#preppification

[fredwkong]

The Prep Watch

When you first came home wearing the Prep Watch, we laughed about it. You were even the one who coined the name. You’d been at work downtown, busking and selling your punk CDs, when some preppy white boy in a Ralph Lauren polo and chinos ran up to you and smacked a Rolex or something onto your wrist.

You looked like the last person who would wear a Rolex. Every bare bit of skin was covered in tattoos, to the point that it was hard to tell you had Hispanic heritage. You had piercings all over your face and body, and you kept your hair in a neon pink mohawk. You covered up your skinny frame with heavily patched jackets and loose, distressed jeans. As the epitome of a punk, such a fancy watch stuck out like a sore thumb.

We laughed about it for a bit, and then I took a closer look. It was nice, probably gold-plated at least. “Dude, you should totally pawn it,” I told you. Our finances were…precarious, to say the least. Pawning something like this would cover, like, a week’s worth of groceries.

But you looked down and furrowed your pierced eyebrows. “I dunno,” you said, suddenly sounding far away. “I mean. It looks nice, right?”

“Definitely,” I said, assuming that would be the end of it.

But when you hopped into bed next to me that night, the Prep Watch was still on your wrist.

By the next week, it was definitely really weird. I mean, you only took the watch off to shower. But when I told you that you were being strange, you just said, “Yeah, but it looks nice, right?”

It was like living with a pod person.

I bet you thought I wouldn’t notice when you switched underwear. It was such a subtle difference, trading Walmart boxers for those fancy boxer briefs. But, I mean, I tidy the bedroom. I saw the patterns in the underwear drawer. At the time, I thought it was sort of cute. A hard-ass punk wearing underwear with a cuddly duckling pattern on it.

Little did I know.

It probably felt like temptation, the desires you were experiencing as you kept on wearing the watch. You’d be out in the city, busking the afternoon away, watching all those preppy city boys walk past in their pastel sweaters and fancy slacks. Knowing that underneath all your gear and piercings, right on top of your tattoos and your Prince Albert, you were wearing the same underwear. Did you miss any notes? Did your voice crack as you lusted over some fucking preps?

I was so confused when I found some of your more obvious piercings in the bathroom trash bin. You loved your nose rings, and we’d gotten our helix piercings together. Hearing you say that they just weren’t your thing anymore made me feel like slapping you.

I considered leaving you, you know. I could have walked out that day and left you at the mercy of whatever fucking bullshit was happening to you. But at that point, I had the crazy idea in my head that this wasn’t you. It was the Prep Watch that was doing this to you. So, like an idiot, I stayed, and tried to come up with a way to get that damn Rolex off your wrist.

One day, you came home and told me you’d gotten a corporate job. “May as well use that Economics degree,” you said, even though we’d burned our diplomas together a couple years ago. When you said, “It’s just until my music picks up,” I think we both knew you were lying, but I nodded anyway. Under your leather jacket, I could see you were wearing a polo shirt.

The next day, you got your hair cut. You hadn’t been maintaining your mohawk anyway, but it was a shock when you got home with a head of short brown curls. For some reason, it looked like it was growing in blond at the roots.

By that point, did you already hate your own music? You kept busking once or twice a week for a month longer. I think it was just for appearances. When we went out to gigs, I noticed your smile was kind of tight, like you were just there for my sake. The only times I saw you really grin anymore was when you were putting on your damn work shirts or staring at that fucking Prep Watch. I swear, you got a boner in your stupid preppy boxer briefs whenever you looked at that thing. “It looks nice, right?” you said to me, admiring the watch on your wrist under your cufflinks.

I couldn’t get the watch away from you. You only took it off to shower, and we’d stopped showering together. I bet you’d taken out all your body piercings already. Christ, they probably came off before your visible piercings, trying to hide it from me. What kind of a boyfriend— Whatever. What you were really hiding was probably how cleanly all your piercings had healed.

Yeah, don’t give me that shit about good wound care. I know what a healed over piercing looks like, and your lip has never been pierced. I mean, I know the watch is magic now. Your tattoos were fading even before you went and got them lasered off. I saw the disgust on your face every time you looked at your neck tatts in the mirror. No man’s skin gets pale like yours got. Everything cleared up.

Do you like being so much smaller? Softer? You used to be lanky and lean, now you look short, soft. Pastel. How many fucking pastel clothes can one man own? Pants, shirts, sweaters, socks, hats, fucking pastel purses! Man bags, what the fuck ever. Just a little curly-haired blond prep with perfect white teeth and a perfect little office job. Do your coworkers even know about what you used to be? They probably think you’re about twenty, with that boyish look on your clean-shaven face.

You really wanted to go to the carnival, and, I mean, you were paying most of the rent at that point, so I went along with it. For some reason, I still thought that I could separate you from that watch and everything would just… go back to normal. Who knows? Maybe if I’d found a way to separate the watch from you that night, they would have. You still remembered who you were, then. Your keyboard was covered in dust, sitting in the corner of the bedroom, but it was still there.

But as we watched the lights on the ferris wheel, you a short little pastel boy with a single demure piercing, standing next to a lanky punk covered in tattoos and wearing a patched jacket, you checked the Prep Watch. I watched as your eyes shone in the light reflected off the watch face, and with a swirl like smoke, they turned from brown to blue. You nodded to yourself and undid the watch.

“Want to try it?” you chirped at me, reaching toward my wrist.

I ran.

I think that I thought I could get back to our apartment and clear my stuff out before you got back. But I was on transit. You owned the car. I really thought I’d made it when I saw the lights off in our window. I unlocked the door, crept inside…

There was barely a rustle as you emerged from the closet and clapped the watch onto my wrist.

And now here we are. I’ve been talking for a while, I guess. I just had to get all of that out. I wish that I could just stand up, walk out, take off this watch. What I really wish is that I had just up and left when I saw the way this was going. I'm afraid that I'm about to lose myself, the way you have. I miss my boyfriend. But now here we are, and I’m wearing the Prep Watch, and, well…

It looks nice, right?

[futurebella]

The New Scene

The "scene" subculture has been effectively banned in the state of Connecticut. We've also successfully wiped it out. Replacing the ugly hair, flashy clothes, and horrid attitudes with Godly views. Here are just a few success stories.

These three girls have realized that standing out isn't as fun as conforming, being a part of the group. Modesty and docile traits are what these girls need for success.

Kelly has realized the error of her ways. Concerts, raves, and partying are not helping her future. This is why she opps for Bible studies and homemaking lessons instead. Both offered by the Stepford Girl's Association (a division of the Stepford Women's Association).

These two needed a bit of help getting out of Hot Topic. Now they go to church!

God ✝️ Above ✝️ Self

[eye-pop-emoji]

[tradnyc]

[ab1nsur]

As Principal of His Daughters high school Lili’s Father had no idea what to do with her she had gotten so many detentions mostly for talking back to teachers or bullying other students the school board themselves told him unless he can get her to behave then they will have choice but to expel her it was as he was thinking over what to do that he remembered a boy who had somehow learned actual hypnosis also had detention for hypnotising every girl on the dance team into doing a striptease he quickly left his office to find him passing the head cheerleader as she put up a poster announcing tryouts causing him to chuckle quietly oh he knew exactly how fix his wayward daughter Lili would become the one thing She hated.

*two days later*

Lili danced and cheered on the football team as her Father smiled widely his plan had worked perfectly just like he expected the boy leapt at the chance to get out of detention in return for hypnotising her into being a well behaved preppy cheerleader who got good grades it also helped that as soon as the cheerleaders saw Lili at tryouts they unanimously decided that giving the principals daughter one of the open spots would help get them into his good books plus he got a raise from the school board for quickly solving the problem.

[tarnished-gold-star]

Hello, I’m Bette-Lynn!

I recently took a look at my life and realized the novelty of rebelling against social norms had worn off. Where I’d once been confident in my identity as a transmasc lesbian, there was only discomfort and confusion. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Who was this hairy, mean dyke in the mirror and what had he done with the cute, ditzy tomboy I used to be?

She’d been dulled into submission by years of marijuana use, silenced by feminists and queer radicals who pride in watching a young woman erased, and finally she was sealed away by weekly testosterone injections. Thankfully, as synthetic hormones masculinized my body, my heightened sexual drive feminized by thoughts. I started calling myself bisexual and began hooking up with men on Grindr. Before long, I met a chaser and began privately search up “fakeboy” content.

I realized I wanted to live the reality of it and stopped taking testosterone earlier this year and am slowly detransitioning. My ultimate goals are unclear, but I know I want to be a momma and live as an exaggeration of cis-heteronormativity full time. It just feels right.

On this blog, you may find me praising: Stepfordization, detransition and extreme patriarchal values as kink, impregnation/pregnancy, hucows, bimbofication, IQ reduction, BBW and some weight gain content, exaggerated gender roles, and extreme submission to one’s partner.

Searching for another queer leftist who is interested in playing house forever and ever. I’ll be mommy, you’ll be daddy, and we’ll fool all of suburbia into believing we’re the perfect cis-heterosexual couple. Don’t worry, though, we’ll both still remember we’re queer!

DNI: Minors, actual conservatives, or people who willingly wear blouses with shoulder holes.

[sartorialboy]

[twistsparkle]

Restore & Refresh

Stephanie arrived at the Om Retreat Center nestled at some remote town upstate. A few days of restoration and relaxation, creative mindfulness activities, and energetic cleansing designed to bring her back to calm after working at a frantic pace for months. She shut all notifications on her phone, let out a deep exhale as she arrived at check-in in. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Janet, who lives on the 4th floor of her building in Astoria. 

“Why does Janet always have to immerse herself in the things I like to do? It’s just not fair!”

Stephanie had a valid point. Ever since Janet moved into the building last year, she’s been everywhere. In the laundry room, at her favorite cafe, at the supermarket, even at the book club she joined - Janet was just everywhere. As a New Yorker, Stephanie was used to her anonymity, and she was used to neighbors that just didn’t give a shit and aside from the common courtesy of holding the lobby door open, there was just no interaction. Nothing. Janet was….nice, and with each interaction, she would try to get into a conversation. Stephanie spoke to enough people all day at work, she wanted to go back into her apartment, pour herself a glass of wine and just binge watch the Baking Show before falling asleep. She doesn’t have room for more people in her life. 

Janet was new to New York, and came from a small town in Connecticut. Life was different here than back home, but hey, she wanted to inject some of her values into big city life. Most people never want to leave the pleasant small town, but Janet really wanted to gain new perspectives by immersing herself in the vibrant city life that she’s heard so much about. Attending Broadway plays, going to the museums, strolling through Central Park, and riding those old-fashioned wooden escalators at Macy’s. She wanted to experience city life, even if for a year or two before it was time to settle down. 

One thing that she didn’t quite understand was why everyone was so incredibly jaded and smug. She also really didn’t understand why neighbors didn’t know each other - anonymity was strange to her, and when she moved into the building, she really wanted to make friends. Most of the people in the building were older or nesting couples; Stephanie was the only one in the building that was in her age group, and she really wanted to know her. Back home, everyone knew everyone in town; that’s just the way it was, so have a bestie like she had back home was so important to her. She longed to go to Paint & Sip nights, to attend book clubs, go shopping and to shows with, and to explore all the culture she could. She thought that by figuring out Stephanie’s rhythm, maybe they would find things in common, but Stephanie was so cold and dismissive. 

She had to find a way to make Stephanie the bestie that she always wanted. 

Janet knew about the Om Retreat Center from her friends back home. One of her friends was having doubts about her fiance, and after attending, her mind was restored and anchored her back to her values, her essence. 

That’s exactly what Stephanie needed, Janet thought, to be restored. To reset her values. That’s it! Janet’s mind was giddy with delight as she plotted her next step. 

She went onto the Retreat Center’s website and requested information in Stephanie’s name for the Mindfulness Retreat. One evening, when picking up the mail in the lobby, she saw Stephanie carrying the brochure. Janet smiled at her. 

“What a weirdo,” Stephanie muttered as she glanced at the brochure. Ugh, more junk, but this kind of looks cool. She paused for a second, and instead of going to the recycle bin, she brought it upstairs and flipped through the pages. Healthy meals, accommodations, 5 days away from all her responsibilities. Mindful art programs, yoga and wellness, spa treatments, Reiki, and a promise to come back refreshed. Stephanie didn’t even remember the last time she took a vacation, and this seemed like just the break she needed. 

For a few days, she wavered back and forth on whether to register. The people who usually go to these things are the basic bitches from Westchester who spend time on “wellness” to supplement their white picket fenced ideals and privilege. Besides, it was a bit expensive; she’d also have to rent a car to get up there and pay tuition, but it was all inclusive, and she didn’t really need to worry about anything. When would be the next time she’d be able to have this experience? And when was the last time she ever focused on wellness? She decided to go for it. She might actually like it. 

Seeing Janet there at registration just ticked her off. She’s the exact stereotype that would go to these things. White, privileged suburbanite who moves to the city less as a resident, but more like a sabbatical. 

Janet walked over to her, and Stephanie couldn’t avoid her. There was just so much open space. “Wow! I never would have imagined you in a place like this! What a coincidence!”

“Yeah, well, I could totally imagine you here.” 

Janet pouted, but then smiled. 

“They have such great classes here - and the infused water is just….magical! You should grab one. The strawberry lime is just so….refreshing.” 

“Thanks for the tip, Janet. See you around. I kind of want to settle in first.”

“Oh, of course! Don’t let me stop you. I just got here myself. I was just about to go for my massage. Definitely take advantage of your credits! See you soon, neighbor!”

Stephanie was kind of creeped out by Janet, but she’s just not used to all this nice stuff. But the infused water sounded good, and her water bottle was totally empty after the long drive up. She went over to the water dispenser and filled it all the way up. 

As she made her way up the stairs, she took a sip. The sweet and citrus taste filled her and suddenly, she felt….nice. Just plain nice. All the zillion things going through her mind about work and responsibility just seemed to have escaped her mind. And what was that about Janet? It wasn’t important. She took another sip before heading down to the studio for her yoga class. 

After class, she refilled her water bottle. She didn’t know what it was, but it was just so good, and when she arrived at the onsite restaurant for dinner that evening, she called Janet over. Janet smiled.

“I just wanted to thank you so much for suggesting that infused water. It’s so refreshing!”

“Not a problem, Stephanie.”

“Oh, my manners! Would you like to have a seat?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” From that point forward, Janet and Stephanie were inseparable during the retreat. They booked all the same classes together and even had a slumber party in each other’s rooms, binge watching reality TV and talking about important stuff like fashion and dream weddings, and all the things that Stephanie finally realized was important.  Restored and refreshed. She found her values and essence at the retreat. In fact, she didn't quite understand why she was so rude to Janet before. That's just not polite.

Once back home, Stephanie pouted. “This neighborhood is so dirty, Janet. I mean, there are fun things to do in the city, but I don’t think I could live here for another year.”

Janet’s mission was complete, and just as she was assigned, she’d bring someone back home to join The Community.

[king-craftsman]

Finn has one final chance to get out of his contract with Mattel before he becomes Ken again. After contacting an investigative reporter, the two come up with a plan to get into the Mattel offices and find information to expose them for the CEO’s transformative ways.

But what happens when they’re caught and this time, it’s not just Finn who could be the victim of a pleasurable transformation?

Featuring — male transformation || preppification || muscle growth || personality alteration || himbofication || inanimate transformation

A new story available to read now.

[futurebella]

A Full Wedding

One of the first jobs women lost in the Conservative Revolution was being a police officer. Why would a woman be a cop? It's a man's job anyway.

Lay didn't think so and refused to turn in her badge. So she was forcibly fired when the Morality Police showed up at her door.

After a few days at the Women's Association, Layla realized that being a cop is not for her. It's for a man. Specifically, her new husband, whom she would be marrying in an hour.

Layla is a God-loving woman. She always will be. Cooking, cleaning, and caring for her kids. As a good woman should.

God ✝️ Above ✝️ Self

[cyoc49]

What are your favorite blogs/writers on any site regarding preppification/stepfordization?

On here, @dumb-and-jocked is one of my favorite current accounts and puts out some top tier stories. @preppysuitbot @buttonboy69 have been around for years and both have put out great content in that time. @mrstepford is one of the writers that inspired me to start writing so I will always appreciate them for that. And @atomicwedgienerd is a great resource for all things nerdy.

On other sites, Mitchell Morris and Woodrow Writes on Gay Kinky Stories (formerly Gay Spiral Stories, and formerly Narcissus Cursed Men’s Collection before that (whew)) both have fantastic preppy stories. Woodrow’s Family Values story is one of the hottest tf stories I’ve read. And The Craftsman (@King_Craftstman) over on Twitter has great preppy content along with other tfs. And countless CYOC stories over the years (it’s my namesake after all). But I’ll let you find those on your own. Exploring CYOC is like a rite of passage.

Feel free to respond to this with any of your favorites.

[callmecallmecrazy]

Preppy 1

*****

Warning!  This is not my usual fare.  Back in college I got very into preppy clothing and wrote a few short stories that I never shared anywhere.  Figure I might as well post them for posterity.  Enjoy this 2007/8 flashback!

*****

Two athletic men hauled Shawn into a dark room with a gurney table, and strapped his arms and legs down.

 "What the fuck?" Shawn shouted, his shaggy hair covering his eyes.  His muscular body struggled uselessly against the leather restraints holding down his body.  "Who the hell are you fuckers?"

This caused the two men to stop suddenly.

"My goodness, how rude of me," one spoke.  He was a tall man.  He was wearing Sahara Sperry topsiders, pleated khakis, and a hunter green sweater. Peaking out from under the sweater was a blue and yellow striped oxford shirt.  The collar was buttoned tightly around his neck, which was adorned with a simple yellow tie.  His hair was cut in a short buzzcut.

 He offered his hand out in the gesture of greeting and smiled at the man he had strapped down. "My name is Cody Bellford, please call me Skip.  And this," he said as he pulled the other man towards him in a sort of man hug, "is Ace."  The shorter man smiled.  He too was dressed in pleated khakis, but was wearing a light blue polo with a popped collar. His hair was longer than Skip's, cut into a crisp flattop.  Both men had athletic, strong bodies that were highlighted by their attire, but still looking very dressy.

 "What the hell is going on?" Shawn screamed.

"Ugh, so barbaric," Ace sighed.

"Don't worry, we'll get you cleaned up."

"Cleaned up?" Shawn asked.

"Yes," Skip began to explain.  "Cleaned up.  Groomed. Presentable.  Your appearance and mouth reflect poorly on yourself and the school.  Wouldn't you be happier if you were groomed and proper?"

"Fuck you!" Shawn retorted.  The two preppy men just smiled to each other and began their work.

 Ace walked up to Shawn's chest and proceeded to rip the oversized t-shirt off his chest, exposing Shawn's voluptuous pecs covered in fur.  At the same time, Skip had proceeded to cut the sweat pants off of Shawn's legs.  In few more simple motions, Shawn was lying nearly naked on the table, only his privates covered by a pair of striped boxers.  His strong legs were lurching against the confines of the straps, and the veins in his arms and neck were bulging from his constant resistance. Shawn finally glanced upwards to realize that a full size mirror hung over him.

 "You have a good physique, Shawn.  You should take better care of yourself," Skip said.

"What?"

"This hair is disgusting.  You would look so much better if you were more streamlined."

"Shit, shaving body hair is for fags!"  Shawn was still struggling against the restraints but it was useless.  He was exhausted, and the reflections of the two groomed, calm men standing over him confused him.  Here he was, stressing and fighting, and they were calm and collected. In charge.

"Lots of men shave their body hair," Ace explained.  "It works for some, but you would look better trimmed." Skip handed Ace an electric trimmer, which he turned on and waved delicately in front of Shawn's face. Shawn looked in terror as Ace took the blade over his chest and began to strike down the forest of hair growing across. He could only look forward and watch as his reflection was slowly denuded across the chest and abs.  Skip made eye contact in the mirror and smiled brightly at the terrified man.

 Next, Ace continued his swarthy path on the legs, reducing the long hairs to fine fibers, highlighting the deep cuts along his quads and calves.  Beyond his range of vision, Skip had been stirring a pot of hot wax, and now sat down next to Shawn.  He took one of Shawn's hands and applied the wax on the hair covering his fingers. With a quick rip, and a tired yelp from Shawn, one finger was clean of unsightly hair.  Skip continued the process across all five digits and the back of the hand, then proceeded to do the other hand.  Ace had moved on to the arm that Skip had finished and removed all the hair from Shawn's wrist to his shoulder.  Skip went down to Shawn's feet and quickly ripped the hair off of his feet and toes.

 "Goodness, Shawn," Ace smiled at Shawn in the mirror.  "You look so much better now."

"Yes, I think so too. You should keep this look." Shawn stared at the two smiling men in the mirror, finding himself drawn into their bright smiles and amber eyes. He wanted to look away, but his face was held in place.  He tried to close his eyes, but he was constantly drawn back into the soothing haze of their white teeth and tan skin.  His skin did look good.  His skin had a natural tan and without the hair it seemed that his muscles were bigger, more cut, more defined. Maybe it wasn't, no, he hated it.  Shaving body hair was stupid.  But kind of sexy...

 "Now, about these," Skip said as he cut the boxer shorts from Shawn's body.  Shawn was shocked into silence as Ace roughly gripped his package.

"Don't worry," Ace said, again smiling.  "I'm not a pervert.  I just want you to be the best you can be."  And with those words, he once again turned on the electric trimmer and carefully reduced his pubic hair to a short stubble.  A few more quick strokes near the inner thigh, and both preppy boys stepped back and addressed Shawn in the mirror.

 "You look swell, Shawn," Ace said.  "This clean look really suits you."

"Yes, I agree," Skip said.  "I think everything we're doing you should maintain.  Weekly should be enough for you to look presentable everywhere. It's important to be groomed and presentable at all times.  You don't want to meet the wrong person looking poorly."

"Wrong... person?" Shawn stammered, he was nearly overwhelmed by the whole situation and found himself increasingly groggy and incoherent.

"Yes, there are the right people and the wrong people," Ace explained.  "If you meet a bank president, you don't want to look like a grunge band member.  You want to look like you know a Brooks Brothers inside and out.  That's how you get ahead."

"Oh, but... I ... umm.... shit," Shawn said, exerting a tiny bit of resistance in an attempt to move his head to the side.

"And don't swear, Shawn," Skip said.  "You sound unprofessional and uneducated.  Looking your best means acting your best."

"Umm, okay."

"Don't stutter or stammer.  Speak clearly and decisively.  A man."

"Okay."  Ace and Skip smiled to each other, and for just a single moment, Shawn smiled himself.

 "You are coming along very well, Shawn.  Just a tad more and I think you'll be a new man."

"Yes, I agree. Shawn just needs a few touch-ups and he will be an ideal gentleman."  Skip stepped out of view for just a second and then reappeared. Into the mirror, he held up a pair of classic y-front briefs.  He pulled on them slightly to emphasize the item.

 "These, are the ideal underwear for a conservative, preppy man.  That's what we want you to become.  That's what you want to be Shawn.  All of this is just so you can be a gentleman."  Shawn's eyes bulged as he saw the old-fashioned underwear. Ace undid the straps on his legs, but Shawn found himself too exhausted to move.  The boys gently lifted up his legs and slip down the tight, white briefs. They traced up his thighs and gently began to engulf his crotch and butt.  With a sharp elastic snap, he felt the band settle against his waist.  He had resisted looking, but curiously he peered at his image.  He looked amazing.  The briefs looked so presentable and manly.  He felt powerful and in control.  Once again, Shawn found himself smiling pleasantly.

 "Feeling a tad preppy?" Ace teased.  "Don't worry, only one thing left."

"Your hair," Skip said.  "It's so rough and wild.  Not the image one wants to send."  Shawn had nothing left inside himself to resist.  He merely nodded as well as the straps would let him.  The table holding up his head receded, and Shawn saw Ace holding his neck up while Skip brought over a pair of clippers.  They sprang to life with a low growl.  Skip wasted no time in reducing the sides of his head to nothing.  The shaggy haircut was being quickly reduced.  He ran the clippers over the sides of his head, leaving a white wall of flesh behind in its wake.  That finished, he proceeded to comb the hair back and began hacking it off.  Large chunks of brown hair fell to the floor as Shawn was shorn.  Finally, with about an inch left, Skip wet the hair and brushed it all up.  Using a small trimmer, he proceeded to flatten out his hair, until the top was a level plain identical to Ace's square hair.

 "You need something drastically different," Ace explained.  "Such a dramatic change proves how intent you are on improving yourself."  Skip just nodded as he continued to even out the top of the hair.  Shawn was nearing his breaking point, as he watched his long, mangled hair replaced with a corporate hairstyle of precision and execution. Skip applied some strange wax to the hair forcing it to stand up straight.

 "After some practice," Skip began, "your hair will hold itself up.  But the wax is still good measure."  Shawn found himself nodding as the knowledge of how to maintain his new hairstyle sunk into his freshly exposed head.  Skip pulled the head piece out from the table, and Ace let Shawn's head rest on the table.  The two prepsters stood back and admired their work.

 "You look like a decent guy now.  No more grunge or nasty college boy."

"No, you look like the prefect preppy."

"You are going places. Meeting the right people."

"I'm sure you'll get a great job and make lots of money."

"You've already met us. And there is a bunch of men back at the house excited to meet you."

"Of course, you should join the fraternity.  Men like us need to stick together."

"Don't you like this Shawn.  Being preppy. You look so much better."

"You're a born-again preppy.  We prefer you like this.  And all the brothers want you like this.  You want to be like this, don't you?"

 Staring at himself in the overhead mirror, Shawn was shocked at how much he liked his reflection. Formerly shaggy hair now stood straight up over his head, looking stiff as a board.  Whitewalls on the sides, his ears seemed to stick out a little - something else he found surprisingly appealing.  His tan, muscular body was shown to all its glory, his former resistance giving his body a sheen from sweat and muscle tension.  Without his body hair, he looked bigger, stronger, and cleaner.  He had always thought that shaving body hair was nelly and silly, but he looked much better now.  And then the briefs.  Tight, white briefs with a full cut covered his nether regions.  He had always worn boxers.  But there was something alluring about the underwear, with its clean-cut lines. Almost unconsciously, Shawn found his face slowly being filled with a charming, pleasant smile.  His dazzling white teeth began to cover more of his face as the empty grin consumed him.  Brown eyes lit up with a sort of cordial ambiance.  

 He liked it.  He really did.  Shawn was suddenly overwhelmed with a dire urgency. Something he had never felt before welling up inside of him.  He wanted to be like the preppy boys.  To be like this.  Attractive and fit and well liked and happy.  To be successful and entitled and self-assured.  And surrounded by men his equal.  Men as fit and clean and productive.  To be engulfed in their manly etiquette and mannerisms.  Better yet, be a part of group of such men.  To be part of a fraternity.

 All at once, Shawn's sudden pleasant nature began to override the rest of his personality.  So what if he wanted to dress, act, be one of the preppy boys?  If anything, being a preppy boy would be good for him.  He would get in with the right people, wear the right clothes, be the right kind of man. The kind of man Shawn would never have been on his own.  And he'd be happy.  It sounded pretty great to Shawn, who continued to sink into a cheerful bliss.

 At this point, Skip and Ace proceeded to undo the straps holding Shawn down.  He allowed the two well-dressed boys to help him off the table and he thanked them politely.  Manners were always important after all, but too much thanks sounded sarcastic or desperate - neither of which were admirable qualities in a man.  Ace gave Shawn a gentle pat on the back and a bright smile.

 "Feeling better?"

"Yessir, thank you both very much," Shawn replied.

"Of course," Skip replied eloquently.  "Here, you might want to get dressed."  

 The boys handed Shawn a pair of khaki Dockers’.  He slipped the pants up his muscular legs and pulled them high over his briefs.  The khakis sat a little higher than his normal baggy pants had, and Shawn liked it.  It was a much classier fit.  As he zipped up the fly and buttoned the top, he noticed the pants were pleated.  Actually, it was a double pleat, he was pleased to note. For some reason, he had always hated pleated pants.  He didn't know why.  Clearly, they were a much smarter look on a man.  More formal.  Next, the two fraternity boys gave Shawn a light blue oxford shirt, complete with a little polo player on the left breast.  They helped him tuck the shirt gently into his pants as he began to button the shirt up. He stopped before the very top, but Ace flipped up Shawn's collar and proceeded to button it to the very top. His neck was a little too thick for the buttoned collar, but he realized it would force him to carry his chin high, with pride and confidence.  Yes, a high collar was definitely better for his posture.

 "A proper man doesn't wear a button-down shirt without a tie of some sort," Skip said coyly as he approached Shawn, a line of fabric resting in his hands.  Shawn couldn't see what was happening as Skip proceeded to tie a tie on his neck.  At the same time, he felt Ace fumbling with the cuffs of his shirt.

 Skip stepped back and admired his handiwork and once again presented that gorgeous white smile to Shawn, who was pleased to return the cordial charm of the other man.  Ace was working away at his hips, looping a brown leather belt through the hoops of his Dockers.  Skip held up a pair of blue dress socks with a purple and yellow argyle pattern on them.  Shawn smiled and lifted up one leg, and then the other, feeling the stretch of the fabric engulf his feet.  When he set each foot down, a pair of penny loafers had been set in the way, forcing his foot to slide elegantly into the leather classics.

 "Just a tad preppier," Ace said as he pulled up the final item.  A sweater vest, with a black, grey, and white argyle pattern on it. Shawn could see thin yellow and blue lines running between the diamonds.  He lost his vision as the sweater was pulled over his hair and rested on his broad shoulders.  Rough hands began adjusting the sweater across his body.  It was a bit of tight fit given the size of his pecs and shoulders. The belt was adjusted, the tie straighten, the hair fluffed.  Meanwhile, Skip had pulled over a full-size mirror.  When Ace stepped away from Shawn, taking his place next to Skip, Shawn could finally see his new visage.

 He was a preppy boy. Pleated khakis over an oxford shirt and sweater vest.  It hadn't been a traditional tie that was put around his neck, but rather a purple and yellow bowtie.  Classic cufflinks had been used on the cuffs of his shirt.  Combined with the brown loafers and belt, he was the spitting image of a preppy boy.

 Spitting image?  Shawn thought to himself.  How inappropriate.  More like the classic construct of a prepster.

 "I think Tad is preppy now," Ace said as he looked over the new prep's outfit.

"Think you are a Tad now?" Skip said as he slipped his hand on the recently madeover man's shoulder.

"Skip, Ace, thank you both very much.  I would be pleased if you called me Tad.  Shawn is so uncouth."

"We understand, Tad," Ace said. "Neither of our names befit our preppiness.  Hence, we have preppy nicknames."

"Well, Tad, I think that it's time you went upstairs and met the rest of the men.  You are in the fraternity now, correct?"

"I would be honored to be a brother. Rush begins today?"

"Oh, you're not going to need to rush.  In fact, we would like you to greet the rushees."

"Absolutely!" Tad exclaimed.  "I am honored to represent our brothers and our fraternity."

"Great, let's get you settled in."  The three brothers walk upstairs into the house, to introduce Tad to his new life.

 Later that day, as the rushees came into the house, the brother meeted and greeted all the potential men.  Among them, was a preppy man with a flattop and a purple and yellow bowtie.  He was wearing pleated khakis and a sweater vest. And his nametag had 'TAD' written in bold letters.  It crossed his chest in the same place the little polo player did.  Aside from the nametag, he was nearly indistinguishable form the other brothers.  And in the next week, a few more good men would find themselves proud brothers of the fraternity and brothers in preppiness.

[jockbender]

There's a Spell for That

As soon as I opened my apartment door, I knew the enchantment had worked.  A gentle sighing moan from the master bedroom could only mean that Fabio, the smoking hot contractor working on remodelling my kitchen, had taken the bait and was ready for me to play with.

I'd been looking forward to this moment all day.  Ever since he'd first come by to produce a quotation, I knew I had to have him.  Something about his latin good looks, muscular physique and the obvious disdain he had for 'queers' like me combined to make me weak at the knees.

Immediately, I decided that he would be mine and thinking how hot it would be to get the tattooed brute into (and then out of) one of my designer suits, I contrived a plan to make it happen.  The enchantment was simplicity itself once I'd discovered one of his dark hairs on the floor in the bathroom.  A few muttered words from one of my favourite spell books and all I had to do was slip the hair inside the pocket of the suit I'd selected for Fabio to model for me.

Having to be at work early, I left the suit hanging in my closet with the door and that of my room left invitingly open.  If the result last time I used this particular enchantment was anything to go by, Fabio couldn't possibly last more than a few hours before becoming ensnared by the spell's magic.  Of course, I'd lose a day on my remodelling project but it would be a small price to pay for an evening in the arms of a stud like Fabio.

Needless to say I didn't get much work done at the office and several people asked if I was OK.  If only they knew!  My thoughts kept wandering back to my apartment.  I imagined the tattooed stud becoming increasingly distracted as he went about his work, drawn for some unknown reason to the closet in my room.  Eventually, he wouldn't be able to resist anymore and would enter carefully so as not to disturb anything while looking around, searching the room for the source of his compulsion.

After a moment, his eyes would land on the rich dark material of my suit, hanging so innocently in the closet, and his fate would be sealed.  Lifting the hangar from the rail, I imagined the gasp of pleasure and bulge in his work pants as his cock swelled, pre-cum leaking freely into his underwear as the desire to slide into the expensive garment took hold.

Within moments, his normal work attire would be discarded forgotten along with his inhibitions as he began to dress again in my clothes.  What colour shirt would he select?  Would he pick a tie to match?  I had no idea but I couldn't wait to find out.

He'd probably be wondering why he was dressing in his employer's clothes but the nervous, erotic sensations would soon quell any lingering sense or propriety.  As each garment slips onto his firm, athletic body, the thrill and sensuous tingle of the expensive fabric would send shivers of excitement to his cock and when finally dressed, he would be captivated, entirely in thrall to the clothes and ready and waiting for his Master.

Walking quietly down the hallway, I peered around and then stood in the doorway to my bedroom and was greeted with a sight that went beyond even my wildest expectations.

Fabio was there, as of course I knew he would be, but what a transformation!  Gone was the uncouth, arrogant construction worker I'd hired last week and in his place, a suited stud lay with his pants around his ankles, reclining on my bed as he stroked his delicious looking cock with a smouldering look in his eyes.

I don't know if he'd ever worn a suit before or whether the enchantment had helped him dress but whatever the case, he looked immaculate.  The dark suit was set off by a purple tie and the white pocket square neatly accented the crisp white shirt.  The tattoos visible on his hands were the only sign that this wasn't a successful executive but a blue collar contractor.  The subtle, visible signs of his true personality made my cock twitch with excitement as I drank in the view.

It was clear that any lingering disgust for 'queers and fags' had evidently been purged from the new and improved Fabio as his hungry eyes seemed to devour me in a most gratifying way.  He ran his tongue around his beard framed lips slowly and deliberately, glancing suggestively at his hardening member and asked me what I was waiting for.

Wasting no time to take up his invitation, I slipped off my suit jacket and shoes, loosened my tie and eased myself gently onto the bed next to him, our combined weight drawing us closer together as his rich, masculine scent enveloped me.  I savoured a brief moment gazing into the rich mocha pools of his eyes before our lips met in a hot, passionate kiss and I surrendered to his assertive hands as they eagerly explored my body.

It's too bad this was just going to be for one night.  Unless...I pondered for a moment...there's a spell for that.