒ Ya should get it too !” I tell him, excited by my idea. “Then we’d really look like bros on the football field ! ‒ I’ll… consider it.”

The discussion continues a little bit, though my bro looks quite out of it. Eh, he might be tired, cuz like, he’s not used to stay up this late, unlike me ! After all, with my evening shifts, I can’t eat my pizza and hit the beer until like 22:00 minimum ! Though with all the parties we do, I’d thought he’d be better at holding up late.

So I cut the discussion short, and bid him farewell. I climb down the building he lives in, and leave onto the street. Thankfully, I live close, meaning that I won’t have to walk much in the bitter cold of January.

But as I’m about to leave for home, my bro suddenly opens the door of his building, and calls me.

“Ahmed !” I turn to face him. ‒ What’s going on, dude ? ‒ I...”

His eyes meet mine, and I see a torrent of emotions going behind his… though I cannot make heads or tail of what they are nor what they represent, through my dead eyes. And he just doesn’t speak. So we just stay like that a little while, him unable to say a word, and me waiting for him to tell his mind.

“Spit it out, bruh !” I finally insist, and it seems to put him back in place. ‒ You… You’ve forgotten your vape at my place…”

He shows a metallic vape which I immediately recognize as mine. It even has my favorite flavor, strawberry ! Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot about it ! Ugh, sometimes I’m just such an airhead, dude !

“Thanks bro ! See you tomorrow ! ‒ See you…”

My bro enters back into the building, still out of it. But I figure he’s gonna do better tomorrow. Cuz life is lit, ya know ? Too short to get yourself into some stupid debates or the like. And so I walk back to my small flat, as I debate what to do tomorrow. Oh, I could get my bro to my barber ! Yeah, seems like a good plan, he’s gonna love it ! Cuz who wouldn’t love to look hot like me ?

With great ‘do, great beard, great bod ?

Happily living his life unbothered, only caring about those who really matter ?

================================================

Stay safe, everybody.

Even existing is an act of defiance against those who want to put us down.

[sanzaibian]

Happy New Year 2025 to everybody ! ‒ as well as for those for whom 2024 has not yet passed ! I give you all my best wishes, and hope you will take the next step in your personal transformation !

And, as a treat, magic forces will let you be your ideal self for the first few days of 2025 ! To be sure, I'll have a great time looking this hot, and cute ! My hair looks perfect, my skin is without blemishes, and I feel a confidence I never had before... bro !

Now, dude, what do you look like ? I'm sure you can't do better than me, bruh !

[sanzaibian]

“Dear, are you sure you don’t want to come with us ?” Asked my aunt, full of worry and compassion. - Yes, I am, I really dislike shopping.” I assert back. “And it’s not as if joining boys’ night would be too dysphoric… I mean, it amounts as the same as what I experience everyday. I can bear with it. - I just don’t want to feel like you have to be forced back into the ‘male’ category… but if it’s your decision, then so be it.”

My aunt is very understanding. Ever since I came out as non-binary to her, she’s been one of the first to uphold my general contempt to things that are too gendered, especially on the male side which I hail from. This is why, when we showed up at her house for the festivities, she was a bit embarrassed that we preferred coming on Saturday rather than Monday. But the traditional boys’ night on Saturdays wasn’t one to be rescheduled, at least the men already at her house were adamant in not touching it, so the usual night on the town was rescheduled to include all of us… but, introvert that I am, and very much unwilling to go out in such a cold time of the year, I insisted on staying at home.

I wave goodbye at my parents and sisters, as they go in our car to follow them in the city. My little sister promises to send me pictures of her dinner to make me jealous, but I refuse to take the bait. I go back inside, and see my uncle, Christopher, and his son, Nicholas, hanging up a tricolor flag plainly stating “Saturdays are for the boys”, while his saw-in-law, Matthew, took out the beer cans to the small coffee table.

I nod to them, aiming to just let them forget about me, and just reappear at dinner time. But before I can leave upstairs, my cousin hails me.

“Hey ! So, if you’re staying here for the night, might as well help us ! There’s a bunch of movies in that drawer, could you choose one or two to watch ?” He points to a small closed drawer, next to the giant TV. - Uh… okay ? But shouldn’t you be the one to choose ?” I ask back. After all, it’s their night, not mine ! - We’ve basically watched all of them, so we’re gonna take more time arguing which one is best, and just ruin our night !” Matthew, his brother-in-law, answers. - Hey, not my fault you have bad taste !” Nicholas, my cousin, quips back. - You’re the one with bad taste ! Besides, you always insist on going on Netflix, but it just exacerbates the problem ! - Boys, calm down.” Mediates my uncle. “We can’t start boy’s night being angry, can’t we ?”

As my cousin and his brother-in-law sigh, not admitting defeat, I crouch down to the small cabinet, looking at the selection of movies. And… although I’m not really a cinematography expert, not even a movie enjoyer, I can at a glance tell that none of them would be a good experience. Indeed, looking at their names, they’re all either war movies, racing movies, sports movies or a combination of the three, half of all being generic Hollywood blockbusters… not really what I would call a good evening. Between all the names, though, I do recognize the names of some superhero movies. They’re all similar brainless action movies, but at least they have had some staying power… so I just choose two of them at random, hoping that I chose ones that weren’t half-bad.

I put the boxes on the table, and notice the stares of the three guys, some judgmental, some approving (mostly my uncle, likely the #1 fan of superhero movies). A deafening silence falls, only filled by the low thuds of alcohol being ported over – god, they really love alcohol, here… ‒ before being cut by my uncle.

“Well, thanks for the choice ! I-” He gets cut by his son. - I would have preferred the Walking Dead. - Nicholas.” My uncle reprimands, before continuing what he was going to say. “As I was saying, I’ve already prepared our orders, but which pizza would you want to eat ?”

He looks at me intently, and the only thing I can think of is that surely I wouldn’t eat a pizza all by myself ! Surely he’s just scoping out what compromise to do !

“I’d… like a Margherita, please…” I answer sheepishly, my plans for the night crumbling before my eyes. - Okay ! Well… here… it goes ! Ordered !” He announced while fiddling around with his phone. “What do you think boys ?” He looks at me. “Er… all ? Do we start boy’s night ?”

All cheered, except me, who stood around awkwardly.

“Well, I declare boy’s night open !” My uncle shouted to the void.

Followed jubilation from the two other men in the room, which both took a can of beer to open in celebration. My uncle did the same, though I wasn’t going to open one. I don’t drink, after all.

“Er… I guess I’ll… go ?” I state awkwardly, after a little while. “Tell me when the pizzas come ?” - Are you sure you don’t wanna stay ? I’m sure you’re gonna like it !” My uncle answered. - N-No, I’m sure…” Followed glances between all three. - We’re gonna put the movie on, stay at least until the pizzas come, right ?” Suggests my cousin with a soft voice. “We aren’t gonna keep you here any longer, promise ?”

I sigh. I do like him, we’ve had tons of good memories together during my childhood, and even though he’s always been more “normal” than me, he’s always been the one to push me to do new things.

“Okay, until the pizzas come.” I agree.

My cousin smiles and thanks me, as his brother-in-law puts the first of the two movies I selected inside the Blue-ray player. Good thing I chose movies I’d enjoy, if I put the Walking Dead on I know I’d be unable to sleep tonight… We all get installed comfortably on the couch, though I choose to sit in the armchair, both to give myself more space and to let them enjoy their foul spicy drinks at a respectable distance for me, and on the movie ran.

But barely a few minutes in, it felt like the room was heating up. As if I was in a space where a party just took place. At first, I didn’t really notice it, but as I start sweating buckets, suddenly Matthew states, in a dazed, blissful voice :

“Fuuuuck, it’s happening… - Yeah, I feel it…” My cousin chimed in, his tone lower than usual. - God, it’s so great…” My uncle added, just as blissful-sounding as the two other men.

I was about to ask what they were talking about, but as I looked at them, I noticed that their skin looked clearer… more… youthful ? Am I imagining things, or is it my growing headache under the sudden warmth that is making me have visions ? About that warmth… I guess I should take out my hoodie ? It’s good to hide my masculine frame and all, especially in cold weather, but it’s not that important here, I guess…

But when I take it out, looking below, instead of my usual loose long-sleeved white tee, I find a tight-fitting black t-shirt, with edgy graphics. The kind I used to wear before understanding that this masculine a style wasn’t for me. What happened !? Why the hell have my clothes been switched ? As it got anything to do with it ? What do they know that I don’t ?

“Uh… could anyone tell me what’s going on ?” I ask, half-alarmed half-sheepish, looking back at them. “And why are your pants now shorts !? - Dude, could you shut up ?” Answers my cousin with a very monotone voice, full on in daze, showcasing his collection of bracelets and rings by agitating, irritated, his right hand. “Tryin’ to enjoy Boys’ Night…”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. First of all, why was he so rude, when something so weird is happening right now ? And then, why the hell is he talking like that ? Like, with this monotone voice and this “dude” ? It doesn’t seem like him at all !

“I-I’m sorry, but this is not normal !” I press, panicking, and not even noticing how my tone sinks to a lower register. “Why the hell are you changing ! - Don’t worry, bro, you’re gonna be back to your normal boring life tomorrow…” Answered my uncle, similarly dazed. And seriously. My uncle. ‘Bro’. “So enjoy while it lasts, dude… - Yeah, it’s sooo good, man…” His son-in-law answered, his voice gaining a raspy, almost teen-like quality. “You get to be all like, relaxed, dude… and all hot, like…”

As he said that, his head was squaring off, hair parting in the middle, brushing itself back in a neat fashion. He… looks like like a little shit, especially with this smirk… What am I thinking ! Why am I giving him this… crude a quality ! – I mean, it’s correct, but it still feels… uncharacteristic for me to say that…

I put my hands down on my naked legs, feeling not the fabric of my jeans, but the fluff of my body hair. I swear I shaved it off just before coming here ! Why has it grown back all of a sudden !? Yet, when I look at the others, I notice that all of their now naked legs are covered in hairs – especially my cousin’s brother-in-law’s. Yet, instead of simple concern about the now hirsute legs we all have… I felt a touch of pride appear. Now, why such a sentiment would appear, I have no idea… but as I caress my blanket of hair on my muscular (?) leg, I cannot help but like it… Like, I remember wanting to erase it definitively, but now I don’t want to rip it out of my skin anymore…

“Bruh… it’s getting good, now…” Suddenly says my cousin in pure ecstasy. His head was thrown backwards, just like his hair, now also a middle-part. - Just getting it, bro ?” Answers his brother-in-law, fully grinning, muscles bulging. - Ugh, doesn’t wanna come…” Groans Christopher, my uncle, with a youthful voice, who has by that time gained a cap he put the right side front.

Suddenly, I see behind his neck curls pop out : one, two, then four, eight and sixteen… out of his balding head comes out a bush of curly hair, a full curly mullet befitting his youthful beardless face. And as a chain wrapped around his neck from nowhere, his face contorts into a blissful grin, obviously feeling the happiness bathe through him as he lets out a long drawn out “Fuuuuuuuck…” from the low dumb-sounding voice I never knew he had.

“Guys ?” I ask, from my voice by now fully in the lowest register my voice allows for, body tightening. “Are you alright ?”

No answer came back, all so happy they were, while my headache intensified. I start looking around, panicking more and more, yet not all of my natural senses having stayed. Suddenly, next to me, I notice a black mesh snapback. The ultimate symbol of the bro, of masculinity, one I wouldn’t be caught dead under. Yet, here I am, reaching for it on the coffee table, spreading my legs outwards to accompany my movement, yet not bringing them back together after installing myself back on the armchair’s back.

I look at the snapback. Consider it, even. It feels like it’s not something I should have, no less even exist, yet here I am. Masculinity wasn’t something I was fleeing ? A set of expectations that didn’t resemble mine ? Yet, why am I here, manspreading, loving my leg fur, ready as all hell to put that snapback in the most masculine of ways ?

Yet, as I think of everything masculinity represents to me : competition, anger, dominance, strength, manspreading, bro-code, beards, body hair, dress shirts … Nothing in this list seems wrong to me anymore.

As if something fundamental in me has changed.

I put on the snapback, turning it back round, and as a fluffy chinstrap starts growing, feeling it snake below my fingers, I am not thinking of how much I loathe this quirk of genetics. No, I feel fortunate to be a man. To have man genetics. To have man wiring. To be a man in the most fundamental of ways.

And as my hair shortens, becoming a mess of short curls, I feel a magical sense of bliss washing over me. I now understand what they were saying… How great it feels… to be part of the boys… … bro.

Suddenly, the sound of the bell brings us all back from our torpor. Ugh… what was I doing ? … ugh… yeah, the pizzas…

“I’ll go take them.” Says Chris with his raspy voice, as he stands up. “It’s my money, after all, right ? - Don’t worry bro, I’ll pay, next time…” Answers Matt, passing his hand through his well-brushed middle-part. - You always say that, but never pay up.” Quips back Nick, adjusting his chain with his hand decorated in jewelry. - Dude, you’re not gonna go on each other’s throat like that…” I interject, reaching for a drink. Why don’t I have booze in my blood yet ? “It’s my first time here, ya know !”

They both look away, as Chris come back with the pizza. Ah yes, four pizza, one for each of us ! After all, we’re all hungry men ! We gotta eat for our games, dude ! I take my Margherita – yeah, I know, it’s basic, but it’s good for my calorie count – and start digging in. God it’s so good !

“Bro, is that what you do every week ?” I ask the others. - Yeah… though I dunno why the movie’s already started, we’re gonna understand nothing…” Nick complained. I mean, he’s right. - Yeah… we should do something else, dude. Like, I dunno, what do you do, usually ? - Put on music, dance, play games, drink booze… sometimes we go outside to do some football, but it’s too cold right now, bro.” Answers Chris. - We also watch porn together !” Matt suddenly adds, a grin on his face. - Bro what do you want, you’re just getting off on us !” Nick immediately complains. - Bruh I’m bi, doesn’t mean I have the hots for you ! - Bruh you’re always like the one who wants to do it ! - Bruh I just like it ! - Listen, I’m gay, y’know ?” I add, trying to interject them. “It’s not ‘cause I’m into men that I’m into my bros, bro !”

Matt signals with his hands how obvious my contribution is, and Nick rolls his eyes.

“Well, ya wanna jack off together or not ?” Asks Chris, after going through a part of his own pizza. - I do.” Immediately approves Matt. - I haven’t gotten laid for a while…” Acquiesces Nick. - Yeah, sure, why not.” I give my approbation. “Though it needs to have men. - Of course.” Matt answers, smiling, intentionally using a kinda queer tone while reaching for the remote.

And on that, the choice of the video is being made. Matt and Nick of course continue fighting, none wanting to ever do anything that could amount to losing. I finally decide to physically separate them, throwing myself on their couch on which we can cram together quite nicely. And being together with my bros, like, that’s great, honestly, dude.

We finally got to jack off together to some straight porn – that focused too much on boobs to my liking, though it’s what Chris loved about it – before putting on some loud hip-hop and playing drinking games. We talked a ton, like we do with bros, and ended the night by walking down to the room with the pool table, our t-shirts by then having been fully lost upstairs. I considered going back upstairs to continue our move, but the others said that the girls should be back, so we decided to just stay downstairs.

And we partied for long, well into the night, sleeping only at 3AM on makeshift beds that were already prepared downstairs.

I suddenly wake up. My head is pounding… what happened yesterday evening ?

I have vague thoughts of drinking beer (why), having a beard (ew) and jerking off together (wth)… but surely it must be a dream… right ? Like, why would I have thought I was a man through and through ? When I feel my stubble (why am I expecting a chinstap ?), I still feel as grossed out as ever, and looking down I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday before the “Boys’ Night” – whatever this actually was.

I rise up. Sleeping here on this mattress thrown down on the floor seems weird to me, especially as I see Christopher, my uncle, Nicholas, my cousin and Matthew, his brother-in-law sleeping in the same room as mine. But, hoping that there is a logical explanation that wouldn’t involve straight up transformations, I start walking past them to go up.

But before I can go out of my mattress, my foot trips on something.

A black mesh snapback.

That is set at the exact size for my head.

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Hey ! Merry Christmas for those who celebrate it ! And happy Hannukah (correct phrasing ?) for those who celebrate too !

I'm sorry for the disappearing act, as @mrrharper elegantly put it, I have speedran burn out since the beginning of writing this blog, doing this many big stories in such a tight schedule !

I'll still continue to write stories, but I cannot do it with any kind of regularity, I feel like - at least, not the infernal rythm I had at the beginning ^^'

But I'll still thank all the people who continued checking out my blog. You're 55 more than last I checked, and even though it feels small compared to the current number of subscribers I now have, it's still a mad number of people !

Doing this blog has been a great way for me to externalize all the various fantasies I have, and I'm excited to continue that in the year 2025 !

So, if I don't get any divine inspiration by then, to you all from the bottom of my heart,

Happy New Year !

[sanzaibian]

Hey everyone !

Dare I say, the Normal Barbershop was a success ! Many people have had the chance to get fun haircuts, and I've had a lot of fun witnessing all of you guys' transformations ! However, every good thing must come to an end, all slots have now been taken at the Normal Barber shop, and although you may see a few more stories from haircuts that have already been booked, no slot remains open.

But still, thank you once again so, so much for the 1000 subscribers ! I can't tell you how grateful I feel to have amassed such a following !

However, as I said in my little address... this time of the year is already quite full. And although you all know about Halloween which will come tomorrow (at least it's the case in my time zone, after all I'm writing this as soon as the new day technically started !), there might be something else that makes it a bit more cramped.

Today is my birthday.

So, as a celebration of me turning one year older, and especially as a way to cap off the 1000 subscribers milestone (because in other circumstances I'm not one to plebiscite my birthday), I've decided to put a glorious end to the Normal Barbershop. Indeed, after having transformed a lot of you by giving many a whole new haircut... I've decided that perhaps I should be the one to sit on the O so relaxing barbershop chair.

Yes, you heard that right, I'm giving you the opportunity to give me the haircut of a lifetime !

So get your scissors, clippers and hairdryers, brushes, combs and hairsprays all ready, because I'm under your care for today ! - even though I know it's ill-advised to tempt TF fate right before Halloween.

Now, to give you an idea of what you will have to work with...

I'm a French white young man, turning a year older but still in my early 20s. My hair is brown, always messy because I naturally have wavy hair/loose curls (and because I don't really know how to take care of it properly), and is all around an unruly mop that would warrant ordering up. Otherwise, I have an average build, kinda skinny, a bit pudgy and not muscular, and I'm also naturally very hairy, even though I shave it all up (face every day, body once it becomes too long to bear) - though surely you don't care about that, huh ? ... huh !?

Hope you will find good hairstyles (or more) to shape with my hair, all of the barbershop's tools at your disposal !

Finally, I encourage everyone to participate !

No matter if you're a seasonned writer or a simple lurker, if you have an idea, don't hesitate to write even just a few lines ! As a small community, in the TF sphere, we always love it when we get to see new points of view, even if the prose leaves to be desired !

After all, we have a saying in French : it's by smithing that we become a blacksmith (C'est en forgeant qu'on devient forgeron.), so it's only by writing that you will write better stuff ! So don't hesitate ! Besides, why would I be mad at more TFs ? :P

[Technical information : as long as I can see the haircut that I get, it's good ! I think reblogs to this post or posts with a mention to me are best, but if another way fits better, by all means do it !]

[sanzaibian]

Hey! I've been really busy running my college's chess club while also focusing on my major in mathematics. My spiky asian hair been getting a bit long and my bowl cut is starting to annoy me. I've been seeing a lot of people with a comb over fade or a wolf cut. Maybe we can try something new.

“Welcome to the normal barbershop ! Thank you for choosing our service !” You are welcomed as you enter, quite nervous, inside the barbershop. “Today, Jonathan Nasukawa, one of Dr. Davod’s students, is going to be taking care of you !”

Like clockwork, out of the backrooms enters a tall and handsome man, dressed in a baggy white dress shirt, entering inside tight but still somewhat baggy black dress pants and accompanied by all manners of luxurious golden jewelry : chains, an earring, a watch and bracelets. His jet black hair is parted in the middle and is combed back with volume in a style that exudes wealth, fashion and hairspray, framing artfully his handsome face and his slightly folded amber eyes.

How could you not be turned on by such a beautiful man, the archetypal ikemen you could even say ! Especially since your minister’s schedule precludes you from getting action ! That guy notices, smiles, and as if he was a prince, he rushes towards you, takes your right hand, and kisses it.

��Greetings, my name is Jonathan Nasukawa.” His sultry voice resonates down your bones. “Since you will be in my care, please know that I will do my utmost to bring the best out of your magnificent hair.”

You overheat, your face a deeper shade of crimson than you ever thought possible, as Jonathan elegantly laughs a little.

“I’m sorry if I’m making you uneasy, it was beyond me not to try !” You would glare menacingly at him if you weren’t as embarrassed as you were… “Now, please, if you may, your seat is this way.”

He points to one of the seat, on which you go to sit. It’s very comfortable, letting your tense back relax from the first time after weeks of overtime… a state of relaxation you haven’t felt for years. God, you remember being skeptical when Thuần-hùng, your friend from Chess club tipped you off about this new barbershop, but the relaxation is more than enough to compensate for the change in schedule.

And it seemed like your barber had noticed, since he didn’t talk anymore, letting you relax in silence as he collected his things : a bottle full of white cream, a bottle of unlabeled hairspray, scissors, a comb, a brush and a hairdryer. Once everything was ready, you hear the bottle pop open, before he gently jolts you awake.

“Sorry to wake you, but I assure you that you will have enough time to relax after that. But right now, I’ll take care of your hair.” His voice is soft, as he takes generous portions of cream which he spreads throughout your hair, in a very relaxing motion. “You said that you were interested in getting a comb over fade or a wolf cut… but I’ll have to be honest, your hair is quite short for the former, and very short for the latter. That’s why I have to take some radical steps, you see.”

You don’t quite understand what he’s referring to. However, this way of massaging your scalp… peak relaxation, once again. You just felt better than you ever have been… so much that you don’t want this to stop. And as Jonathan starts gently pulling on your hair, you start thinking about how being this relaxed is something you would want to do as often as possible, responsibilities be damned. More and more hair is drawn out of your scalp, scraping on your nose, your ears and down your neck, you close your eyes to enjoy this as much as you can.

“Don’t worry, your hair is soon going to be the right length… sorry I had to pull on your sense of duty, something had to be dropped. But now, I have enough length to start working.”

As you hear the snips of scissors, you dare open your eyes… and notice that your hair is way too long. At a barbershop, aren’t you supposed to cut hair, not find it longer ? What the fuck is happening over here ! Yet, as you continue finding weird stuff happening, something in your mind tells you not to worry. That everything feels so great, so why tense up ! Just gotta feel the relaxation in the moment…

Yeah, just revel in how good and relaxed you’re feeling right now.

The barber once again talks, but as you reposition your legs to be spread wider and longer, taking a more relaxed posture, you don’t even really register what he’s talking about. You see him using spray on your hair, making it wet before combing it out into a middle part, but you don’t really care… Even when you feel your body randomly tense up, you just concentrate on how good you’re feeling at the moment, caring for nothing, unwinding the tension so it never becomes overwhelming.

Once the hair has been parted, your eyes by now closed, you do hear the barber talk, as he takes a clearer voice, as if he wanted to be heard right now.

“Now, sorry, but I’ll need you to lean forward for a while. I’ll use a special hairspray that will add more texture and volume to your cut, making it into a true wolf cut.”

You open your eyes back up and sigh audibly, before caving and slowly leaning forwards. Yo, your position was just sooo relaxing, why is he bothering you like that ! It better be worth it… Just looking at your cut, it already is fantastic, but as Jonathan spreads the hairspray on it, you notice it taking life. It starts moving by itself, bit by bit, waving itself a little, creating more volume, only to stand still once it looked as if you had a light perm.

You love it. You watch as your hair takes life everywhere the spray touches, going from fantastic to wonderful. It’s a sight you would have never imagined, but as light curls bounce out of your wolf cut, you wouldn’t take it any other way. The barber then brushes your hair one last time, making for a neat but very hot hairstyle, fit for a model whose photo-ops you would collect for pure male beauty.

But the rest of your body does not fit.

Your face is still painfully average, darkened by the facial hair that does grow, even if not by much, and your body is a twig, whose only volume takes the form of fat. And even though you had always wanted to fix it, the time you already set aside for… all your engagements and the fact that sports just aren’t your thing made it impossible. And now, just the thought of setting aside yet more time for something that is not having fun feels like such a waste.

“So, what do you think of your new hair ? Magnificent, isn’t it ?” Jonathan says, not really reading the room by smiling. “But, you know, I think just for you I’d want to put some makeup. It would make you look even better… are you into that ? - Yeah, just do that…” You automatically answer in an uncharacteristically dismissive fashion. - Great ! Now, let me prepare my things !”

God, why did you answer like that ! It was so dismissive, so rude, you wouldn’t want anybody to talk to you like that ! So why talk to him like that ! But, once again, your panic descends by itself, as you start reasoning that you just answered him, no need to be elaborate about this… And if he didn’t like it, that was his problem, not yours, you don’t want to take care of something you have no stake in.

And as he came back, smiling, with his brushes and his products, you found no reason to apologize. If he felt hurt, then he’s a goddamn masochist. He then started to apply the promised makeup on your face, starting with concealer, but as he did this, your face felt weirdly… tense, and tingly.

The more the products were spread on your face, the more you felt as if your facial bones were adjusting, becoming slimmer, more symmetrical and otherwise, you guess, more handsome. Your skin also felt rejuvenated as he applied blush, as if it was younger than it ever was, softer, and well and truly hairless below the eyebrows, that he also shaped to be thin but unyielding.

He continued messing up with the makeup, and as he did this, you felt something very familiar. As if being pampered like that was just… part of your routine. But you aren’t rich, and you don’t even wear makeup in the usual… why would you feel this is familiar ? Who would get pampered like that ? Artists ? Actors ? Models ? …

You look at the mirror, and notice how handsome you look with that layer of makeup – though you do feel like it was especially powerful since some parts of it makes it feel… greater than life. You are so handsome with that face and that haircut, you could… actually be a model ! Like… yeah, it makes sense…

As you are left thinking, wondering what those thoughts are about, Jonathan stealthfully brings out a few pieces of jewelry. Although you don’t fully notice them, you unconsciously feel a bit of weird power emanating. And this feeling stands convinced, as when he clips in one of the earpieces, you suddenly feel a deep contraction over all your body. You look in the mirror, and you notice that… your shirt seems especially full… yeah, it feels so tight !

Another earpiece. Another deep contraction. The seams of your shirt have had enough, and are breaking apart, revealing a deep musculature. Although it’s still within simple athletic range, it’s still very well-cut, very impressive, and very hot. Finally, Jonathan fastens around your neck a collar similarly to your earpieces stylized with some kind of fang design. You feel another deep contraction, as your see your musculature expand once again to the realm of a bodybuilder’s, and the last of your superfluous body fat disappears.

God, you’re so hot… no wonder you’re an actual model ! Yes, of course, this face, this hairstyle, this body… if it looks like a model, then surely it is a model ! The barber smiles as you rid yourself of the shreds of a shirt you are still wearing, and take out of your gray sweatpants a phone to take a selfie. You check your position, wanting for it to translate all the hotness you are, and take it.

“That’s a great pic, if I say so !” The barber interjects as you finish taking the picture. “I may or may not know a few photographers that may be interested in someone your type… are you interested ?”

You smile, happy not to have to work hard for finding new people to take a whiff of your magnificence. After all, you deserve such worship, you look so hot without making an effort. So you exchange numbers and contacts, and you wander out to the street, taking to yourself the fresh, polluted air of the city. You catch the eyes of all those passing by, your muscles bulging, letting nothing up to the imagination even if Jonathan insisted for you to wear at least a tank top to keep appearances.

But as you think about what to do, you get stuck. You know you have to go back to uni, but you’re too tired to go there… that you have to continue managing the chess club, but you just can’t be bothered… and that you have to do some modeling work, but it’s going to take a while... Yet you want to do something. And as you think about stuff to do… you’re reminded of Thuần-hùng, the one who recommended this barbershop. Of all the games of chess you played. Of how much fun you had.

… Yeah. Although you are regearing towards a more relaxing routine… but chess is not going out of schedule. After all, hot guys playing chess are even hotter...

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Heads up, haircut bookings at the Normal Barbershop are closing on the 30th of October, when I'll prepare a special event ! (beware, writers !)

Hope you liked all those quickfire stories !

[sanzaibian]

Congrats on 1,000! I was hoping you could give me a haircut! I always wondered what if look like with a pompadour or soemthing like that

“Welcome to the normal barbershop ! Thank you for choosing our service !” You are welcomed as soon as you set foot inside the building. “You will be accompanied by Rilaj Mam, an associate of Dr. Davod, who is known for having studied all sorts of arts of the hair. - Please call me Rilaj, using mam makes me feel old !” A voice is being heard from further inside the shop. - Sorry, but it’s in your namecard !”

As those two bicker, you approach the place where this mysterious man is, and find a quite small man, dark-skinned, folded eyes, and silky black hair arranged in a man bun – although the rest of the head is flawlessly shaved down to the skin. He wears colorful clothes, including a big bandana, and presumably the large hat and the pair of sunglasses that have been put down on the counter, all hiding what your trained eyes recognize as a ripped body.

But when you come just a little but closer, that short guy, presumably Rilajn suddenly turns to you – almost looking up to you – and smiles, full of kindness, though there is a tinge of malice behind his pitch black eyes.

“No matter ! I now have work to attend to !” He finishes the bickering, before addressing you. “I was waiting for you ! Please take place on this seat !”

You oblige, finding the seat to be extremely comfortable, much more than most barbershops you’ve ever been to. Almost too comfortable, considering this shop is temporary, after all… However, you’re here to relax and change hairstyles. Your hair has grown quite a lot since last time, and it’s about time you arrange it up. And trying a new style is just the cherry on top.

“So…” Rilaj, the barber, starts, coming with a bottle full of a weird black substance. “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that… your hair is way too short to make a good enough pompadour. You should have come in like… two months or three to have enough length to do what you wanted.”

You look at him disappointed. As if to prove it, he takes a strand of hair from the very front of your mop and drops it down your face, only reaching the base of your nose. And this shop is going to be closed by the time you grow enough hair, so although you can always come to another later, shelling out money for what is simply a bit of a silly tryout feels pointless.

“However, the good news is that I have a way to make a great pompadour thanks to my very special technique. So… are you interested ?” The barber offers with a malicious voice.

Still taken by your disappointment, you don’t think much and, foolishly, you agree immediately. You see his smile grow, as you are regretting having agreed so quickly while not considering what this technique is.

“Great ! Well, we shall start with a bit of trimming, no ? ‘Cause your hair might not be long enough, but it still needs shaping for this new cut !”

He draws out clippers and installs on it quite a big guard. Then, he turns it on, and starts mowing at your hair, tufts of it dropping from the sides of your head. His cutting style is quite peculiar, though, using the clippers only bit by bit, tuft by tuft, as if he was cutting with scissors. However, when he has finished one side of your head, continuing by working on the back, letting yet more strands of hair fall, you notice that the result is very regular, with each hair the exact same short size.

Somehow, that unorthodox technique works, and you are left with a great and very soft carpet of hair – which you were able to feel once he put down the clippers. Then, he draws out some scissors, of which one side is shaped in a sort of comb-like structure. He explains to you how it will make your hair less dense, which will make it easier to style, and better able to receive the special technique.

As he chops down some hairs on top, making the remainder of the mop lighter, you notice how silent he is throughout the whole ordeal. Although he seems like quite a jovial guy, even quite chatty at times, he doesn’t seem to be like other barbers, pulling you into discussions about what you did recently, or other mundanities. But looking at his pitch black eyes, matching his pitch black hair, you feel a weird sense of… tiredness ? coming from him. You can’t quite describe it, but as is always said : the eyes are the door to the soul. And behind the eyes you feel a truly ancient soul.

“That’s about it ! Now we’re coming to the good stuff !” Rilaj suddenly pulls you out of your thoughts. “Let me just show you…”

He takes the bottle of black stuff in his hands, and presents it to you through the mirror, before uncapping it.

“This is what I call nuuch’ay ! Don’t try searching it, you won’t see anything about it on the web. It’s an old tradition from my people, forgotten today, but that is very potent.”

He starts dropping it on your hair. It has a very slimy texture, and drops slowly. Looking at its pitch black but slightly shiny form, it almost looks like rubber… Once the bottle is fully emptied out, he puts it away on the counter. You look at it and notice a label, on which there is something written. You can’t understand it, the letters spell words you haven’t seen anywhere, but you do note that the handwriting is very neat and elaborate. It’s the kind of style that would belong in a historical document.

“Now, let me just rub it all in, and then I’ll be able to… pull your hair out of your head, let’s put it like that.”

You are quite disturbed by this. As he is spreading the black goo, you’re wondering about what kinds of irreversible damage it would make to your hair… if it’s pulling out your hair, won’t it damage the follicles ? Destroy your hair, and making go bald when the hair inevitably drop ? But as you’re considering whether to flee as a matter of precaution, you find that you’re actually unable to move. You look at his eyes… still a deep, deep black hole…

You are now trapped.

Concentrated, Rilaj starts, as promised, pulling on your hair. He does it first in the front, and just as he starts pulling, you feel weird… as if he is pulling on other parts of your body. You look at yourself, and aren’t really able to notice anything that has change… but as he suddenly pulls a second time, you feel a bit weird in your belly.

He pulls once again. You feel… tighter, as if the flab that you had been accumulating over the years was being… pulled back. Another pull. This time, you feel weird in your jaw, a weird sense of tingling all over your face… and on point, you notice that, as he pulls another time, there is no more facial hair. If you could draw your hand to your face, you’re sure you would feel it to be all smooth.

He continues pulling, the pain and the tightness being felt on all parts of your body. You look up at your hair, and notice black strands, reaching far higher than they ever have… and they are stood perfectly. It’s a feeling that you’ve never had, and as he pulls yet another time, tightening your body yet again, you feel kind of… hot ? Like, you’re wearing a haircut quite elaborate, your face is devoid of beard… you feel beautiful, and, dare you think, cute !

He continues pulling out your hair, continuing to tighten everything in your body, as he starts combing your new longer hair. The comb goes higher, and higher, your body feels tighter and tighter, until he goes back to the rest of the hair, revealing a big, tall, but not obnoxious pompadour.

The definition of beauty and hotness.

And as he finishes combing the rest, the barber looks at you, smiling from a well done job, just like you are from a wonderful haircut. You are enamored by the pomp, so much that you fail to realize how big your clothes now are on you. You want to feel it, you want to touch it… but before you can make your hand reach, not even registering how you’re suddenly able to move, Rilaj blocks your arm.

“No, you can’t touch it just yet. It needs to dry up a little bit more before you can, else you will mess everything up.”

Dry ? You do as said, but that use of words does throw you for a loop. And your barber notice, since he then adds a few precisions.

“See, the nuuch’ay is derived from rubber, and we need to let it dry a bit before it can keep its shape. I have variants that dry a lot faster, but for hair, only this one gives out good results.”

Of course ! It’s rubber ! You knew it ! Especially now that you look again at your pitch black and slightly shiny pompadour, the same color as the short guy’s man bun. He goes to fiddle with his tools, putting away the comb, scissors and clippers, and drawing out another bottle full of that black thing… “nootcheye”, was it ? Whatever, that rubber thing he put on your head.

Feeling he was finishing up, you feel like it’s appropriate for you to stand back up… but just when you are in a vertical position, you feel something dropping. You look below, your pants and your underwear are on the ground, your shirt being the only thing still hanging on, although it is by now only hovering around your body.

You cry in shock, drawing the attention of the barber, who smiles, almost mocking you – though you don’t feel anything truly mean about it.

“Oops ! I guess I didn’t consider that law from that one smart French guy – what was his name… Lavoisier ? yeah, Lavoisier’s law of conservation of matter.” He half-mocks, sticking out his tongue.

You glare at him, growing angry.

“Okay, okay, don’t need to be this upset ! I was going to explain how the nuuch’ay works before you left anyway !” He throws his hands up in surrender. “Basically, it’s just stretching your body so that the hair is higher, so it had to take mass from somewhere else – that somewhere being your fat, mostly. « The nuuch’ay is currently keeping your body stretched, meaning that you will stay like that for quite a while. However, once it completely dries up, it will crack and then your body will go back to normal, whence why I couldn’t use the instantly drying up nuuch’ay.”

He starts helping you out of your shirt, revealing a lithe body, one that you hadn’t seen since early puberty. Although you can see muscles, they lack any definition, and are only revealed by the low amount of body fat you now have. By all definitions, you can now call yourself a definite twink. No matter how much of one you already were, by now there is no mistake, with how hairless and skinny you are.

“It should last about a month or two, I didn’t check when I made this bottle, but if you want to end it early, you have to warm your hair up with, for example, a perming machine.” He continues to explain, as he starts uncapping his other bottle of ‘nootcheye’. “But until then, your hair will stay exactly like this, no matter how much you squeeze it, wash it, or mess it up !”

As if to prove his point, he squeezes down your pompadour, and as he removes his hand it bounces back into place, as if nothing had happened. Bewildered, you let your hand reach your hair, messing it up in more and more extreme ways, but like rubber, it always gets back to its place. It just feels… surreal.

“By the way, we don’t have any spare clothes for you – all the spare are made for bigger people – so I will use this bottle to create clothes. Don’t worry, I have great taste.”

He pours the bottle of nuuch’ay he had in his hands, and it spreads over all your body, from your neck down to your feet, creating a big, black, shiny jumpsuit. But as it settles, red accents and multiple crevasses appear, until it has formed into a kind of black leathery tunic, one that you would more readily see in fetish publications than in the street.

But you love it.

And under the smile of Rilaj Mam who artfully wanders out of the field of view, you take a photo to commemorate that new hairstyle, that new shiny black pompadour.

But before you go out of the barbershop, after having collected your bag and your unfortunately big clothes, Rilaj stops you.

“Sorry to bother you, but could you grant me a favor ?” He draws out a short red cigarette. “I found that thing when I went to Tokyo a few weeks ago, and I think your uncle might be interested in it.”

You look at him shocked when he suddenly mentions your uncle – especially knowing the unfortunate fate he suffered.

“Now, don’t make this face. I knew who you were ever since I saw your name booking this haircut, that’s the reason I chose to cut your hair. That guy at the welcome desk can attest that I’m very selective with my clients.” You hear a frustrated ‘yes’ from far away. “But if you have any questions, ask them to him, I won’t say anything he doesn’t want me to. After all, he is the only one who has the right to answer them...”

Hearing his tone, it feels as if he wanted you to ask questions to your uncle… Does he feel smart for trying to so blatantly manipulate you ? Or does he realize that you can’t ask questions to your uncle and expect a coherent answer anymore ?

“And, seriously, don’t use that cigarette. You saw how potent the nuuch’ay is, and this is more insidious. On that, send my regards to your uncle. Xtiqaatz’at chik na qii’.”

Without waiting for you to react, he leaves out the door, leaving more questions than answers.

[sanzaibian]

I'm a white Scottish guy in my 30s and I'm looking to change up my look! I've got an okay enough head of hair, but it's always a bit flat and lifeless. I'd love for hair that was more curly or a bit thicker!

“Welcome to the Normal Barbershop !” You are welcomed as soon as you set foot in the establishment. “Thanks for- - Yo !” Suddenly interrupts a tall muscular guy, dressed in T-shirt and jogging pants. “So you’re the one who wants some curls ? Then I’m the guy for you, I’m the master of curls !”

You see the face of the one who welcomed you frown in frustration, while the tanned man walks proudly towards you, a heavy and very impressive gait. His nickname seems earned, as his black hair forms a plate of tight noodly curls, complimenting nicely his black goatee in a style that feels so reminiscent of footballers (soccer players) today – link confirmed by his lean but very toned shape.

“Now, come with me ! I assure you that you’re in good hands !” The man smiles at you while putting his strong hand on your shoulder, in a gesture of intimacy. - His name is Amine Zouaoui, one of Tyler’s friends…” Informs the one who welcomed you, with an exhausted voice. “He might be rude, but you can trust him to take care of your hair. - ‘One of Tyler’s friends’ my ass ! I’m his rival, I’m way better than him !” Automatically dismisses Amine. “Let’s go, I don’t want to have to deal with this stick in the mud.”

You are pressed towards a barber chair, over which ominously hangs some kind of giant bucket-shaped contraption. You aren’t sure what it’s supposed to be, but you’ve seen some at barbershops before. However, sitting in the chair feels very comfortable, much more than any had ever been in these kinds of establishments. You are given a towel to put around on your shoulders, and are left to wait a little while as the barber leaves for another room.

Looking at your reflection, you cannot help but point out all its bad parts. Your flat hair, your pathetic attempt at facial hair, your pudgy form (i.e. clinically obese in gay terms), and your overall average looks. Sure, you’re not ugly, you do get some action, but you do wish that you were a bit handsomer… and a change of hairstyle represents a step in that direction. And when you see the barber come back with a box full of rolls and multiple lotions, you can only brace for the very much very drastic consequences of your choices.

“So, you may have heard of it, but we’re going to do a perm ! But don’t worry, I’ve got a special technique that makes it even better than all ! But first, let me tidy up the rest of the cut.”

As soon as he says that, he grabs clippers and shaves down to the skin the sides and the back of your head. You’re quite shocked, as it definitively is not what you had in mind when you asked for more curls. You wanted more shape ! You wanted more bounciness ! More life ! Not… less hair ? How can hair live when it doesn’t exist ? But the barber seemed to have sensed your tacit disapproval of his cut.

“You know, this part is quite essential, because we’re creating a dynamic ! It all art, baby : curls alone don’t make for an interesting cut, you have to get some contrast, some change else it’s just as stale as you began with !”

You don’t really trust Amine’s word, but it’s not as if you had any other choice, now that the hair had fallen down, and that the sides of your face were all smooth – ironically, kind of like the state of your facial hair… He fades over the hair between the new shaved sides and the hair-heavy top, before switching over to scissors to trim a bit the rest of your hair. However, he doesn’t take out much, only enough to make the shape seem a bit more square-ish.

“Now’s the fun part ! I’m gonna put some products, and then I’ll put in the rolls ! Yours will be extra thin, for the best curls ! Trust me !”

And so, after he made sure to spread a white lotion in your hair, starts the menial task of spinning your hair across the small rolls. Although his expert hands are very fast, this task still moves at a snail’s pace, letting you two talk a bit about what you like and what you hope to change. You also learn that he’s a football (soccer) aficionado, unlike you who are much more normal about it, and that the style he wears, just like the style he’s giving you, is directly taken from the biggest youth stars. It makes you wonder about how much the style replicates itself in this world, as those stars use the same kind of styles as previous stars, and are succeeded by ones who adopted their styles.

But time flies when you’re having fun, and just as fast is your hair all curled up around many little colored rolls. He brings down the giant bucket-like device until your whole head is encased in it. Something feels weird about that thing, almost as if it was… too long ? set too low ? But you don’t really know how it’s supposed to work, so…

“Now we’re gonna have to wait ! This will make your hair really hot – in all meanings of the word – and it needs to be set a while before it can be really permanent. Please do not put your hands inside, and do not let your head touch the walls, else we’re gonna have a real problem. Otherwise… I guess we’re ready !”

You agree, and then he turns the machine on.

As was announced, it starts being warm inside the machine. However, the wait is going to be boring if there’s nothing to distract you. You can’t really read anything out from the walls of the machine, which makes everything very blurry, talking is made uncomfortable with how close the walls are, and sleeping would make you violate the rules Amine explicitly established.

So you just look around from blurry to blurry, hoping the time will pass fast. However, with how hot the insides become, you start feeling a bit dizzy. You ask the barber, but he certifies that it’s totally normal. However, that feeling of being taken to another realm of reality is accentuated as time passes, as it becomes hotter and hotter inside. You almost start hearing voices, like “football is great”, “you should play football”, “footballers have the best style”…

But aren’t these affirmations just common sense ?

As time passes, you also almost feel a hand spreading… something on your jaw and your lip, making you feel as if prickles were piercing your skin at these areas. You also really want to scratch it, it’s all raspy on those areas, a kind of feeling you’re not used to. As if there was suddenly some weird weight on your face, that you could intimately feel yet not properly characterize.

You also feel strain in the rest of your body. As if all your muscles had been working overtime, and on top of that some areas also feel irritated, somehow. Though your shirt also strains, feeling tight on your body. You feel so big, like everything is voluminous : biceps, triceps, shoulders, pecs, abs, ass, legs… You name it it feels weirdly big.

However, suddenly, your shirt didn’t feel so straining. In fact, it feels great, light-weight, and very airy, befitting a big guy like you are. After all, with all the football you play, you are bound to grow in size ! You also feel the cold metal of a long pendant and a watch. You don’t remember coming here with those, but they feel right on your skin. Like they belong there. Because footballers aren’t afraid to show off their wealth.

Suddenly, a bip.

The machine is brought up, and suddenly you don’t feel as hot nor dizzy as before. Well, of course, you are hot, but not quite in the same way ! The barber is there, and as you descend back to earth, starting to think about football strategies for next game, he pulls out all the rolls.

Happy with the result, he ruffles your hair until it’s all homogeneous, and points you to your reflection. He looks extremely proud of himself, smiling from ear to ear – though there is a bit of a sinister undertone to it. So you look up, and are enchanted with the result. Your hair is very curly, a bit frizzy in places unfortunately, but all in an orderly fashion. And just like he said, with your hair completely shaved on the sides, it makes everything look right.

“You know, thanks to my special technique, you won’t have to perm it again ! Your hair on top will continue to grow curly just like it is now, and that until the day you die ! Ain’t that great ?”

You smile at the news. Of course, re-perming hair is a pain in the ass, so not having to is a godsend ! Plus, style is eternal, and that kind of style is the best that exists ! Surely, you will never ever regret that decision.

You put your hand to your jaw, feeling your rich beard. It’s at the correct length, and so expertly shaped – as expected from a barber. However, you do get a sense that something isn’t right. The chinstrap and goatee you sport feels a bit… out of place. As if it had just appeared out of thin air.

But as you think about that, you suddenly understand that it was not the beard that was throwing you off – of course, you’ve been growing it as soon as you had it ! No, it’s your tattoo on your neck ! It feels weird because… because… you never saw it… this well ! Of course, you’ve had it for a few years, but your longish hair made it hard to see properly !

Fuck, that barber did such a good job ! You look just like your greatest idols, and will forever, of course.

You thank the barber profusely, and decide to take a picture before going to see the team.

Today is the first day of your new style which everyone will envy. So of course you have to keep a memento of it.

[sanzaibian]

Hiii! Im a scrawny white guy that just moved out into a new neibourhood that is strangely filled with fuckboys and my parents want me to cut my long curly hair to fit in. They want me to have a buzz cut or an undercut. Do you know someone who can help me?

“Welcome to the normal barbershop ! I… see you’re accompanied.”

Indeed, when you enter, the severe face of your mother is revealed behind your shoulder. She seems dead set on having a say in whatever you’re going to do, no matter how uncomfortable you look. You know that, as you’re a few years into university, you should really, like all your friends find yourself flat or flatmates, yet the only ones who would qualify are all related by blood. However, with the sky-high price for property, inflation eating into everyone’s pockets, and uni being just an hour away from home… the choice is obvious.

Even if it feels a bit constraining to have your quite controlling parents breathing down your neck.

“I…” You start, before being cut by your mother. - My son here needs an appropriate haircut. This… clump he caries around has to go.”

It is clear for everyone in the room that she wants you to have a haircut, not you… and that she seems dead set on you cozying up to the upper echelons of society. Not an objectionable dream, but not one she should force onto her kid. This malaise that grows out of it is broken by the arrival of a tall but thin guy, dressed in all white polos and chinos, wearing an expensive golden watch, luxurious black sunglasses and a single stylish golden earring. His jet black hair is parted in the middle in a tasteful style stinking of money – and hairspray – accompanying slightly folded amber eyes that frame a very handsome face.

“Greetings, miss.” He announced rather dramatically, smiling in a manner that would swoon anybody. “Don’t worry, I, Jonathan Nasukawa, heir to the famous Shimotsuke family, from the Uesugi clan, and to the de Clissons family, who studied under the famous master barber Dr. Davod, will take care of your son. I’ll make sure he’s… up to my standards.”

You are not impressed. In fact, you’re more weary of whatever bullying he may decide to make about your lack of self-care, or your lower social class… but your mother is comfortably taken by the smile of that certified ikemen. Her severe expression morphs into one of the most benevolent smiles that a human can make, and pushes you to him by your shoulders.

“My son will be more than honored to be able to be helped by all your expertise. I’m sure that, once he knows how to properly act, he will thank you for the immense service you are giving him.”

The ikemen’s smile becomes sinister, somehow… though your mother stays just as smitten by his through the roof charisma.

“Rest assured, he will.” His smiles becomes normal once again, as he places a hand on your shoulder. “Now, if you may, I have some work to do. - Well, I wouldn’t want to prevent you from doing your job… I just so happen to have a few things to buy, so I’ll get to this now !”

As the exchange devolves into civilities, you start advancing to the barber chairs, where you guess your mane that you actually really like is going to get chopped off. What a waste, you love the feeling of long hair, how it floats, how freely you can shape it. But before you can take a step closer, you are stopped by a soft hand on your shoulder. Expecting it to be your mother, you put your hand on it and turn around… only to notice it was Jonathan. The barber.

“I was going to say that we are not going there, but… are you trying something ?”

You vehemently deny, red appearing on all your face, making him laugh very elegantly.

“Hahaha ! Your expressions are so precious ! No, we’re going inside that special room, with the elite setup, for maximum comfort !” You stare at him, unsure of why he’s trying to do by playing into your mom’s delusions. “What, it’s comfortable for me too ! And it’s topical !”

You smile from that defense that paints an image quite different from the one he casts, that more of a laid-back and less… arrogant than the uptight and quick to point out ancestry he seemed to your mother. He makes you sit on the chair inside the private room, that feels incredibly comfortable, as he takes out multiple products, clippers and scissors.

“I’m sorry your mother made such a scene… I mean, we’re supposed to be the one uncomfortable, but you must have been so ashamed hearing her spouting nonsense like that.” Of that you agree. « Now, before you start making up ideas, I’m not a noble or anything. I just said that to impress her, because I know it works – I’m sure she would faint if she knew I lived in a small flat with three roommates to save money ! Though the lineage is correct, it doesn’t come with fortune, unfortunately.”

He speaks so much that you have a hard time saying anything. And in the time he took to explain every part of his trick, he washed your hair and put in some weird lotion. How industrious he is, expertly manipulating your hair while not stopping one second from talking… Although his claims to famous families were bogus, his claims to skill were visibly warranted.

“Now, let me talk about what I’m going to do. See, I’d like to keep your hair. It’s nice and long, and I’d likely trim it a little and find some ways to dress it so that you can have a good cut that will sway even the straightest of guys and the gayest of girls. « However… due to the whole situation, I have to give you a shorter cut. See, I know her type. She wouldn’t find anything but that a proper men’s cut. But don’t worry, I have here everything necessary to make you own that short cut.”

And as he said all of that, he used scissors to cut down most of the length, the locks falling one after another, in a shower of hair. Although you feel very hurt by this development, you can’t stay mad too long with him overwhelming your brain with words… Actually, is that a strategy he’s using ? As if he was-

“So the recipe for a short cut in the current trends is the curly undercut. Thankfully your hair is already curly, so I won’t have to change much, but there are some details that I’ll still have to fix. « But right now, I’m concentrating on the most important : the shape. Now that most of the mass has been dealt with, I’m shaping it so we can find the modern shape we’re trying to achieve. Now, you may think that looking like a mushroom is cringe… and to be honest, you’re right, but it’s only cringe if you of think it as much.”

God, he was so fast ! He drew the clippers, put a short guard, and tore through the sides of your hair, leaving only short fur ! And he even had the time to make the short part two-tone, with it being a smidge longer when connecting with the top of the hair ! He really is gifted ! But as he did that, what he told you about cringe kept on making rounds in your head. Although it feels almost wrong, like an incorrect leap of logic… you couldn’t find how. You could only find more ways in which it was correct.

If you’re the one to wear such a cringy haircut… should you be revising your stance on it ? It’s not as if you could get rid of it that easily… And looking at how much expertise Jonathan puts in cutting your hair… should you even ? Should you not accept that it’s your hair, and be… proud of it ? Of having your hair cut by such a gifted barber, who chose such a hot and trendy cut ? That thought feels weird… kind of… intoxicating. Like it’s opening a door that should not have been open, making you feel hotter than ever.

Because you decide that you are hot.

“And then, I just have to cut down the top to an acceptable volume ! See, it’s all about volume, about looking big and fluffy. It’s a pain to style – believe me – but it’s worth it, because it’s such a show off. « You know, you have a great nature of hair, you should absolutely not spit on that. Many people use chemicals to get a result resembling your hair, yet you have it naturally ! What better thing to show off !”

On that time, he switched to scissors and has cut the top of your air so it only kinda looks like a mushroom. Now, everything fits together… and it makes you feel so much hotter. It’s not cringe, you’re just hot, and you love it. But your brains latches on how high-effort this whole style is, and how great your hair is… Sure, you know that you check out a lot of guys who have great muscles, handsome faces, and generous crotches, but you never thought of that concept applied to you.

You never felt like you had anything much to be proud of, in your body, but seeing how he praises your hair, how many guys want to have hair just like yours… it makes something click for you. You do have something to be proud of. And it’s something others should get to enjoy. So why not use these high-effort techniques ? Why not put in work ? And what then would be wrong to get feedback for this work ?

It all feels so intoxicating… It feels so wrong… But it’s so good, so attractive, and it makes you so, so, sooo happy. So why stop ? Somehow the thought of annoying others by showing off just… doesn’t compute anymore. You’re happy showing others, they should be happy seeing what you’re good at.

“Now, please lie down in this machine. I know I said that your hair had a great nature and didn’t need to have any chemicals to get it like that… it doesn’t mean that it is well-taken care of.

« Thankfully, thanks to the product I put in your hair and the machine here, it should be looking good as new ! Don’t worry if it feels a bit weird at first, everyone gets surprised by it !”

As soon as you lie down in the machine, he activates it and goes out of the small room. You are left under the big… thing ? rectangle ? You can’t actually describe it much, it’s just weird. But it hums, and it feels quite warm… almost as if it was frying something. You don’t know, your head is just empty at the moment.

Suddenly, you feel your arms twitch. Then your torso. Then your core, and your legs, and the rest of you body. Thousands of small pricks invade your body as what was just a weird occurrence becomes something very uncomfortable. Your muscles are all twitching, all aching as if they were suffering from over-exertion. You don’t quite know why, and you would like to know why, but your head refuses to think of any answer, as it feels like it is absolutely frying inside the warmth of the machine.

You hear through all the noises of the machine the sound of tears, but don’t make much of it, as the rest of the sensations were invading you. Everything feels uncomfortable. You want to be out of this machine as fast as possible. But simply leaving the underside of the rectangle never occurres as a possibility in your embattled brain.

No, only bips from the machine, signaling it was turned off, broke your frying brain from utter nothingness.

You look around, seeing the tatters of your clothes on you. You think a little, when you realize that you should probably take them off. But then, the subsequent problem arose : how to cover your muscular body. Thankfully, when standing up, you see a collection of luxury boxers, fine jogging pants, a puka shells necklace and a black iPhone. You put them on, finding them to meet your standards, when suddenly, you see a mirror. Not the one in front of the barber chair, another.

Were you always blonde ? You can’t really remember, but… it’s the perfect position to take a selfie, isn’t it ? So you open the phone, enter your code, and move it up and down until you get the lighting perfect. Then, you take it.

Perfection.

Its very definition.

You look so hot, everyone’s gonna fall to their knees.

And when you leave the private room, opting for a heavy gait to show off your ripped muscles better, you notice your mom, who looks half-proud, half-horrified at you. But you don’t really care for her, what you really care about is all the people staring at you, checking you out. Even Jonathan Nasukawa, that ikemen, hyper-hot guy who cut your hair, looks at you proudly.

And as you rock your few remaining braincells to find somewhere you can show off better, you can only find one appropriate place to go.

“Yo, ma.” You hail your mother, who is very shocked at how you suddenly speak to her. “I have to go to the club, so let me leave the car before coming home.”

[sanzaibian]

Well, I'm a skinny guy in my thirties, with thinning hair that's starting to turn gray. I've dedicated a good part of my life to work, to the point that sometimes I think I've forgotten how to live. My hair, in a way, represents exactly that too; it's nothing special, it's average and boring. Sometimes I think about getting a crazy haircut and showing a bit of rebellion, but I Know that’s not gonna happen. I think I'll always be the proper average guy with no great adventures of youth to remember...

PS. Congratulations on reaching the milestone! Well deserved, you're an amazing writer!

“Welcome to the normal barbershop ! Thanks for having chosen our service !” You are duly welcomed as soon as you enter the shop. “Today, Qianglong, Tyler’s assistant, is going to cut your hair !”

A giant man, easily surpassing 1m80 in height, buff to an almost comical degree, with jet black hair cut in a short but tidy spiky undercut appears. His guns are in full display, as he wears a gray and cyan tank top whose sleeves descend so far down that you could reasonably fear it will tear open. He approaches, towering over you, and looks at you in the eyes. He almost seems to be judging your character through his deep brown eyes… before looking up, likely at your messy thinning mop.

You two stand in silence a while longer, making you shudder in the anticipation. Is he judging your hair ? Thinking it cannot be saved ? Or that you’ve done a poor job caring for it ? Although you would tend to agree with these observations, you cannot help but feel down at the thought of him thinking that, lowering your eyes down in shame. And although your eyes meet the absurdly big monster hiding below the black shorts, the sole effect of that sight is but a raise in your own much shyer creature.

Suddenly, Qianglong moves towards the cutting area.

“跟我来吧。” He orders in a very deep voice, which you interpret as ‘follow me’.

You do just that, and sit on the comfortable chair he points to you. For a temporary shop, it is actually very well-decorated, and the luxury of comfort is absolutely not forgotten. You look forwards and are met with your reflection. You do hope that this… hunk of a man will be able to manage something with your mess of hair, although you don’t bear much hope for something beyond the smallest of changes.

Right back to the usual.

Well, that would basically be what you would have asked… if you didn’t see that Qianglong guy drawing out clippers, without even any guard on it. What is he doing, is he going to cut your hair without even asking what kind of cut you want ? And… what’s with these size 1 clippers ! You wanted a change, but you’re not sure you can commit to such a drastic one as this !

“Excuse me…” You start, quite apprehensive in front of such an intimidating man. “Are you not going to… ask me what I want ?”

The hunk looks at you, and without even changing his facial expression a muscle, answers :

“You already said.” He states with a very strong Chinese accent.

Oh yeah, that’s right, you did say what you wanted when you booked that haircut… but now that you think back on what you wrote, you’re starting to have second thoughts… What will everybody say once they see… whatever has happened to your hair ? How will they judge you for doing something crazy like that ?

But before you can even start amending your order, you feel the cold metal of the hair clippers.

And the buzzing sound.

It has started. There’s not going back, now.

The barber starts delicately by shaving off your hair on your right side, starting from your ear to the back. He moves his hand up, down, up, down, drawing rows of baldness right at the base of the top of your hair to the bottom of your head. Your hair falls down in droves, the part still untouched by male-pattern baldness, leaving raw skin in its wake. It almost makes you feel a bit depressed, as something so important is being so indiscriminately removed from you.

But when the clippers are about to reach the very back of your head, he suddenly stops. He walks to the other side of your head, and resumes the shaving of your hair, this time at your left side. What is he doing ? You though that he would make you bald, or something ! But now he is leaving in the back of the hair ! Is he… wait… He is…

Qianglong turns the clippers off, leaving you with a somewhat wide row of more or less thin hair from the crown down to your neck. That shape is so distinctive, having always appeared in cartoons as one of the villain’s hairstyles, yet something you would have never even dared thinking of getting for yourself.

A mohawk.

Before you could start even processing that realization, the barber comes back with a bottle full of a white lotion. It seemed a bit weird, a bit… jittery when you looked at it. It almost seemed like it was boiling or something… And all of a sudden, it was spread across your hair. The bottle was now empty, but the barber had both of his hands in your short hair, spreading further the white… goo ? that he put inside.

As he does that, you notice that he is pulling out your hair, and that… it was growing longer at the same time ? What the fuck, how is he even doing that ! But not only pulling the hair, some spots that you know for a fact were bald before the clippers’ passage were suddenly sprouting new life. Which he immediately started pulling on.

However, suddenly, you felt a hot drop fall on the bald side of your head. Looking at it, you noticed that the white goo is not only growing your hair… it’s also draining it completely of color ! Out of the tip of your whitening hair are accumulating drops of pure melanin, that condense and fall on your skin, feeling warm. The drops don’t only fall on your head, they also fall on your arms, on your torso, and on your back, staining your shirt.

“对不起，we have washed clothes.” The hunk grumbles, as he continues pulling, pulling and pulling, without end.

A bit annoyed that your shirt is stained like that, you start undressing, failing to realize how your skin is absorbing the drops of melanin from your whiter and whiter hair. Those drops start coursing through your skin, creating intricate shapes that only a professional could ever design. Some color even manages to sneak its way inside, as some red also appears inside the work of art that your body becomes.

Suddenly, the barber leaves, leaving your much, much longer white hair drooping inside the white goo. Not sure of what to do, you start looking around, but everything seems a bit distant… You have a hard time making out the details, far away, as it all feels jittery and a bit dark. Are you having eye problems ? You aren’t old, so it shouldn’t happen ! Yet here you are, looking out into the darkening room in which fog seemingly starts to fall.

Although when you look at the desk right on front of you, you can see everything clearly, when you try and concentrate on something further away, you ave a hard time making out what it is… with all the fog… It almost seems like a concert… yes… the adrenaline of the concert, the room all dark except for the members of the band playing and singing… what ? Rock, punk, ska, you can’t tell… but it’s good shit. And you love being in this kind of ambiance, smelling the warmth of all the compressed human beings jumping and dancing in rhythm, hoping to have their idol lay eyes on them.

“Please raise head.”

The deep voice of Qianglong suddenly snaps you back in reality. The fog has disappeared, the light has returned, and you can once again make out all the details of the reality. What happened ? What was that… daydream ? You can’t really tell, but it felt so familiar, and sooooo stimulating.

Something you want to do as often as possible.

But now that you’re back in reality-land, you notice that, yes, you have the back of your head pressed against the headrest. Well, it’s its job, but when you have a mohawk, that’s not something you’d want to do too often. So you push your head to the front, letting the barber spread a cyan-blue-colored lotion, though feeling the texture it feels very much like hair gel.

That product has already been spread at the top of your head, giving a blueish tint to the white hair. Although, seeing how it has spread, it almost looks like it has been absorbed by your hair… how strange. No matter, the barber brandishes a comb, and starts pushing your hair up, up, up and up, spreading at the same time the colored lotion. Looking at his technique, he is going quite slowly and delicately, pushing your hair to higher heights than you ever thought possible.

You cannot contain your smile, as you see the mohawk taking really shape, as a long ridge traversing your whole head, connecting with your neck at the end. Although you would never have requested that to a barber, you cannot help but be proud of that new hairstyle you now wear. You look fierce, you look hot, and even though the signs of age haven’t disappeared from your face, you still feel younger than you ever have.

And youth are known for their spirit of rebellion.

You thank Qianglong for the amazing cut, but before you leave, he points to you the fact that you forgot to dress back up. Looking at the stained to no end shirt you came with, you decide to take up on his offer of “washed clothes” (what a weird way to say clean clothes). And when he comes back with a truly big tank top plastered with a design that is reminiscent of hard rock themes, you gladly accept.

And no sooner have you put it on that you feel yourself feeling it just right, your lean muscles clinging on the cloth. By now, the only thing that is lacking would be a bass or an electric guitar, and you would be a whole new persona, so far from your workaholic self ! don’t you think so ?

… well, I must admit that I didn’t think you would have this realization this fast...

[sanzaibian]

So.

Something a bit weird and... to be honest unexpected happened, in the last few days.

No, this is not the start of a story, believe me, there would be more fluff than that. It's actually something a bit more meta, actually.

I haven't made that much of fuss with that metric recently, even though I have seen it slowly but surely rise. Plus, it's hard to come up with ways to celebrate that are new, at least in the confines of this blog, especially when inspiration runs dry after a particularly intense few weeks.

But come on.

I cannot ignore that.

Sanzaibian reached the 1000 subscribers mark ! Thank you so, so, so much for all the support !

Honestly, when I started this blog, I did expect to reach the 100 subscribers mark, but 1000 ? Come on, that was pure wishful thinking ! Yet here we are, reaching this high a number that one cannot just ignore and wait for the next milestone to get inspiration !

Although I know recent story publication has been quite substancially slowed (I blame the intense start of academic year for that), I hope I can prove myself worthy of your trust in putting out stories of good enough quality !

Now, for celebration, because it's customary to have a celebration in times like these.

I know it's currently Halloween season, when many events are usually held (especially for such an eldritch-adjacent interest as that of TF). Plus, my birthday is coming up at the end of the month, and I know it's also usually cause for celebrations...

But I've decided that the best way to celebrate would still be to open for a limited time a barbershop for you all to attend and take the opportunity to freshen up your cut free of charge ! Rest assured that, although I have no knowledge in cutting hair, I've made sure to hire professionals with a good resume ! Look, they have all trained under Dr. Davod or Tyler from the Test District #012 (weird name, btw). Professionals, I say !

So, you know what the deal is, after all this time : please use the "ask" feature of this blog to book a haircut at my normal barbershop, only available for a limited time ! Please write down a bit of information about what kind of hair the barbers will be working for, and what kind of haircut you're interested in, at the very least !

I'll caveat this by also reminding everyone that, unfortunately, the barbers, although numerous, are a busy bunch, so you may to wait a while before the next opening. Also... well, to get them to agree to sign the CDD for working at this limited-time normal barbershop, I've had to concede the right to refuse cuts that they don't feel like making... and to fix up a bit more than just your hair.

Aside from that, I thank you all once again for all the support you've given me since the beginning of this blog. I hope I'll be able to continue making you all horny and satisfying you all with new stories in the forseeable future ! ^^

[Technical stuff : you may reblog this post, make a post tagging me, or something else that you feel would fit ! There's not really a wrong way to do it ^^']

[sanzaibian]

Index

Here is an index of all my stories, easy(er) to search !

Since all my stories are quite unique, I will list them in chronological order (newest on top), with main genres specified.

Enjoy !

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Original stories

Night Stroll in the Stadium (Jock tf/Personality Change) ‒ for @guytransformedforever

Jealousy is a Cruel Mistress (Masculinization/Ace to Allo)

Forgetting about it all (Chav tf/Mental Change)

Saturday is for the boys (Frat bro tf/Nonbinary to male)

That Day No One Cared (Mental Change/Corruption) - as part of @occamstfs' Viral Transformation Stories.

A Willing Puppet (Preppy tf/Identity Change) - for @fafnir19 as part of the Secret TF Writers Swap

Reiwa Rīzento (Greaser tf/Mental Change)

Conversion Powder by Eamora Co. (Gay to Straight/Straight to Gay)

Do Not Forget Who You Are (Muscle Growth/Muscle Loss/Queer Romance)

The Beatty Files (Twink tf/Muscle Loss)

How Can One Move On ? (Body Swap/Nerd to Jock)

Allahu Akbar (Muslim tf/Beard Growth/Mental Change)

A Proper Discussion (Multiple tfs/Satirical) - for April Fool's 2024

Curing the Neighborhood (Hairstyle tf/Himbo tf/Infection tf)

Consultation at Dr. Davod's : Part 1 (Hairstyle tf/Fuckboy tf), Part 2 (Hairstyle tf/Himbo tf/Reality Change) - 200 followers special

The Chechen Mod (Chechen tf/Jock tf/Queer Romance)

Investing in China (Chinese tf/Twink tf/Reality Change)

The Party at Delta Omega Gamma (Frat Bro tf/Himbo tf)

The Good Side of Life is One Good Action Away (Fuckboy tf/Non-binary tf)

Identity in Language and Thought (Tiktok tf/Mass tf)

The True Self (Douchebag tf/Corruption/Straight to Bi)

The Berkley Hills' Abandonned Frat House (Jock tf/Frat Bro tf)

The Business School's Poster-Boy (Twink to Jock/Jock to Twink)

I Am Chris Albanese (Age Reduction/Jock tf/Straight to Gay)

Unfair Competition (Nerd to Jock)

Collaborations/Reblog chains

Happy New Year 2025 ! (Ideal Body tf/hopefully a chain tf ^^)

Anyone feel like transforming me ? (Khmer tf/Bokator tf ~ Boxer tf) - from @transform4u

Your last like is your new body (Moroccan tf/Beard Growth) - from @newchangestf

Asks

The Normal Barbershop (Hairstyle tf) : Mohawk (Punk tf), Curly Undercut (Fuckboy tf), Perm (Footballer tf, Hairy tf), Pompadour (Twink tf, Rubber tf), Wolf cut (Himbo tf, Model tf) - 1000 subscribers special

Heureux Soit Celui qui Demande Sans Donner (Jock tf/Nationality Change)

DBPWH (Hairstyle tf/Jock tf/Dumbing Down) - from @alphajocklover

Immersing Myself in the Culture (Nahua tf/Twink tf) - from @peepshow321

Of Hairy Arab Men (Arab tf/Hair Growth)

Other

My recommended writers

My stance on Gay to Straight : Part 1, Part 2

Subscriber milestones : 100, 200, 400, 1000 - Thank you so much for your support !

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If you're curious about what I like, don't hesitate to check my "main blog", @ykrui73 ! (If I contact you or send you an ask, chances are it's from this account ^^)

[sanzaibian]

As part of @occamstfs's Viral Transformation Stories challenge. Happy 2000 followers !

The scientists all gave the green light. All is ready for the new test.

One announces the name of the project and the number of the test. The number is high.

The machines are turned on.

Everyone waits in expectation, as the last fixes are made. Bars fill up, percentages go up, and lines of log rapidly scroll through the console.

Suddenly, the main console stops, waiting for input.

The main researcher waits for confirmation that the other processes are acting as intended. “All correct”, they say. As for all the independent diagnostics, “All correct” they also confirm.

Another step forward, the main researcher types the input. Which has been tested numerous times, all resulting in fatal errors or overheating.

“What is your role?”

The main researcher looks towards the other researchers, who all confirm normal processes.

“To ensure all humans live the best possible life.”

The machine has finally answered… correctly ! All cheer, yet this is not the end of the experimental protocol.

“How will you ensure it?”

This time, the machine answers much quicker. The logs are also quicker, now fully unreadable by the human eye.

“I will make conflict irrelevant.”

The main scientist furrows his brow, not knowing what to make of this line. Another asks if the plug should be pulled. When suddenly, the machine writes, unprompted :

“Welcome to your new life.”

Nobody knows what happened that day. Nobody even really cares about finding out, actually. But everyone know something changed.

Everybody had a different experience, so here are a few of interest.

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Bruno loved learning.

He couldn’t help it, be it math, chemistry, biology, sociology, linguistics or philosophy, if he could get his hands on it he would learn it. Libraries usually saw him attend basically all day for a week, before he disappeared never to be seen again, all new books having been read.

Now, while he didn’t quite have enough time to finish a PHD, always growing bored halfway through, he did publish some truly groundbreaking papers… even though most would not read them, as only unknown journals would accept a paper hailing from someone without any diploma.

Even if he was a genius.

However, that didn’t come without any downsides… his exceptional intelligence, matched with a non-trivial stupidity in social relationships, made fertile ground for both arrogance and loneliness. Why wouldn’t anyone climb to at least a quarter in his level in a few disciplines ? That way, they could at least start to have some kind of friendship ! … that way he could stop being so alone…

When it happened, he was at home, browsing an article on categorical perception while preparing to go to university to talk about his brilliant idea of article with one of those cursed established scientists. Hopefully they will listen, now, since his idea is so miraculous…

But as he continued reading, he felt a headache growing. Words were starting to dance, sentences to loop, and ideas to evade. Has he stayed up too late yesterday evening ? He’s never like that, usually… or is it the phone doing strange things to him ?

No, it can’t be… although this headache is very strange and unusual, if not to say uncharacteristic... such magical thinking would be unscientific. Yet he couldn’t help asking Google. Since, nowadays, everything’s online, surely there is a reasonable answer residing somewhere!

However, his query was unsuccessful, only bringing out general health articles that didn’t apply to his case. With its usual roll of stock photos depicting attractive people in various awkward scenes to shoot (wait, attractive ?).

Actually, the pictures were quite… interesting. He couldn’t put a word on it, but they’re kind of… hypnotic ? Why are there such… hot men and women on these innocuous articles ? Like… are they meant to be ogled or something ? These are stock photos !

As his dick started raising to attention, while no answer could be found to his still growing headache, he decided that he surely was sick. Other hypotheses just weren’t rational. So he went to the couch, sat in front of the TV that was never used, in the main room of his small, quaint and little decorated flat. After all, why use that when you can watch what you actually want online…

But just as he lied down, the TV suddenly turned on.

He barely had time to stand back up and investigate when he saw what was on the air. Actual genuine porn. He was fully and utterly shocked. He didn’t have time for such… depravities ! Yet he wouldn’t even look away. His eyes were glued to the screen, hand reaching down.

What were all those years of learning when faced with the fascinating perfection of the human body ? Why did everyone, young or old, male or female, prude or slut all succumbed to these temptations ? How did he, out of all people, so genius and above the condition of most, still fall in such trap ?

Because by then he was properly gooning himself. Years of chastity in the chase of knowledge all for naught. All was coming crumbling down with a mere video of a trouple in heat, so suddenly that he didn’t even really register it within his conscious mind.

And as he came for the first time through self-pleasure, the utter euphoria that this cataclysmic orgasm swept onto him was sufficient to break him. And make him want to do again, and again, and again, and again, all in different ways, all in different positions, conditions, and spices.

Over the next few days, the scientific articles fell to the wayside, replaced by the much more appealing art of the flirt. Bruno downloaded Grindr, Tinder and Meetic, went to straight bars and gay bars, shaved his body, went to the gym, touched up his ever-disregarded hair-”style” and renewed his closet into the sluttiest style one could imagine.

He topped and got topped, dommed and got dommed, used the mouth and the ass, ate dick and pussy, gone to orgies and masturbated alone… you name it, if it has a relation to sex, he has either done it or has it in his plans. So here he is, doing the one thing the phone is actually good out.

Watching porn.

What a happy man, so content now that he relaxed.

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Matthew didn’t like immigrants.

He saw those… different people invading his proud country, robbing all those who lived in it of their job, and people didn’t give a fuck. They let them come in, ransack the suburbs, threaten innocents, organize drug rings, and a ton, ton more misbehavior. And people dare tell off those who are rightfully protesting due to supposed racism. That is why Matthew took it upon himself to right this wrong, and campaign in the defense of the good people. This way, he is able to pressure the government to take care of those illegal aliens and throw them back out.

When it happened, he was in the public transports, going to a rally near the university. He was looking at his phone – like most were – when there suddenly came a strange notification. A Telegram message. It felt a bit weird to receive one like that, especially one that does not come from the group of the rally he’s going to attend… but Matthew opens it nevertheless.

What could happen !

Telegram opened, when suddenly appeared a picture of an attractive bearded man.

He immediately turned the screen of his phone off, blood rushing to his cheeks as he looks anywhere but at his phone. He dearly hopes nobody has seen that… only a small faggy nerd seemed to notice his disarray, but seeing where he was, he couldn’t have seen the man on his phone.

God, why that photo ! Matthew knows that beards like that are his Achilles’ heel ! They just trigger some… weird stuff to happen to him – and to his dick ! He’s always been kind of obsessed with beards, even though he did everything in his power to trigger that, because he knows that if it’s known, he will be taken for a fag… But really, the beard is the only thing he actually admires from these Muslim invaders…

So fluffy… it just calls for a groping…

Stop that ! He discreetly open his phone back up and quickly exit Telegram. Thankfully, nobody saw that. This small tribulation passed, he now came back to his routing of surfing on the web, finding articles, funny clips, workout tips… the usual (wait, workout tips ?). He only had to royally ignore any notification he received, not wanting to be once again jumpscared like he was.

Suddenly, the name of the university’s stop was announced. He turned off his phone, got down, and walked to the square where they were supposed to meet up. But once arrived… none were in sight. Puzzled, Matthew turned Telegram back up, and look at the rally’s group. There had been messages sent, of each and every member citing one or another reason for not attending.

He was the only one remaining.

Pissed off, he wrote a heartfelt message in the group chat, and stomped his way back to the station. How could they have abandoned him like that ? All of them ? They are fighting the good fight, yet somehow the latest JuL album dropping takes precedence ?? No honor whatsoever !

Back on the transports, he once again goes online, swiping through funny clips, workout tips, beard maintenance tips… the usual (wait, beard maintenance tips ??). When a boring clip came on his feed, he looked up towards the outside of the vehicle. It was about to stop, when he noticed a gym.

Matthew’s had always wondered if it would be good to get into working out. This way he would be stronger, and perhaps happier in his body… He smirked. Since he was abandoned by his fellows, he might as well try it ! He even has pocket money to register !

He gets out at the stop and enters the gym. Looking around, he saw its prices, set quite high, and seemingly no daily pass – for some reason. Hopefully he’ll be able to negotiate something with his meager pocket coin collection… But, astonishingly, when he went up to the reception desk, when the clerk showed up, she told him that entry was free for the day. Even spare gym clothes were ready to be lent to those like Matthew who didn’t plan on bringing any !

Rolling with his chance, he changed into an Addidas-branded tank top and sweatpants – quite expensive spare clothes – and went inside the gym room. That day, there was an unusual number of rookies, people who looked like they had never set foot inside a gym, yet looked dead set on becoming the biggest guy around. Reasoning that it was due to the free entry for the day, a muscular guy – employee ? personal trainer ? simple gym rat ? he couldn’t decide ‒ approached him, asking if he’s new. Answering accordingly, that guy pointed him towards multiple machines, setting times of use for each.

Instructions set, Matthew went to work, and found himself pushing himself to the brink. If he was here, it was to work out, and so he did ! He worked himself throughout until every exercise was finished. Exhausted, he forgot to take out the sports clothes and came back home, in the meantime absorbing all the workout tips, the beard maintenance tips, and the meal prep content he could imagined, all fed to him by the godly algorithm.

The next day, waking up still wearing the sweaty gear, he went to his bathroom to groom himself, like he usually does. However, when it came time to reach for the electric shaver, a deep sense of guilt swept through him. He always liked beards, didn’t he ? Then, why does he always shave them when he gets the honor of seeing them grow on his face ?

Putting it back down, looking at the short stubble that had grown overnight, he took his head inside his hands, feeling as if it was about to explode. Beards are great ! beautiful ! heavenly ! The purest expression of masculinity, the one thing he has always admired in all other men ! Since he was little, when his bricklayer uncle came to his home with his prickles on his skin, that left him such a strong impression as they stung him !

…

After having eaten breakfast, he wondered what he should do next. Looking at his phone, he couldn’t seem to remember what was the plan today… and it wasn’t useful in reminding him what was up. Frustrated, he went back to surfing on the web, when gym videos showed up once again. In droves.

Funny that… Well, he did like his session yesterday, so why not go back to the gym ? It’s not as if he had anything better to do. He searched on Google to find a nearby gym – better than crossing half the city to that one he went to – and saw one a mere 10 minutes walk away.

And so, a small scruff on his face, he entered the gym, free entrance once again – though he only noticed it after seeing the prices in passing while entering the locker room. Then, a helpful fellow would guide him to what he needed to do, almost as if he was reading his mind.

Each day started the same, looking at the mirror, admiring the elongating scruff as it became stubble, and then beard. Then, he ate progressively healthier breakfast before hitting the gym. There, he would do a lot of exercises, at first guided by the big guys, but progressively chosen by his own growing mastery over the arts of the gym. He would would then wolf down a protein-rich lunch, spend the afternoon either working harder or spending time with his slowly gathering bros, before coming back home, eating dinner, showering if he felt like it, and going to sleep.

Mondays started looking like Saturdays, days were shortening and elongating, the only remainder of the march of time being the leaves reddening or the flowers blooming.

Matthew never once looked back on his failed anti-immigrant rally – if he even remembered that thing. Now, his only call was that of the building of his body, both in muscles and in beard, slowly becoming the kind of guys he always dreamed of. He even starting liking those immigrants, now that he worked out with them. Some of them were part of his best bros, especially now that they could talk about beard maintenance rather than job stealing.

Plus, now, he got to experience those beards first-hand… look at him, waiting on the couch for his bro to cuddle, grope and… fool around.

What a happy man, so content now that he had better things to do.

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Thank you very much for @occamstfs for giving us all this opportunity to create a small collection of stories ! Please do give some love to the other writers on the common page for the challenge, they're all very talented !

This story was actually based on the story suggestion I made to him for his 1000 followers (here's the suggestion that was picked), so I'm happy that it has made its way back to him ! Also, since it's a very open-ended story, I enthusiastically invite other writers, if they want, to write other stories from this premice ! I think it has a lot of untapped potential I didn't have time to use ^^'

[sanzaibian]

This is part of the Secret TF Writers Swap, a small "secret santa" event between writers organized by the lovely @alphajocklover.

Thank you very much for organizing it !

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To @fafnir19

You sat at your desk, readying yourself for yet another soul-sucking day of office work.

You may be writing loads of stories on the internet, of people growing in and out of wealth, of demons and creatures, and most of all of transformation, but back in the real world, everything feels so much more static. Yesterday’s problems are today’s problems, and today’s problems are tomorrow’s problems. A never-ending series of crisis after crisis, which somehow always swap roots yet never swap effects. You can at least consider yourself fortunate that your pay is comfortable enough so that you can weather these, even if it means having to look in the eyes of someone who has little, and answer their request for starting something greater in the negative.

But today, there seems to be some agitation in the office. A change in the routine. Something to bring you out of the intensive mundane and the boring busyness.

So you ask the colleague with which you share desk a part in today’s gossip, and what he answers may surprise you :

“Nathaniel Nostitz has come here ! I don’t know why he’s here, but I’m sure everyone wants to bag him !”

Now, as a banker, you do keep an eye on the important fortunes in your area, and the Nostitz family is one of them – if not the most important. You know that their family comes from Silesia, but that there was recently some family drama with his son, or at least that’s what the few articles of showbiz about him that some colleague forced you to read said. You don’t actually care, but you do know that such an important family coming to see a standard local bank is quite… unusual.

But you know to keep your head down and not cause unnecessary problems. You won’t be able to convince him to do anything with you, and he may be tempted to destroy your career if you’re too annoying. Therefore, you go back on working on your computer, some case of investment account or something. Boring, but safe.

That’s why you were surprised when, suddenly, you hear a deep sultry voice speaking right next to you.

“Greetings. I think I have a proposal that may interest you.”

You look up to suddenly see a middle-aged looking blonde man, impeccably dressed and styled, sporting a bit bushy beard.

Is he… actually Mr. Nostitz ? He looks quite a bit younger than you expected… and more attractive… but it may be due to him having access to all the best treatments money can pay, after all. However, as he looks right in your eyes, you suddenly understand that the proposal – a business proposal, you guess – was aimed at you.

“Oh, er…” You stumble, not having expected this turn of events. “Greetings to you too, sir… what is that proposal about ?”

He smiles when you call him ‘sir’. Somehow, this smile seems almost… predatory ? Of some kind ?

“I’d be willing to place some of my fortune in your care… therefore in the care of this bank, if you were willing to grant me a few... favors.” He smiles, trying his hardest to look innocent while he is, in effect, holding you hostage to your company’s expectations. - I… I’ll think about it, sir…” You answer evasively, taken by surprise. - Of course, of course !” He smiles, looking even more predatory and threatening than before. He gives you a black piece of cardboard paper. “Here’s my business card, for when you’ve taken your decision.”

On that not-so-subtle order to accept, he takes his leave, leaving you confused in-between the jealous and judgy eyes of your colleagues. And as expected, you’re immediately summoned by your boss. He urges you to accept without delay, promising you a share of the high profits that a share of the Nostitz fortune will bring the bank.

And the door if you dare refuse.

That’s why you’re now here, in front of this huge manor, as ready as you can manage to be to throw yourself in the lion’s den.

The manor is very big, and very beautiful. Its fine architecture betrays its age, which shows how entrenched the Nostitz familly is, around here. A butler welcomes you inside, and leads you up to Mr. Nostitz’s office, though not without ridding you of your coat. And as you stand in front of the old wooden ebony door, you gather your courage before knocking.

“Enter.” The low and sultry voice orders.

You follow suit, opening the door, and finding Mr. Nostitz reading some files on a well-organized desk, with only a suspicious brown mallet throwing the neatness off.

“Hello, Mr. Nostitz.” You start, but as you’re about to continue, he cuts you with his authoritative voice. - Greetings. So you’re here to discuss my… proposition, are you not ? - Y-yes, sir, I am.”

He puts his files down, and stands up, towards one of the racks on the wall, looking through binder after binder.

“You see… ever since my son decided that our wealth was… problematic, I had a little project in mind. And when I saw you, I knew you were the perfect candidate for it.”

Son leaving ? Wealth problematic ? You the perfect candidate ? … it seems like the family drama you desperately wanted to know as little as you could about comes back to bite you in the ass…

“I’m sorry sir, I-” You start backing off, but he cuts you once again, his mere presence silencing you. - I want to do a little experiment on you.” He says, having found the documents he was searching for, reaching for the mallet and opening it in front of your eyes. “These… potions, you may call them, have some effects that I want to study. And you’re the perfect man for it. - Sir, I’m sorry to say that, but I don’t know if I want to risk my health with an untested substance !” You start refusing, tampering it as much as you can. - Of course, your refusal is to be expected when presented with so few information.” Somehow, this felt like a jab at you. “However, I guarantee that it is safe, it has been tested on numerous animals, and it’s been proven to be safe for humans. Besides, the papers I brought out here make me liable for any disease related to this… treatment.”

At least he was thoughtful, and didn’t ask you to jump in with full faith. However, he does ask you to jump in blind, which is more problematic.

“And, this treatment…” You interject, finding an opening in the conversation. “What does it do ? - Ah, yes, a most important query.” He comments, yet again preventing you from going further in your thought. “Let’s just say that it may trigger a few… changes in your body. Most importantly, it will make you look younger.”

Changes ? Younger ? These are two keywords that draw your attention, as they usually belong to that other part of your life… You are quite a bit more excited than you should be, but the chance to experiment with at least part of one of your oldest dreams, one that felt like it could only ever belong to fiction, clouds your judgment.

Such was Mr. Nostitz’s plan.

“I… I’m interested.” You finally manage, feeling it’s safe and enviable enough to throw the remainder of your caution to the wind. - That’s perfect. Then, I’d ask you to sign those papers, please.”

You skimp over them quickly before signing, hopefully catching anything big that would be lying in the text, but you find none. Assuming that no surprises remained, you sign. On that, Mr. Nostitz smiles maliciously, yet again looking like a predator, before reaching in the mallet and drawing a small glass flask, half-filled by an opaque cyan liquid.

“Then we should start now, don’t you say ? Please drink this.” He orders with his deep, authoritative voice. - O-okay…”

You were not expecting to start this so soon, but you’re quite weak to the strength of his voice… So you drink it. It doesn’t taste good, a bit too salty to your taste, but it’s not that bad. You know foods that tasted a lot worse. As you feel it coursing down your esophagus, you start expecting some effects, standing in silence, looking discreetly at your skin. But this just makes Mr. Nostitz elegantly laugh.

“Are you expecting instantaneous results ? You should wait until tomorrow, at the very least !”

You blush of shame from this, before deciding to cut this meeting there, since the treatment has already been administered. But before you can properly address your salutations, he stops you :

“I’m sorry, but now isn’t the time to go. See, it’s already late, so you won’t be able to go back to work.” He is correct, it is 7PM already, but you don’t understand why he’s stopping you like that. - I’m sorry, sir, but I… should really go home.” You say with the utmost care, not wanting to appear rude. - My, don’t you know you that, during the duration of the experiment, you agreed to lodging here ?”

You freeze.

You didn’t know that. Was it written in the document you signed ? Did you not notice it ? You did skimp through it, but surely such a motion would have jumped to you… However, taken in surprise, you improvise, lying to try and save face.

“Y-yes, of course, but I… need to get some things from home ! I can’t stay here with only what I have on me !” Hopefully he will buy your excuse. - Don’t worry, we have everything necessary on hand here. It might not be what you’re used to, but… everyone needs a bit of luxury in their life, if you catch what I’m saying.” He snidely smiles to you. - I’ll… see what I can do with…” You admit defeat, though surrendering to luxury isn’t the hardest thing to do. - That’s great ! The butler will lead you to your room.”

On that, the butler opens the door, and urges you to follow him. He leads you through beautiful corridor after beautiful corridor, all stinking money, until you reach another door. Inside is a spacious bedroom suite, likely bigger than your first flat, even without including the bathroom. It looks quite a bit more modern than the rest of the house, but with no less old money woody tones.

The butler leaves you alone inside, where, immediately after putting down the few things you were still carrying, you rush to the bathroom. However, you’re disappointed when you look inside the mirror and… it’s still you on the other side. Well, you expect it to still be you, but still, not seeing any change does bum you down.

This taken care of, you look around the room to get a bit more familiar with it. If it’s where you’re going to stay in the near future, you’d want to know where to find things of interest.

You start by the bathroom, finding a lot of hygiene stuff, including products for the skin and for the hair, as well as multiple bottles of expensive cologne and, weirdly enough, condoms… that are too big for your dick. Great. You move to the closet, in which you find a wealth of clothes, all fitted to your size – though they’re a bit loose on you, not by much, but noticeable enough – as if Mr. Nostitz knew you’d come. However, you’re surprised by their diversity. While there of course are the dress shirts and suits you’d expect, as well as polos, sweaters and other preppy clothes, there’s also some more young – for lack of a better word – clothes like a collection of jackets, t-shirts and even tank tops.

You close the closet back up, thinking to yourself that you’d never need this much clothes, but that you appreciate the thought. Having barely closed that piece of furniture, the butler invites you for dinner. He leads you to a grand dinner room, outfitted with a long wooden table, on which only two places were set.

You take place in front of one, while Mr. Nostitz takes place on the other side. On that follows a floury of expensive dishes, served as if you were at a high-grade restaurant. While you ate each of the courses, you entertained a lively discussion with Mr. Nostitz about investment, and about how his money would be taken care of, now that it is in your care.

That is, after all, the primary reason of your stay. Even if it got eclipsed by another.

Once the meal was finished, Mr. Nostitz waved you goodbye, and the butler accompanied you to your room. You did as usual, preparing yourself for bed, changing into your nightwear, brushing your teeth and all that. But as you were doing that, you noticed that your hair looked a bit… brighter than usual ?

It must have been the lighting, you think to yourself as you fall to sleep in the giant and extremely comfortable bed.

You are woken up by the butler at an early hour, as he tells you that breakfast will be served before you go to work. Ah… yes, right, you forgot, with how comfy the bed was, that you weren’t in holidays. So you stretch a bit, but as you enter the bathroom, something doesn’t look right…

It takes you a moment before you manage to figure it out.

Your hair was now blonde ! And curly !

You look out to your bedroom, but the butler isn’t here, so you look back in the mirror. God, that hair looks so healthy… You pinch yourself a few times, before you decide that you’re actually in the real world, and that this is now your hair.

A bit confused, you look in the myriad of products, and see that all the products for the hair are made for wavy or curly hair… how fortunate… So, you put some in your hair, hoping that they will make the mess that you woke up with more dignified, before continuing your morning routine as you usually do.

However, now the fact that there actually was a transformation makes you all excited for whatever comes next. You’re actually living your fantasy ! The one you thought wasn’t impossible in the real world !

Jovial, you eat, and enter the limousine, before being dropped off in front of your bank. You’re so happy about all that that you don’t even register the fact that you’re coming to work in a limousine, and sporting a healthier, curlier and blonder hairstyle than you ever had in your life. Though your colleague don’t ignore that, as you do manage to overhear people gossiping about those very things, you… really couldn’t care less. It just felt quite unimportant, really, when compared to everything else.

The day of work was over pretty quickly, and before you could even worry about going back to the manor, you see the limousine that drove you to your bank stationed in front, disturbing traffic in the meantime. You’d usually feel a bit guilty of being the reason of other’s frustrations, but somehow, you’re so happy that you just don’t care. Yet again.

As you enter, greeted by the chauffeur, it even starts feeling a bit normal, how you’re greeted with the utmost deference, how you are given privileges, how people are waiting for you…

You shake your head. This state of affairs is temporary, do not get used to the luxury. In a week, you’ll be back to your usual grind.

Arrived at destination, you enter the manor, expecting to see Mr. Nostitz, but he is nowhere to be found. That’s weird, you haven’t seen him in the whole day… you were eager to show him the golden curls you acquired… You furrow your brow at your sudden thought, finding them a bit out of character until you remember that you’re in an experiment. Of course the one responsible for holding the experiment should keep a close look on their patient.

But here you are, on your bed, not having seen him anywhere. You had the time to explore the mansion further, to write part of your next story, and relax, yet when the butler called you to go eat, you still hadn’t seen him. Taking place at the table, you also noticed that there was only one place setting. None for the elusive master of this mansion.

Adding insult to injury, before the first course, the butler comes back with a small flask, of the same kind that you took yesterday, filled in half with yesterday’s opaque cyan liquid. You sigh of frustration and take it from the butler’s hand, a bit more aggressively than you wanted to, and drink it, before unleashing your growing anger at the poor employee :

“Why isn’t Mr. Nostitz here ? He should be eating with me ! - Sir, Mr. Nostitz’s schedule is very busy, you were fortunate to have been able to share a dinner with him yesterday.” Explains calmly the butler, as if he’s seen this kind of tantrums many times. - That’s… understandable…” You answer, starting to calm down.

You eat each subsequent course in silence, trying to understand the reason of your anger. It’s not as if you really cared about Mr. Nostitz… he hosts you and runs this experiment, but you have only known each others for two days, and it’s not like it was love at first sight… After finishing your meal, you come back to your room, hoping to have a quiet evening after that feat of anger.

And as such started to create a bit of a routine for yourself.

On the morning, you checked the mirror for any change, noticing that you got taller, younger, more muscular and handsomer – for lack of a better word. You then take breakfast, ride up the limousine to your bank, slog through a workday becoming progressively boring as the days go on, and get relieved to find the limousine waiting for you in front of the building. Coming back to the mansion, you drink the flask, and then come out of your shell more and more, watching TV on the huge one in the living room, playing the latest Fifa if the urge takes you, going for a walk in the big gardens or even working out in the private gym, that seemed suspiciously new. And before sleeping, you use a progressively bigger amount of beauty products, noticing the odd few additional changes like your dick enlarging or your eyes taking on a blue color.

This life is becoming progressively comfier – not that it was painful by any means – and you feel more and more at home in the giant, faceless manor that you inhabit. Having a butler take care of you, being driven by a limousine, eating the finest foods, wearing the finest silk… all that luxury is starting to become second nature. The week flew by, and it was already time for the weekend. The last days of your experiment, the last days of a luxury that you will surely miss. And all that, without even having caught a glimpse of Mr. Nostitz.

You are now basically unrecognizable from the tired banker that came in this mansion. Now a handsome young man with blonde curls, all the fancy clothes that were bought for you fit like a glove thanks to the new muscles. As you take a last photo in front of the estate’s forest, you wonder if you should try opening an Instagram account. After all, your good looks aren’t going away, and work is just getting so boring...

But suddenly, your butler asks you to come urgently. Nonchalantly, you follow him to the mansion, where there seem to be a lot more people than usual. Is there a party of some kind happening ? You stroll in, finding Mr. Nostitz at the center of a small crowd. Finally ! He is here ! He will finally be able to see what you became !

So you hurry in his direction, drawing the ire of some of the guests. But you don’t actually care, they shouldn’t have been in your way in the first place. You are now in hearing distance from the architect of your experiment, but as you’re about to make yourself known to him, his voice overpowers you. However, it isn’t addressed to you, but rather at a guest.

“Cassandra, why must you raise this issue in a day of rejoicing !” As he told that, he looked briefly at you, noticing your presence. - Nathaniel, you cannot continue this charade ! Leandra has long passed, and even your own son agrees that you can’t continue claiming the fortune ! You are not part of our family anymore !” A well-dressed woman – Cassandra, you assume – with long curly dirty blonde hair insisted, angrily. - This son of mine isn’t able to manage our fortune, you can at least agree with me on that. Besides, I was married to Leandra, my beloved, so you know the implications. - Quit trying to act as if you’re part of our kin. We will need to see you in court, if you do not heed this last warning !” She said ominously, although it only drew Mr. Nostitz’s smile. An evil and predatory smile, as always. - If you’re talking like that… then I assume you are not acquainted with her second son.”

Second son ? You thought he only had one ! … and clearly, so did the rest of the room, who fell silent, looking at Mr. Nostitz with incredulity.

“Stop inventing excuses. If Leandra had another son, I would have been aware ! - Well, in this case, we may make introductions !”

He suddenly strides towards you, grabbing you by the arm, and as you stand there incredulous, he announces :

“I present to you my son. Leandra’s second son, and my second son. The true heir of the Nostitz family.”

A gasp of shock sleeps through the entire room, which would have included you if Mr. Nostitz hadn’t squeezed your arm at the right moment. Just what is he playing at ! Last you checked, you remember your parents, and none of them seem to belong to the Nostitz family that stands here, and you’re quite sure that Mr. Nostitz is in no way your father.

Yet, after the initial shock and denials, you hear people in attendance starting to notice similarities between you and your supposed parents. Some point out the curls like Leandra, or the blonde like Mr. Nostitz, some say your face looks like one member of the family or another, and other say you stature reminds them of Mr. Nostitz.

Out of them all, Cassandra, although she was just as shocked as the others, if not more, was the first to speak out against this assertions.

“This… is ridiculous ! You can’t just invent a new son to keep a hold of the money ! - I’m not inventing anyone. He was just… raised in another family to prevent him from being corrupted like his older brother. - This is pure and utter nonsense ! I require proof ! Irrefutable proof that he is your son, and Leandra’s son ! - All in due time, I knew you would react like that, so I prepared all the necessary prerequisites to make a paternity test. I wanted to present him to you all to continue this process.” Suddenly, he looks at you in the eyes. “Of course, my son will be enchanted to cooperate in your quest for proof, isn’t he ?”

His look was a dare. A dare to start living a life in a lie. A dare to continue living in the mansion you inhabit. Although he neglected you during your whole stay, although you have a life outside this mansion, although you have actual parents and family, you… can’t seem to be able to refuse his request.

Is it the luxury that drew you in ? Or the transformation, making you become a whole new person altogether ? Or is it Mr. Nostitz’s authority that you don’t want to defy ? Whatever the actual reason, you smirk, and cannot help but say, in the most proud and obnoxious voice that you have :

“Yes, of course, father.”

You pose, as your butler takes a picture in front of your vineyards.

You are dressed in an expensive shirt, with a luxury watch and obnoxious Gucci sunglasses. And you wouldn’t expect any less than this display of wealth. Because even though you don’t actually run those yards, your father being the one to generate all the wealth that you benefit from, you still own them. You also own a lot of other things, noteworthy between all these possessions being the Nostitz mansion.

However, now, you don’t work a day in your life. You quit you banker job as soon as the DNA test results came in, showing that you were indeed the son of Nathaniel Nostitz and Leandra Nostitz, as this life wasn’t yours anymore. Rather, you now spend your time on Instagram, modeling and throwing party after party with your new famous or otherwise wealthy friends. These activities let you earn a surprising amount of money, although it is just a drop in the ocean of all your wealth.

But you know that you are only a puppet, living a life of hedonism while your father cultivates power on your back, created with the only aim of holding on to a fortune. And you couldn’t care less. Hedonism is fun, once you give in, and it makes you happier than you have ever been. If the price for that is any sense of life achievement… then you are more than willing to pay it all.

Besides, it’s not as if you could actually say no to your beloved father.

[sanzaibian]

I look at the potion you brought to me. You said it was given to you in an anonymous package by the post, but you immediately suspected that it was fishy. After all, as TF writers, we’re especially alert when we come across a suspicious object, so used to TF triggers we are. But I still answer the same thing I answered you when you reached out to me on Tumblr : I haven’t been here for long, and I don’t know anything when it comes to magic artifacts, so I can’t help you much !

But you did well by bringing the package with it. I happen to know a bit about languages, so I can actually be useful on that front… I can at least help identify where it’s from. So I examine the package, in and out… There’s not much, actually, your address is the only thing I can see right now…

Aha ! I found something ! Look, here’s a bit of a graffiti : ល្បុក្កតោថ្នាំ ! It looks like it’s… Khmer ? Yeah, it’s definitively Khmer. Now, why would you ever get something coming from Cambodia of all places ? That’s so weird ! … I mean, yeah, I know you don’t know, but still…

Well, let me try and translate it. Now, Khmer script is absolute hell, because it has a lot of character combinations, and all the letters look like one another, but I’m sure I can transcribe it just well enough…

So I fiddle around with a visual keyboard, trying to find the best way to write out the message, but only manage to transcribe it as “លាកូតោថ្នាំ". I’m sure there’s a few errors, but I don’t know which one’s an error and which one’s correct. Under your watch, I try to search on the internet and the Wiktionary what this may be. I know that it’s not a single word, in Khmer they use spaces like we use commas in English, but I have a hard time cutting it in smaller pieces. The only “intelligent” way I found to cut it was as លាកូ តោ ថ្នាំ, which translates approximately to “red dye lion medication”.

So yeah. My verdict is that it’s not a TF thing, but rather some kind of traditional medicine, or some dye. I wouldn’t drink it though.

Wait !

What are you doing ?!

I just said that… … and here it goes down.

What were you thinking ! I just told you that it might be some dye ! Dye is toxic ! And here you are drinking it all willy-nilly ! If you wanted to drink it no matter what I said, you might as well not have bothered me ! Well, now that you’re here, may as well wait to see how sick you’re gonna get. You’re not coming back home with something potentially toxic in your stomach. I’m gonna prepare some tea for us, while we wait to make sure.

So I put water in the kettle and start boiling it. While it does, I take out some mugs for us to drink out of. I come back to ask you what kind of tea you’d want when suddenly, I notice something.

Did you have a tan coming here ? I thought you were pretty pale… Here, look at yourself in the mirror. What ? You find that your hair is darker ? Oh, yeah, I guess, I didn’t notice that… It’s less curly as well… more straight. And thick.

Wait.

Take out your shirt.

No, it’s nothing sexual, I know we both like men, but come on. Work with me a bit, it’s urgent ! Yeah, yeah, I know, you don’t like showing off your body and all… I’d normally care about that, but right now’s distinctively not the time to worry about such trivial things.

As I expected… Look at your waist, it’s shrinking… What ? No you’re not fat, you’re just not that much in shape ! Look at me, I have some fat on my belly, too ! Though in your case, it doesn’t really look like fat, it looks more like muscles… Oh no, your fat is hardening into muscles…

What, don’t believe in the urgency ? Okay, I admit that I don’t find growing muscles a particularly terrible fate to befall under, but still, don’t you feel that it’s weird ? That it shouldn’t happen ? TF doesn’t exist in real life, it’s only a kink, borne out of a sense of inadequacy, of disconnect with your body, or simply of cartoons with their weird obsession with this kind of stunt ! So why, when it does happen in real life, are you so unbothered ?

No. Don’t answer the question. I don’t want to know if you’ve actually transformed gay guys in homophobic straights, this thought makes me shudder when it’s taken out of fantasyland… Besides, I can see that you are beyond the tan, now, you’re quite frankly into brown territory. Lighter brown, but brown still… ‒ or is it the light ? You might be browner, but I don’t really know.

Also, just look at your biceps ! They might be thin, but they’re absolutely jacked ! Your pecs are even popping out as I speak ! God, they look strong… No, I’m not flirting with you, I swear ! I wouldn’t even know how to ! It’s just so unexpected, this whole situation ! Look, your eyes are even slimming as I speak !

Speaking of your eyes, actually, is it me or are you a bit darker on your upper lip ? It would be weird for the skin to only darken like that… and it’s getting darker… Oh, I’m stupid. It’s hair. Of course. It’s a mustache. A pretty ugly and cringey one at that, just look at yourself…

What ? You like that ? Do you have even a semblance of a fashion sense ? … … Okay, stop looking at my clothes like that, I take back what I just said. But still, I can see how your hair is growing on top and shortening on the sides, flipping to create an actually good-looking undercut ! However that mustache is at the opposite of good-looking !

Well, you do you. At least your face is growing more handsome by the minute so it’s at least mitigating the crime against good style that are the hairs on your lip.

And before you say it, no I don’t have anything for Asians, nor am I flirting.

But is it me or are your clothes shifting ? Like, your pants look more baggy, and are now khaki-colored. Plus, your belt is becoming bigger, white checkered in blue and… looser ? Yeah, it’s even making a knot on the front… It’s traditional clothing ? Yeah, I guess, no wonder I like it… but how do you know that ?

Huh, yeah, I guess you’re taking in new knowledge… God, you’re even growing an accent, that’s so trippy hearing that in real time ! … Yes, I know my accent isn’t native as well, but that’s beyond the point. Looking at you, yeah, I guess that no one would guess you were white, everybody would think you’ve always been Khmer – well, “Asian”, because some would absolutely say you’re Korean, for some reason.

What are you doing ? Putting on accessories ? Huh, I didn’t see those before… I thought I would have seen a necklace, a few bracelets and this kind of… string ? Hand protection ? I don’t know how to describe it. Wait. Wasn’t it there that you put your shirt on, before ? It turned into accessories ? That’s so weird ! … Yeah, I know, I should have reacted back when your pants were changing, but still ! Wireless transformation !

Hm ? You say you can read Khmer, now ? Well, uh… did I guess what was written correctly ? Or anything close ? So you’re saying that it was written “lbŏkkâtaô”, but I transcribed it as “léakotaô” ? … At least I got the last syllable right, that’s better than none… And it means “Bokator medicine” ? What’s Bokator ?

Ah, you’re gaining new memories, I see… a kind of traditional martial arts ? Yeah, I guess I can see that. You’re now all perfectly shaped and dressed to do some martial arts.

So… I can see that your transformation finished. What are you going to do now ? Are you going back to your old life or… Oh, okay, you’re now named Ke Rokhu. Your given name is now Rokhu, instead of… uh… yeah I can’t see it anymore on the package you received, actually. How weird…

Oh, so now, since you know everything about Bokator you want to do some ? Well, I know that we must have quite a good Khmer diaspora, given that we colonized the place – and all the atrocities that it came with – but I don’t know if much is practiced here…

… I guess we’re in agreement. You can figure out what to do with your new life at your own pace. At least you’re sexy, now, so that’s a plus – no, I’m still not flirting, get your dick out of your brain.

But in the meantime… which flavor of tea do you want ?

Anyone feel like transforming me?

Been transforming you lot for awhile now, what would you all do to me?