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[visceral-stories]

DILF FM - Corey

Happy New Year all! Thank you all for sticking by my side despite my inconsistent uploading. It’s been a crazy year for me filled with so many challenging changes. As a treat, here’s a story based off a new series of stories started by the stupendous and incomparable @aardvarkia exclusively on his Patreon! Also support me on Ko-fi |Follow me on Twitter

The world felt like it was frozen as Corey Johnston trudged towards the parking lot. The static wind and the chilly, cloudy atmosphere were less than welcoming as he exited the warm, heated confines of his high school. His good friend Alex Howell, someone he’d met in math class due to their shared, borderline-obsessive enjoyment of Fortnite among a few other franchises, trotted alongside him. Tori Rueckert, a cheerful brunette girl the two had met in that same math class, was the reason for Corey’s sullen mood. 

“Forget about her, CJ,” Alex confided, wrapping his arm around his friend for a brief moment before releasing it awkwardly. “There are like a million girls out there anyway.” “I know,” Corey bluntly answered as he pushed open the door of the school and the two entered the mostly vacant parking lot. “I just thought she would want to give me a chance. I thought she was starting to like me! I made her laugh a few times in class!” 

Alex sighed. Even though he was hiding it, the disappointment in his friend’s face was evident. “It’s happened to me too dude,” Alex added, running a hand through his unkempt ginger hair. “That’s why they call them crushes ya know. Cause it hurts when they crush your dreams.”

A melancholic, forced laugh left Corey’s mouth and he sighed. “I should’ve known a girl like that wouldn’t want anything to do with me. She’s way out of my league.”

“Don’t think like that,” Alex replied, his voice hitting an awkward squeak. “Most guys like us don’t even have the courage to ask girls out so be glad you’ve done that.” 

“Yeah, I’m so glad,” Corey sarcastically replied.

The duo stopped in front of their respective vehicles, both of them hand-me-down sedans stationed in the back of the lot that appeared to be somewhere between ten and fifteen years old. 

“It’s just not fair,” Corey huffed as he unlocked his car. 

“I know right,” Alex said. “Listen, I can talk to you tonight on Discord man, ok? Keep your head up.” 

The two waved before hopping into their cars. Alex wasted no time speeding away, but Corey found himself opening up his phone and scrolling through social media instead of starting his car. He opened up Tori’s Instagram and started subconsciously scrolling through it for a minute before catching himself. “It’s so unfair,” he pouted to himself, finally putting the phone down. All that excitement, all that adrenaline he’d felt when he asked Tori to stay after class, all that joy that he would’ve felt if she’d said yes - it had all dissipated and now turned into an ugly rancor. Was it because he had nerdy interests? Was it because he wasn’t as outgoing as other guys in class? Was it because she preferred more handsome guys? Corey sighed and unclenched his neck and shoulders for the first time in minutes. This sucked.

Finally, he turned the key in the ignition and put the car in drive without a destination in mind. Maybe he’d stop for a comfort meal at McDonalds or maybe he’d just drive around the metro and try to calm down. It didn’t matter. He just needed to get out of here. 

“You are now listening to DILF FM!” a disembodied low male voice boomed through the car’s speakers. “The modern father’s daily pulse to pursue a confident, self-empowering lifestyle.” 

Corey winced and peered at his center console. What station was this? And what had the host said? A dill? A DILF? What even was that? 

“Gentlemen, there is always more time to become the confident, strong man you are destined to be. Better yet, there is always more time to improve those traits within yourselves. For the next thirty minutes, buckle up and get ready to transform into the perfect DILF through our exclusive audio tutorial! I’m your host Maxwell Sterling of DILF FM, and if it works for me, it will certainly work for you!”

A cartoonish explosion filled the speakers as Corey turned right out of the parking lot. “What is this corny stuff?” he asked as he turned out of the school parking lot, too curious to change the station. 

Maxwell’s booming voice returned. “To start off, becoming the perfect DILF is no easy feat. It requires discipline, but most importantly, it requires tenacity. At one point or another in our lives, we felt small, we felt powerless, we felt lonely. Maybe when you were younger, you failed to make it on the football team during tryouts. Maybe when you were younger, you ate a bunch of food for months and went to the gym every day, and you didn’t put on a single pound of muscle!”

Corey rolled his eyes and grunted. These self-help podcasts or whatever always veered in an unrelatable direction for him. He was just about to change it until-

“Or maybe the girl of your dreams rejected you.”

Oh?

“And now maybe you beat yourself over it for a long time. You were afraid to ever talk to her again. You thought about all the things you could’ve said or should’ve done, but that’s no way to approach it. Rejection is there to give us a wake up call. It’s the body’s pain response. Feel it and be free.”

A pulse emanated through Corey’s body. It was a warm, nervous tingle, possibly a deluge of validation or comprehension of these words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but hearing his specific plight vocalized felt good in some regard. 

Maxwell’s voice continued, “The perfect DILF, or rather, let’s just say the perfect father: he’s made up of many, many things, but one thing he is not is shy.”

Corey scoffed. Now, the podcast had lost him. It wasn’t like he was scared of his own shadow or anything, but he’d definitely waited an entire month to ask out Tori Rueckert. And other cute girls in his classes, well none of them had any idea he even existed. It wasn’t like he ever wanted to stand out in class and get their attention. It wasn’t like he even knew how. 

“Now I understand that many of you fine folks listening might not be the type to want to stand out of a crowd. You much prefer solitude over ceremony and that’s quite fine on occasion, however I believe that changing little things about ourselves is the way to push ourselves out of our comfort zone - inch by inch. Today, for instance, I chose to sport pink cufflinks, which I’ve just bought during my yearly vacation to the Bahamas, with my suit.” Maxwell chortled whimsically with an infectious mirth that reminded Corey of Mr. Rogers. “The perfect father isn’t afraid to be flashy.”

“Flashy,” Corey repeated, letting the words echo through his head. He smirked, imagining the idea of him in a different light. Shoulders flat, back straight - flouncing around the schools like he ran the place, maybe wearing some bright-colored shirt or letterman jacket - as if he was a human peacock. That was quite the hilarious thought. 

The turnpike for the highway was fast-approaching so Corey reduced his speed and took his exit. The turn was sharp and the rugged tarmac jostled his body up and down - the same way it always did when he took this exit. Maxwell’s voice continued to droll on, but Corey was distracted. The bumpy terrain made his chubby, boyish stomach jiggle up and down - the undefined pudge of his frame reminding him how inadequate he felt. Merging onto the highway, the road became smooth again and the unpleasant jiggling of Corey’s body ceased. With it, he felt something pressing against his neck. Like he was wearing a collared shirt or something. Wait, he really was! Not only that, his shirt: its grey lackluster hue had been replaced by a bright coral one!

“What the heck?” Corey squeaked, rapidly catching glances down at his body, which still taunted him with its familiar imperfections. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but it was hard when this brand new article of clothing had attached itself to him: a hideous pink polo shirt at that. “How is this even happening?” he asked, squirming at the way the shirt clung to his fat arms and the underside of his belly. 

Maxwell’s alluring voice thundering back through the speakers, his timbre so captivating that it compelled Corey to tune back in. “The perfect father is adaptable. I mean think about it, he’s been through many changes in his life. Perhaps in his adolescence, he was a swingin’ bachelor or perhaps he was more of a recluse, but now, he’s quite the antithesis. He is resilient, steadfast, and not afraid to embrace changes. He doesn’t linger on the past and brood over his pain. Why? Because he believes in himself. He strives to always be somebody that his friends and family can lean on. He is inspirational” 

“Inspirational?” Corey repeated while itching his forehead, expecting to flick away the long bangs of his bowl cut, but instead he was met with a surprise. His hair was sticking up all on its own! And there was some sort of paste or gel in it! He stole a glance in the rear-view mirror and gasped. He looked like he’d gotten a haircut!

Corey wanted to be shocked - repulsed even - but instead, he felt weirdly calm. His haircut actually looked pretty good! He never realized it, but that shaggy bowl cut he’d sported his whole life actually made him look younger. With shorter hair, his face looked a little more manly. This pink shirt didn’t have the same effect: it made him look like he was going to some corny Easter celebration. 

“The perfect father is well-groomed and confident about how he comes across. He has no shame about his appearance because he never leaves the house looking unkempt. Even during the simple act of running errands, the perfect father may don a dress shirt and pants - undaunted if his bright pink shirt turns heads.”

Corey blinked and felt a modicum of sobriety. “How does it know?” he stared down at his shirt and back at the road. “This…this is changing me,” he said, his voice leisurely tumbling out of him - probably a side effect of Maxwell’s soothing voice. “And I don’t want to be a father! I’m only…” The end of the sentence never came to fruition and Corey’s eyes widened when he realized he couldn’t recall his age.

Maxwell’s voice pulsed in - this time as strong as a tidal wave. “To complement his luxurious attire, the perfect father possesses a library of manly fragrances. Tom Ford, Givenchy, Dior, Yves Saint Laurent. These are some of his favorite colognes amid his vast collection and knowledge of affluent masculine scents. He never repeats the same cologne back to back. Oftentimes, he prefers to cautiously splice two or more fragrances together.”

Corey frowned. He didn’t know the first thing about style - let alone smell! The only fragrance he’d ever utilized was his Speed Stick deodorant - and he’d only just started wearing it over the past weeks to impress Tori…Tori….what was her last name again?

That didn’t matter for long as suddenly, Corey’s nostrils were inundated with a thick, pheromone-inducing aroma. It reminded him of the ocean, of flowers, of walks on the beach, of vacations to Italy, of what a big, strong, muscular man smelled like. Wait, where did that thought come from? He couldn’t even stop to question it because the more breaths he took, the deeper he fell into respite. Smells were funny that way. They have the power to teleport you back in time - at least that’s what Corey always said. He was methodical about them - never once forgetting from spritzing his wrists every day. Feeling empowered, he flicked the car into cruise control, placed his left hand on the wheel, and stared at the road ahead. He let the smells overtake him - filling his head with a frenzy of dopamine and illusory sensations linked to shadowy memories for which he did not have the context for yet. 

In response, Corey’s face moved on its own. The pudge around his neck disappeared, making it much skinnier. His bangs curled forward while his sideburns squared up. His eyebrows grew slightly more bushy, accompanied by a slightly puffier set of lips and a more prominent nose. A sucking feeling emanated from Corey’s stomach, and in one glorious motion, it eliminated even more of that pudge that surrounded his gut. He hardly paid it any mind; he was still drowning in an olfactory oasis. Realms of maturity flashed through him, All he knew was that it felt a lot easier to shift around on the seat without teenage pudge to weigh him down. 

Without missing a beat, Maxwell’s calming voice pulled Corey right back in. “The perfect father prioritizes style - preferring to overdress rather than under-dress. Imperious and wise, he possesses a lavish and lucrative collection of bespoke suits, coats, designer shoes, and trousers. He always leaves the house in a button down shirt of some kind. In fact, he has hundreds of them at this point!”

Corey fidgeted as his shirt moved on its own. The sleeves stretched, causing excess fabric to bunch up at his elbows  His collar grew more prominent and most noticeably, a flap appeared in the center of his shirt accompanied by a column of concealed buttons. Even more surprising, Corey felt the composition of his pants changing. The harsh, grungy denim of his years-old blue jeans softened until it looked like they’d been dipped in wax, all the while the millions of little frayed fabrics retexturized into luxurious, unruffled polyester. 

Another pulse emanated through Corey. His stomach squelched further in, his forearms swelled further out, and even his fingernails - worn-down from years of habitual biting - elongated to a perfectly-manicured length. A subtle middle part appeared in his hair as more gel materialized within it and forced it down. Corey’s entire face felt a little tingly again as he could feel his eyebrows growing thicker and bushier, but he didn’t mind. He stole a glance at himself in the rearview and observed his more mature, astute look.

“I feel like such a dad,” Corey said before he could even process what he was saying. His tone sounded richer now and more monotone - as if he wanted to snicker about it but couldn’t. His head was on cloud nine. It must’ve been this host’s sultry, calming voice. Maybe it was Escape by Calvin Klein emanating from his skin.  Maybe it was both. 

“It's fun to be a DILF, isn’t it? All your old juvenile problems are fading away and that’s perfectly normal. I bet you can’t even remember why you were glum.”

Unfazed by the direct statements, Corey just nodded and sunk further into his chair. It sounded so nice to forget about high school and all the emotional baggage of never belonging. This announcer guy was right. Why had he even been sad in the first place? 

“The perfect father isn’t preoccupied with nonsense. He is unwaveringly mature. He’s been told he was an old soul growing up and since leaving his college days, he’s learned to embrace it. He likes to say he has rigid responsibility - a phrase he’s proclaimed to both his children and spouse. Teenage insecurities - they are such a far cry for the perfect father. Why, he hasn’t doubted his masculinity in more than thirty years!” 

“Thirty years,” Corey parrotted and the words emanated through him like a shockwave. His hunched spine straightened itself like a lightning rod while he felt his butt take up slightly more space in his cushiony, leather seat. His button-down flashed from bubblegum pink to a dazzling shade of rose, altering the starchy cotton into refined silk. His pants turned a deep shade of teal.

“The perfect father is handsome - the apex of masculinity. His face radiates maturity with its massive chin, strong, puffy lips, straight white teeth, and perfectly-quaffed hair. People gaze upon him and wonder. The perfect father knows this too. He is rather self-absorbed after all - unabashedly checking himself out in the mirror, always looking his absolute best. Women and men alike tell him all the time it looks like he was pulled straight from a romance novel and of course, he has to heartily chuckle and agree. At one point in time, he had feared aging, dreaded it even. But now, he embraces it fully since his destiny is to be an undoubtedly masculine DILF. Forever.” 

“Wow,” Corey trembled as he felt another wave of growth pulse through him, “I c-can’t believe it is my d-destiny to become a DILF. When I talk to girls, they will have to call me handsome! They w-won’t be able to resist!” In response, his shirt collar unraveled even further like flower petals. With a larger collar, Corey’s jawline and neck promptly stretched wider too, gradually eliminating his boyish, juvenile looks for good. His chin became a much more prominent feature on his face. If there were any doubts about him looking youthful, they were promptly eliminated by the faint five o’clock shadow materializing on his widening chin. 

“Even my eyebrows are manly!” Corey snickered, checking himself out in the mirror and he was greeted by two black caterpillars above his head. They clashed with his brunette hair, but they made him look so domineering. He shifted them around and giggled to himself and with the help of his deepening vocal cords, a low chortle filled the car. Fifteen more pounds of pudge vanished from his figure. 

“The perfect father isn’t afraid to workout. He likes to go to the gym anywhere from four to seven times a week depending on if his kids and spouse give him enough free time. When he was in high school and college, he used to be on the porkier side, but now that couldn’t be further from the truth. He takes the utmost care of himself with a well-balanced diet consisting of four meals per day. Each one of his biceps is almost as large as his head and the pair of muscle jugs that he calls pecs both surpass even the widest of watermelons in size. He wants everyone to stare, that’s why he always undoes the top three buttons of every dress shirt he wears. Not only is it for necessity due to the damn things’ width, it’s also to show them off. The perfect father is not shy about his muscles.”

Muscles? Yeah, right. Corey had never even set foot in a recreational gym before. He wouldn’t even know the first thing to do in a place like that. However, a sucking feeling in his gut sought to disprove that. 

A designer leather belt coiled itself around his waist, effortlessly, fastening itself to him and taking away the vestiges of his teenage pudge. The sensation took Corey’s breath away for just a moment as he wiggled in his chair with pleasure. His pants could no longer be mistaken for blue jeans as they promptly shifted into a gray pair of dress pants befitting of a businessman. 

His chest grew more supple, resourcefully recycling Corey’s extra fat into supple muscle. In response, he couldn’t help but puff out his chest slightly, like he was mimicking a male turkey. The pink shirt responded to his movement and gracefully undid the second shirt button, allowing the world to get a better view at his expanding muscles. “Real dads wear d-dress shirts. They make me look so good! It l-looks like I go to the gym all the time! Heh heh!” Corey stuttered with glee, wiggling in his seat as his nipples sprouted forward, becoming hard against his bright pink shirt. It felt so insane to actually say that sentence out loud. In direct contrast, his joyful expression quickly left his face and returned to a hunky smolder. The new furrows on his forehead and his bushy black eyebrows enhanced this and gave him an undeniable maturity.

“The perfect DILF has boatloads of testosterone pouring through him. His stringent emphasis on physical exercise paired with a perfect diet produces a higher output than ever from his pituitary gland. When he was a young adult, these hormones only gave him anxiety as they changed him for good.”

“I’m no longer a young adult,” Corey parrotted again and that phrase released rivers upon rivers of testosterone through his body - far more than the average man. I’m a dad,” he said, his cock swelling larger in his dress pants. “I mean…I’m a DILF!” 

Corey’s static expression didn’t change much as his dress shirt popped further open - the culprit being his swelling muscle jugs. Equal to the size of his head, his pecs had swollen to twin behemoths, the likes of which would make any bodybuilder jealous. 

“A spectacle of maturity, hormones have transformed the perfect DILF’s body into a work of art. Every curve in his body is brought to perfection by his superior testosterone production. His bulging veins poke out of his muscles and deliver blood to every part of his masculine body, his skin vibrating as if endless outpouring of lightning bolts. A modern day Zeus if you will!”

Corey’s dress shirt hugged his muscular torso even closer and the polyester quickly changed to a velvety satin. A larger Adam’s Apple bulged out of his neck while a pair of trap muscles erupted from each of his shoulders. His five o’clock shadow grew more noticeable. Whatever youth Corey had remaining was exiled for good. It made sense. He certainly didn’t feel like a young man. At one point he’d pictured himself as a fat teenager, but this powerful body of his said otherwise. He was a grown adult after all, far too old to show up to high school or even college. With that realization, his testicles swelled larger and larger in his pants until they resembled the size of eggs. Delicately, they rested on the leather seat, sending more testosterone to their masculine owner. 

DING!

A bright orange icon lit up on Corey’s dash and he remembered he was low on gas. Initially, he figured he could brush it off for later and get home until he had a sobering realization. Where was his home? Better yet, where was he even driving to? What highway was this? 

“The perfect DILF maintains a level head. He approaches conflict phlegmatically. He chooses not to get overwhelmed when he doesn’t have the answers immediately. It has taken him decades, but he has learned the art of patience, through the help of his spouse and children of course. There is not a single conflict that he cannot tackle.”

“Calm. I’m like…so calm,” Corey affirmed to himself and his bulge throbbed a little bit bigger at that realization because it was true. He really was calm. Up ahead, he noticed a sign on the side of the road with an emblem of a gas station on it. “Ah, there we go,” he said before wrinkling his brow incredulously. “Whoa, my voice is changing now! That’s so cool!” he said and sure enough, the voice that came out of him was far deeper than before. It reminded him of the type of male voice used on infomercials. Captivating yet undoubtedly masculine. “Wow, I sound so serious now,” he admired as he exited off the highway. To accommodate that, all of the burgeoning facets of Corey’s transforming face swelled together, making his face ten times more handsome than it had previously been. This of course went unnoticed by him as he swiveled into the parking lot and reached a gas pump furthest away from the store.

Just as Corey was parking the car, the tone of Maxwell’s disembodied voice grew far more forceful. “Every single physical and mental aspect about the perfect DILF will change until he is 100% a new man. He must be unafraid to take on his brand new identity and all of its facets and honorable responsibilities. Everything must-”

Corey sat in silence for a brief moment - his pecs bobbed up and down with his heavier breaths until he opened the car door and stepped outside. His tattered and stained Nike shoes fared zero chance as they touched down onto concrete. Immediately, the sneakers contorted in on themselves, recoloring and reshaping themselves to become a shiny new pair of black Italian calf leather shoes. Likewise, his bunched-up white socks promptly transformed into long black nylons that shot upward and hugged his growing calf muscles. Corey felt the fabric’s motion yet when he tried to observe, the meaty mound in his pants blocked his vision. Oh yeah. He’d never had a bulge so huge that he had to peer over it to see his feet. What a terrible, risqué, and erotic problem. And of course, the added attention was making this bulge harder and firmer…

“Don’t make a scene,” Corey whispered to himself, realizing there were many other people here filling up their own cars. So he did the same. He scanned his card, picked up the nozzle, and started pumping his car with gas. The thought of getting a mid-afternoon energy drink inside crossed his mind so he obeyed it. 

The brief walk to the front door sent a frenzy of emotions through Corey’s head. For one, he could notice people nearby turning their heads to glance at him and his marvelous pink shirt. Additionally, his formal attire sent brand new shivers through his body. The luxurious fabrics hugged every new muscle and curve perfectly, from his bouncing muscular pecs to his broadening back to his fruit basket of a bulge in his light grey suit pants. Even though his pants were held up by a supportive leather belt, they still sagged around his waist and Corey could feel it. Curiously, he craned his neck back to check out his butt while he walked. It was still tiny and hardly noticeable beneath the baggy, bouncing polyester of his dress pants. As he stepped inside the front door, he felt such a strange dissatisfaction over his tiny butt.  

The surreptitious glances from strangers only intensified as Corey walked through the gas station - his new dress shoes clacking against the tile floors. Usually, he would dart towards the energy drink section and select a flavor of Monster, but today was different. Despite their colorful packaging, those drinks didn’t seem as appetizing as they had a few minutes ago. Instead, he decided to swing on by the candy aisle where he promptly selected a king-sized chocolate bar before deciding a few would be best. During the brief walk to the cash register, Corey was treated once again to the way his swanky muscles carried their increasing mass. 

Arriving at the register, Corey nearly bumped into a teenage boy who looked to be three-quarters his height and half his size. 

“I'm sorry sir,” the young man apologized profusely, looking so caught off guard to see a man as big as Corey. 

“Zat’s no proplem,” Corey replied, but his eyes widened as his deep, masculine voice had taken on a brand new, possibly eastern-European affectation. “Vow, my voice,” he said excitedly before remembering he was in public and the boy in front of him looked scared to death. “Please, go in front of me. No vorries, okay?”  

The young man just nodded and scurried to the counter, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. Corey smirked. Nobody had ever been scared of him before. Being a DILF was awesome! 

“Next, please!” the cashier called out.

Corey swaggered over, smirking at how small the chocolate bars in his hands felt. “Just zeez for me please,” he said, his accent getting thicker as he spoke. “Oh! And I also have gas on pump twelve.” 

“Sounds good, sir.”

Corey looked back up, or rather peered down, at the female cashier in front of him. Identified by name tag as Veronica, she was a total bombshell - an attractive, physically-fit 20-something girl with brunette hair and glasses. For a gas station clerk, she was ridiculously attractive, possessing this dreamy girl-next-door energy. The two made eye contact and her eyes widened with wonder. Her face flushed to beet red and she laughed awkwardly as she scanned the items. 

Veronica seemed like a total dreamboat, but the longer Corey studied her movements and wondered what it would be like to enjoy her intimately, he found he couldn’t. Corey preferred the company of someone larger, someone more intimidating. He loved muscles - worshiped them even - that’s why he grew his own. He loved a sharp jaw too, just like his own. He loved the way it felt to cup a guy’s bulge and squeeze his butt, all while savoring the sensation of manly chin stubble rubbing against his lantern-shaped jaw. 

Holy shit, was he gay? 

“Whoa!” Corey spluttered and all of a sudden, he toppled forward onto the counter. Leaning on his elbows, he held his weight as two meaty asscheeks the size of balloons exploded out from behind him. Hard, twin boulders - the type to stretch out any of his custom-sized dress pants to their absolute limit. God, the idea of having a giant suited butt for another man to squeeze. The obscene bulge in his pants grew even larger at that thought.  

“Are you alright, sir?” Veronica asked, still blushing.

“Yes, I am,” Corey responded, his Greek accent now stronger than ever before. “I’m just becoming a DILF. Everything about me is changing, you see,” he stated in an objective fashion. He stood back up and his jaw popped, making him even more unreasonably handsome. A dimple formed in the middle of his sharp chin while his lips puffed fuller. Even his hair grew just a little bit more gelled up and glorious, giving him a pseudo-pompadour that would rival that of Elvis. He looked just as handsome as him too. 

Veronica laughed far too coquettishly. “Well, you certainly look the part,” she replied, unaffected by the man transforming in front of her. “Your total will be $63.14, sir.”

That number would’ve frightened Corey if he’d not grown accustomed to the idea of having money and an expensive wardrobe. It seemed like an excessive amount to fill his gas tank though. He fished through his wallet and handed her the first credit card he found.  

“So…what’s your name?”

That was bold, but Corey respected it. “My name is Coros,” he said, eyes widening in shock. “My name…I forgot it eez changing too! Everything about me is changing.”

“Coros, that’s quite the handsome name,” Veronica purred, laying it on thick, but then disappointment flashed across her face while she handed the card back “Ah, a ring on that finger, I see.” 

“Oh yeah,” Coros replied. He glanced down at his oven mitt of a hand and sure enough, a glimmering diamond shone back at him. “Yes, I’m married to a wonderful man.” 

Wait, a man? Coros had only just discovered that he was attracted to men, but now he was married to one? That was ridiculous! He didn’t want to believe yet the seed of the idea had been planted. A perfect spouse - a husband who worked just as hard as him, who raised kids with him, and most importantly, who was equally as large as him. 

Veronica’s expression sweetened. “Aw, well tell him he’s got quite the good-looking husband,” she smiled. 

“Ευχαριστώ!” Coros replied before processing what he said. “Zat means thank you in Greek.” He threw in a sly wink and headed out the door. Everything about him was so…mature now. So irrepressibly masculine and aggro. Coros savored the delightful feeling of his bulge swishing in his pants and buttcheeks bouncing. The sunlight felt amazing against his skin, immediately tanning his pasty white skin and he walked outside feeling like a million bucks. 

That increased gas bill was no coincidence. When Coros fished out his keys from his tight pocket and pressed the unlock button, the headlights to a brand new shining silver Mercedes flared on and off. Sitting his muscular asscheeks on the brand new leather seats felt incredible and as Coros fired the ignition back up, more mass piled onto his meaty biceps, stretching his velvety sleeves just a little tighter. 

This hulking body of his generated so much more heat now and the wide, stainless windows of his luxury Mercedes let in so much warm sunlight. So much so that Coros immediately had to flip the AC on to receive a necessary and merciful cyclone of subzero air. He marveled at the brand new dashboard, the renovated interior, and the broad, plexiglass windshield. His pink shirt brightened to a tropical carnation hue and his pecs swelled even larger, becoming two juicy masses the size of coconuts. Another shirt button vanished, exposing even more of Coros’ supple cleavage. That boned him up so much. He never knew he could be sexy as a man - to appear so mature yet so provocative. 

Maxwell’s familiar voice cut back in through the radio speakers as Coros exited the parking lot. Only this time, his tone was far more confrontational and upfront. “The perfect DILF will forget everything about his old life. He will realize it was incredibly foolish to think he was ever a teenager. In fact, he gets aroused the more his name changes since it is an indication that he is destined to become an apex of masculinity. Isn’t that right, Poros?”

“Fuck me. My new name…it's changing. I’m changing! It feels so good!” Poros purred as the monster cock ascended back to life, fervently responding to his changing name. He reached down to caress it when both of his manly thighs suddenly inflated, cradling his bulge in the most manly way. It was irresistible to stroke his eight-inch beauty now - on full display in his vacuum-sealed dress pants. Poros shifted his weight across his firm seated butt and the way he could bounce his cock in between his muscled thighs. It felt so correct to lose everything. To not waste his time playing stupid videogames or worrying about girls. He was going to exude manliness everywhere he went. He was going to exude fatherhood. 

“I'm losing everything. I can’t vait…to forget…everything!” he moaned and his chin stretched even wider. He glanced down at his hands and saw brand new wrinkles etch themselves across them while patches of black hair formed around his knuckles. He rolled his fingers against the wheel and studied the immaculate glow of his wedding ring - an opulent, radiant 24-carat diamond. From his husband: his big, strapping man. In his head, he envisioned him: a husky man that rivaled him in size, but he couldn’t quite place the name or face. 

“The perfect DILF says he’s got the memory of an elephant. The jury is still out on whether or not that’s true or not, but he certainly is passionate about his memory. He’s a smart guy after all, got a Doctorate in Business Administration and has reaped the lucrative rewards. Developed at quite a young age, he will never forget his love of male fitness and bodybuilding. In turn, he spent years in the gym researching how to make every single muscle in his body POP! He craves the endless satisfaction from his husband Ivan who worships his dinner plate sized pecs during sex.”

“Ivan…” Peros smirked, finally remembering his hulking, bald bodybuilder husband who filled out satin dress shirts as flawlessly as he did. They had a whole closet full of them in fact. Excitedly, he bucked his broad hips like a prized stallion while his pecs swelled to the size of bongo drums and his arms swelled to the size of lead pipes, tightly concealed beneath his sleeves. 

“The Dimitrous have two sons: Adonis and Nikos, now both entering high school. Peros vividly remembers the days they were born. He is so proud to be their father, knowing that he is guiding their metamorphosis into strong, resilient, confident men.” 

More lines carved themselves across Peros Dimitrou’s face, imbuing a final round of wisdom to his already handsome face. His stylish black hair quaffed itself up even higher as he settled into his own. He needed to get home. He missed the boys. Nothing was more rewarding than seeing them after a long day of work. By rote, he advanced his Mercedes onto a turnpike and turned towards another residential street. With his speed reduced, the background noise subsided and he could focus even more clearly on the announcer’s powerful words. 

“He remembers everything. Dealing with all the trials and tribulations of raising two rambunctious boys. Having Ivan by his side through thick and thin - their bond growing impenetrable. They love every little thing about each other and know how to navigate each other’s faults.”

Peros turned onto a side street filled with a plethora of upscale mansions. Driving there  was practically muscle memory at this point. His new house was about a half-mile down. He just needed to get there. To see Adonis and Nikos. To see Ivan. To ask them how their days were. To have more man-to-man conversations with his family. To show them all endless love and compassion. And responsibility of course.

“The perfect DILF always focuses on responsibilities. Of being there to raise his kids - his two sons specifically. Petros Dimitrou is extremely responsible, always making time for them, but also unapologetic to teach them about what being a man means. Of how to stand up for others, of how to explore their creative passions, of how to…”

Maxwell’s voice continued, but Petros was starting to zone it out. He was just listing off characteristics that he already exuded. What even was this radio station again? It didn’t matter for long. He could see the house now: a tall, wide, partially-Victorian style, residing at the end of a red brick driveway, guarded by rows of gorgeous emerald hostas. A basketball hoop hung high in front of the four car garage. Four white dogwood trees, one oak, and one sturdy sycamore tree adorned their gorgeous front yard. Petros and Ivan Dimitrou had owned this place for the past twenty years, renovated it and started a family there, but he never tired of seeing it. This was the Dimitriou estate. And he and Ivan had made it theirs for the past twenty years. Petros couldn’t be more proud. 

Static overwhelmed the radio station, but Petros was oblivious to its existence as he pulled into the driveway. His pecs and abs firmed up one final time, bursting out of his flamboyant pink shirt so perfectly. His jet black hair shortened into a conservative cut, fit with a widow’s peak. His nose and lips pulsed ever so slightly as he parked the car in the garage. He stepped out and grabbed the chocolate bars he’d gotten for his sons from the gas station, which looked miniature in his colossal hands. 

Petros opened the door and sure enough, there was Ivan, dressed up in a light blue satin dress shirt. That handsome, hulking bodybuilder filled out dress clothes just as well as he did. 

 “Hey, how was work?” Ivan smiled, giving Petros a peck on the cheek as he walked in. 

“Just swell and you?” Petros replied and his deep Greek voice carried across their kitchen.

“Good. It’s better now that you’re here,” Ivan replied, giving Petros’ butt a mighty squeeze. “Fuck, I love the pink on you today.”

“I wore it just for you.” Petros smiled, placing his bag down. 

“What’s the candy for?”

“Isn’t Adonis having his friends over after practice today?”

Ivan laughed and his watermelon-sized pecs bounced. “That’s next Friday, babe.”

“Oh right, right,” Petros’ cock ascended back to full size as he stared back at Ivan. Those bowling ball shoulders paired with pecs nearly as large as his. And he looked so handsome with his new glasses. “So vat you’re zaying is zat the boys won’t be home for a few hours?” 

Ivan nodded before his face lit up excitedly. “Oh! I was at work today and I had the strangest thing happen.” “Do tell,” Petros sat down on one of the kitchen barstools, but he was so big that his bulge and butt hung over the edges. A common problem of his. 

“There’s this pair of interns in the office. They were walking past my desk and I heard them say my name and then the word DILF! I looked it up and means-”

“A dad I’d like to fuck. I’ve been called one a vew times myself,” Petros replied with a chuckle. Ivan was in his fifties and sometimes it showed. The two were only eight years apart but Petros never imagined as a 45 year old he’d be the one to explain to his husband how to use Facebook. Ivan was helpless with a phone too. Those oversized, meaty fingers were so bad at clicking on things. It was so hot.

Guided by instinct and raw lust, Petros leaped up out of his chair, grabbed his husband’s face, and leaned into a passionate kiss. He couldn’t control it any longer. He needed to feel that bodybuilder underneath him, begging for more and taking his cock like a champ. 

Ivan reciprocated instantly, wrapping his tree trunk arms around Petros’ sturdy back. Their manly, clean-shaven chins rubbed together as they began to thrust their bodies against each other, savoring the delicate rubbing of their satin dress shirts together. Their colognes and natural musk after a long day’s work mixed together beautifully, as it always did, creating an intoxicating haze that only fueled the bodybuilders’ pursuit. The Dimitrous’ opulent wedding rings and cufflinks clacked against the granite countertop as they began undressing. Petros Dimitrou was the luckiest man in the world. 

[visceral-stories]

Inheritance

I’m back! Thank you all for staying with me during my long hiatus! I truly appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the story! 

Ko-fi |Twitter 

6:30 PM seemed like a rather late time for a job interview, but it had been the only option to work with Garrett Carmichael’s hectic schedule. An ambitious high school senior, his weekday afternoons were usually fully booked. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he participated on his high school’s Quiz Bowl team and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he attended meetings  with his math league. Unfortunately, being a productive, ambitious scholar was not a lucrative venture, save for the college scholarships he was already applying for. Garrett’s nonexistent financials were what brought him to apply for the position of a waiter at his town’s local banquet hall. 

He also needed something to balance out the drag that high school had become. He didn’t mind the schoolwork or classes as much, but none of his few close friends - or acquaintances even - shared his same classes. It felt like he was just going through the motions, forced to interact with people who he didn’t care for. The absolute worst was his fourth hour in World History where a gaggle of dim-witted football jocks made the class a living hell. They weren’t physical with him by any means, but they were the type to whisper under their breaths and mock the way he talked or his answers to questions. As a result, it made him far more apprehensive to raise his hand whenever he knew the answer in class. School sucked and on the weekends, he was free. Too free. Having abundant free time was nice, but it wasn’t like he had many hobbies outside of playing videogames with his fellow math league teammates or doing deep-dives on the internet about the multitude of scientific topics that interested him. Not only did he need money, but he just wanted to get out of the house for a few hours and not watch the Saturdays and Sundays glide past him every week. 

The application process had been momentarily bewildering for Garrett who had no clue how the website worked and he had to ask his mom what the digits to his social security number were. Every other high schooler his age had gotten a job already and he felt dumb for getting daunted by the simple process, but ultimately he persevered. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stepped out of his car and walked to the front door. 

“Wow,” Garrett said with awe as he stepped into the nicest waiting room he’d ever seen. An immaculate tessellation of white and yellow rectangles adorned the ceilings accented by bold, curving polygons painted emerald green to resemble vines. The design appeared to extend far beyond the puny waiting room he was in and across the ceilings and walls of the main banquet hall, which he could see for a long distance. 

“Can I help you, sir?” croaked a male voice.

Garrett looked back in front of him to see a man sitting inside a booth in the corner labeled “COAT CHECK” - the only other fixture in this small, open space. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a fancy tuxedo, nearly filling up the whole window with his width. “I-ummm,” Garrett coughed and cleared his throat, peeved at the inopportune phlegm that had formed. “I’m here for a job interview to be a waiter here.” 

A warm feeling of dread filled Garrett’s body when the coat check guy just looked at him with a puzzled look on his face. Garrett remembered the man he’d been messaging in his emails. “I’m supposed to talk to a uhh…Mr. Clifford Atkinson.”

Thankfully, the man’s stoic face lit up with recognition. “Oh yes, he should be here within the next 15 minutes. His reservation starts at 6:45.” 

“Oh, okay,” Garrett replied. He adjusted his glasses and wondered why the Clifford guy needed a reservation. Didn’t he work here?

“You can take a seat over there and wait for him if you’d like,” the man offered with a faint smile. 

Garrett curtly nodded and quickly sat down in one of the few dark red office chairs outside the front door. He pulled out his phone and searched for that email he’d received from Mr. Atkinson. He could’ve sworn the email he’d received yesterday had told him to arrive at 6:30, but unfortunately it was nowhere to be found no matter how hard he searched for it. Crud. He must’ve deleted it or something. Emails were weird. 

The next ten minutes ticked slowly by, leaving Garrett with minimal entertainment besides a few men and women who intermittently came and went through the front door. They were dressed up in tuxedos just like the coat check guy. It was intimidating the way they moved to and fro. Their solid black jackets with stark white shirts bounced up and down with their movements, taunting Garrett with their sophistication. A layer of sweat formed around him as he realized he might’ve come to this thing underdressed. His casual attire of a light blue short-sleeved shirt, a Mandalorian Star Wars tie, and brown cargo shorts clashed heavily with the fashion here. He’d just gotten here and he’d already made a mistake. It was too late to go back home and change clothes so he decided to drown his fears by scrolling through social media. As he was catching up on IGN’s most recent game review, the door flung open. Garrett glanced up, expecting to see Mr. Atkinson, but instead, the last person he wanted to see stumbled inside. 

A tall, muscular  jock stepped inside, dressed in a light gray short-sleeve t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and of course - a signature backward cap. “Hey, what’s up man?” he announced as he swaggered up to the man in the coat check booth. “I’m here for the uh…waiter position.”

Garrett’s blood ran cold. It was Devon Kearney - one of the dumbest guys alive and unfortunately, the most prolific nuisance in his fourth-hour World History class. Every day, his deep, stupid voice filled the room as he tended to share every impulsive thought he had with the other football jocks in the class. He was a real menace, rude to everyone besides his little clique or, of course, girls in the class he found attractive. 

Garrett watched the employee gesture for Devon to sit in the chair next to him and a wave of fear filled his body as the jock’s face lit up.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he boomed as he sidled over to Garrett, causing heads to turn. “You’re  that kid from history class!” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Carmichael, Carmichael, Carmichael. Shit, what’s the first name?” he asked aloud as if Garrett wasn’t even there. 

Garrett clenched his fists. “My name is Garrett, you big-”

“Ah! That’s right, that’s right! I knew that!” Devon roared as he sat down two chairs away from his far skinnier comrade. “You look like a Garrett too,” he snickered with a cocky sneer that made Garrett want to strangle him. Devon was so fake, trying to act all cool and friendly with him as if he hadn’t spent the last three months mocking Garrett in class. Most of the time when Garrett raised his hand to answer a question, he could hear Devon or one of his stupid friends whisper to each other and giggle. Those jerks. Garrett couldn’t wait till he graduated in May and never had to interact with those bozos ever again.

“So what the hell are you doing here, man? Are you applying for a job too?” Devon asked.

Garrett sighed. He wanted to tell Devon to screw off, but that sure as hell wouldn’t go over well at school tomorrow. It wasn’t like the jocks had ever been physical, but he didn’t want to find out. “I’m applying for a job,” he said, not even bothering to continue eye contact. 

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

Garrett held his ground as he felt the spit in the back of his throat dry up. “Waiter.”

“You? A waiter? No way, that’s the role I’m training for too!” Devon let out a boisterous laugh that made Garrett’s skin crawl. “Hey, I support it man, but no offense, I…uh….I don’t see you being super social. Being a waiter means like…talking to people a bunch and making ‘em your friends to get stacks of tip money! And at a real fancy place like this, they’re gonna have fat bank accounts! No cap!” 

“Whatever,” Garrett huffed quietly, cringing at the “no cap” comment the most. He turned his phone back on and released an embittered breath.

“It is what it is, man,” Devon snarkily added. He began talking, mostly to himself, again as he pulled out his phone. “Oh man, wait till I tell the boys about who I found at the banquet hall!” 

An awkward silence filled the hall once more, save for Devon’s subtly obnoxious open-mouthed breathing, but moments later, the door swung open and a middle-aged man waddled inside. Garrett caught a faint glimpse of his massive torso out of the corner of his eye. His silver-haired head looked like a snow-covered peak nestled in between the two mountains that were his massive shoulders. Even more shocking was the fact that his pecs were even larger than his bodybuilder-level deltoids. They had entered the room before he did and only drew more attention as they were thinly veiled beneath the strained white dress shirt he was wearing. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a scandalous amount of male cleavage complemented by a light dusting of silver chest hair. 

Garrett noticed that even Devon was also gawking at this colossal guy as he trudged over to the coat check. He leaned over on the desk as he talked with the attendant and Garrett’s cheeks turned pink as he gazed at the man’s massive, imperious figure. Especially his round butt. The dude was absolutely caked up! The buttons of the back pockets of his blue dress pants looked ready to snap. He’d never even considered the idea that men could have butts that big. 

All of a sudden, the hefty stranger spun around on his heels and made direct eye contact with the two teenagers who were obviously gawking at his size. His jaw was the size of a lantern and his eyes had a piercing sapphire coloration to them. He looked like he was plucked straight from Hollywood or something. “Ah, Gentlemen, welcome! It’s nice to see you!” he boomed, the volume of his bassy voice sending a shockwave through Garrett and Devon.  

“Nice to see you too, man!” Devon replied, clearly in awe of the massive male specimen in front of him 

“Sorry about the outfit, boys. These tits of mine have been fighting me to get dressed today,” Cliff said with a playful jiggle of his partially-exposed pecs. “Getting dressed up is quite the hassle isn’t it?”

“Yeah for sure!” Devon said, intentionally lowering his voice to match the other man’s volume. What a kiss-ass. Garrett didn’t even know how to react. He just watched as the other young man hopped to his feet and extended his arm out for a handshake to which the man obliged. “I’m Devon.”

“Cliff Atkinson,” the man boomed as he shook Devon’s hand. Garrett promptly hopped to his feet as the man turned to him. “And who might you be?” he asked. “Just kidding, Garrett. I know who you are. Bring it in. I’m so proud of you.”

Before Garrett could even process what was happening, the man had pulled him in for a bear hug. It was unbelievably awkward, considering he had to hunch over to get down to Garrett’s 5’6” height. As Cliff gave him a firm, tender beat hug as tight as a vice, Garrett swore he could feel his lungs compressing from the immense pressure. It wasn’t like he knew what to say anyway. He had never seen this man before and now he was talking to him so intimately. It was so weird. When Cliff released him and gave him a tender pat on the back, he was nothing short of disoriented. 

Garrett was gasping for breath. Before he could voice his confusion, the mountainous man stood straight up again and clapped his dumbbell-sized hands together with a smile. “I am quite glad to see you both, but I must say both of your outfits are quite unbecoming. The guests should be showing within a half hour. Maybe even earlier.” He turned to Devon. “I’m sure you are new here so all is forgiven, but this is a high-class banquet hall and we take attire very seriously here. Not to worry though, we have some proper clothes for you! Do you know where the dressing rooms are?” 

“No sir,” Devon replied. Garrett peered over and locked eyes with a very sour-faced Devon, whose eyes were still boggling wide with disbelief. 

Cliff smiled. “Not a problem, I’m happy to show you.” He turned to Garrett. “Garrett can go with you too. We must get you out of those dreadful street clothes. It’s your very special day after all.”  

Garrett’s throat was dry from how shocked he was, but Cliff had already started leading the way before he could ask him a question - and he certainly had many options!  Like “why the hell did you say you’re proud of me?”  Or “what do you mean by special day?” But just the thought of questioning this hulking beast of man seemed way too daunting, no matter how tame he seemed.

Cliff turned and led the two boys into the banquet hall, which was far more capacious than Garrett had expected. The place must’ve been at least three-thousand square feet, with every inch of it decorated with Italian Renaissance artwork similar to what was in the lobby. Intricate geometric patterns lined the walls and surrounded the various paintings around the hall, which were also complemented by beige accents around the perimeters. There also had to be around fifty or so round tables all spread out in the open area. Some of the chairs were so close together that Cliff had to walk sideways just to get his broad figure past. 

“So how the hell does a guy like you know a guy like that?” Devon whispered as the two traveled through the array of round tables, his voice rife with envy. 

“I have no clue,” Garrett replied - the exact same question was on his mind. 

“Whatever,” Devon snarled, his tone rich with vicious envy. “I’m a better fit for the job than you anyway. You don’t even know how to talk to girls.”

Garrett coiled his fists. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew that wouldn’t end well. Imagining the five other football players targeting him would be a living hell. He decided to voice a general comment anyway. “Well Devon, it appears that we may have both gotten the job. I mean he never said otherwise.” 

“Bullshit, sir,” Devon hissed before his eyes widened with confusion after a few moments. “Wait, why did I just call you, sir? I-”

Before Garrett could respond, Cliff’s roaring bass silenced the boys’ tiff. “Downstairs is the staff apparel room,” he boomed as they reached a locked door on the opposite end of the hall and twisted a key in the lock. “Devon, was it? We have freshly laundered uniforms listed by size and you can find what best correlates with your size. We will meet you back here when you are dressed.”

“Okay. Yes sir! Sounds good, sir!” Devon replied, raising his voice to feign confidence. Garrett grunted in frustration. He wanted to wipe that stupid smug grin off that suck-up’s face. 

Garrett winced as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’d best follow him too,” Cliff added. “You know better than to dress like that. I’d expect that out of Devon because he’s just showing up to work, but your apparel is usually not this…pedestrian.”

Garrett’s heart leapt into his throat. Why on earth was this man commenting on his apparel of all things? He just got here! And why was he talking to him like he’d already gotten the job? Yet at the same time, Cliff was talking to him like he’d known him for years. “Oh, I uh…okay,” Garrett meekly apologized, acquiescing to the man’s strange claims. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ask the man about his inappropriate hug earlier. “Say, when you said you were proud of me earlier, what did you-”

A marimba ringtone suddenly blared from Cliff’s pocket. He held up his index finger and produced an iPhone from his pocket although his meaty hands made it look like a toy. 

“Sorry Garrett, it’s the caterers,” Cliff barked. “I’ll meetcha back here in 15, alright?” 

“Oh um..I just-”

Cliff had already answered the phone and started walking away, revealing another glimpse at his broad backside. Garrett readjusted his big glasses and sulked. As he watched the burly stranger depart, he couldn’t help but feel some kind of attachment to him: a benevolence of sorts. It was almost eerie how overly-nice he was being, but it seemed earnest. Perhaps he could tell that Garrett was internally sweating bullets just to be here and was being accommodating. At least it appeared that he’d gotten the job without question? Both he and Devon. God, he didn’t wanna work with that doofus, but it appeared he had no choice. He also didn’t want to let Cliff down after all. The man had been generous enough to hire him on the spot. 

Descending down the old, stone staircase, Garrett entered a far less decorated area of the banquet hall. It smelled ancient down here. The air had a decadent, musty odor of men’s colognes mixed with a faint hint of mildew. As he rounded the corner, he noticed Devon was already sifting through a cabinet full of what appeared to be black uniforms. This room looked quite old and was rather charmless, save for a few photos of past galas and smiling well-dressed people on the walls. Something about this place was giving Garrett the creeps, but he couldn’t quite place it.

There was something different about Devon too. Even though his back was to Garrett, his entire outfit seemed a lot more…faded somehow? Maybe the light was playing tricks on him because the jock’s light denim jeans looked much silkier…and greyer in this light for some reason. Unfortunately, the poor basement lighting could not explain the shirt collar that had materialized around the jock’s neck. 

“How do they not have my size?” Devon griped, his back still to Garrett.

As Garrett walked closer to his acquaintance, a hazy feeling filled his head, as if he’d inhaled way too much of the dust down here. The ground started to feel farther away for some reason. “Wait, why are you shorter…than me?” he asked aloud.

“Shorter?” Devon snorted, now spinning around to face Garrett. “I’m not-”

The two boys stared at each other with unspoken shock as Devon’s tall figure began to squash down. He looked down in horror as the tall, muscular legs he used to score touchdowns were quickly reduced to two chubbier-looking nubs. The dramatic truncation left him at a condensed height of 5’8”, six inches shorter than before. His athletic torso appeared virtually unchanged, but his height - one of his most defining attributes - had been cruelly taken from him in an instant. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” Devon roared, his composure gone in a flash. 

“I-I-I didn’t do this!” Garrett squeaked. If he wasn’t so terrified from Devon’s uproar, he would’ve giggled at his puny height. The jock’s muscular stature looked a lot cuter with his height condensed down - like he was a junior version of himself. “I…promise I didn’t. I don’t even-WHOA!” 

Garrett’s plea was cut short as he promptly shot up like a weed. At one point he’d been eye-level with Devon, but his legs and lower torso just kept stretching taller and taller until stopping at an imposing height. He flailed his arms out for a moment as his new 6’6” body nearly toppled over. It felt like he was walking on stilts! “Whoa! What the heck is happening?” he asked as he placed a hand on his forehead. Glancing upward, the newly-minted lanky sapling of a boy realized he was now only a few inches from touching the low, old ceiling. “No, no, I c-can’t be tall,” he stuttered. From the flabbergasted look on Devon’s face, he could tell he was shocked and quite jealous. Mostly jealous. 

Devon craned his neck up at Garrett and scowled with disgust. “This doesn’t even make any-DUDE, your clothes!” 

“My clothes?” Garrett asked. He glimpsed down and watched as his clothes suddenly started to cascade down his body. The first thing he saw were his t-shirt sleeves gliding down from his upper arms to his elbows until they stopped at his wrists. A pair of French cuffs formed on the ends of his new flowy sleeves, accompanied by a pair of distinct “POPS!” as two golden cufflinks materialized. They were nothing short of glossy, refracting the shoddy basement lighting beautifully. Simultaneously, Garrett’s cargo shorts started shuddering all on their own. They too began to distend further and further to the floor until they rested just above his sneakers. Darkness intruded upon the brown coloration of his shorts, turning them into a maroon and then a vibrant sable. A silky fabric also enveloped the khaki of the cargo shorts, stealing away their bagginess and eradicating the oversized front pockets.  

“What the hell is happening to us?” For once, Devon’s confident voice wavered, giving way to audible apprehension.

“I…I don't KNOW!” Garrett squealed as his new pair of pants was suddenly hoisted up by an invisible force. Or it wasn’t invisible, it appeared to be a pair of brown, leathery suspenders with metal clips that glistened in the light…which had magically materialized over him somehow? They locked in place and pulled Garrett’s pants up around his stomach. The movement scrunched up his t-shirt for a moment before the fabric magically levitated and gingerly tucked itself in, leaving zero wrinkles behind. “Y-you’re s-seeing this too, right?” he stuttered.

“Of course I fucking am!” Devon snarled, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Garrett’s eyes goggled incredulously as Devon’s new outfit looked even more elaborate than his. Gone forever was his grey t-shirt and blue jeans and instead he now sported a long-sleeved dress shirt fit with an array of vibrant mother-of-pearl buttons complemented by a pair of black suit pants. Devon’s new dapper attire accentuated every ripple of his body from his larger-than-average arms and legs. Most interestingly, his belly had a faint bump to it now, like he was bloated or something. 

Garrett was mesmerized as he watched the jock struggle in his new, expertly-tailored clothes. Simultaneously, he couldn’t resist the urge to steal glances at himself and watch as his shirt dyed itself blue and his new dress pants dyed themselves a relaxing shade of light grey. In unison, both of their respective waterfalls of new clothing entered their final cascade. To mark its near terminus, a brand new pair of black suspenders sprung up from Devon’s dress pants. They yanked his pants up high up past his belly button. “GUH!” Devon cried in anguish as the suspenders attached around his shoulders and locked his pants in a painful-looking position. Garrett didn’t dare look for long, but he noticed that the jock’s genitals were bulged up in the pants’ fly as a result. 

“This fucking hurts!” Devon cried, unable to hold in his rage “I can’t even feel my co-o--ock!”

Unlike Garrett, Devon’s clothes had a few more tricks up their sleeves. Firstly, an ocean of black stitching materialized over his pristine white dress shirt. It started at his shirt collar and promptly swallowed up his back and his pecs, until finally stopping just above his waist. Devon’s attempts to undo his tight suspenders were cruelly cut short as a brand new black suit jacket concealed his entire torso. Garrett gawked in disbelief, no longer concealing his curious glances. Devon pulled and picked at his new blazer with much ire. Three buttons appeared in the center of the boxy item of clothing and promptly fastened themselves. Devon’s abdomen and self-proclaimed “rock-hard abs” were concealed by the jacket while the top half of the blazer allowed for a triangle of view of his dress shirt. To complete his new expensive outfit, two black ribbons appeared on either side of his neck. Gracefully, they pirouetted around each other and promptly fastened a tight knot, leaving a spiffy black bowtie just under Devon’s Adam’s Apple. As a final touch, a purple strand of satin formed around the young man’s waist of all things. It wrapped around his obliques and banded over his lower back, creating a brand new indigo cumberbund and finalizing Devon’s extravagant uniform.

To finalize Garrett’s much less-invasive changes, a suit jacket of his own materialized and gently wrapped itself around his upper body. A checkerboard of green and white squares covered the illustrious, new fabric. He moved his arms around in it and was surprised to find that it felt light and breathable. Garrett’s eyes fell back onto Devon, who looked like a deer in headlights. Neither knew what to say. The strangest part was the fact that Devon’s pants were so tight - tight enough that Garrett could even see his balls all bunched up in the front. What was that called again? A camel toe? A moose-knuckle? Devon Kearney, one of the douchiest jocks in school, had an actual moose-knuckle. Before Garrett could stop himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips. 

“You think this is fucking funny?” Devon snarled before immediately placing a hand on Garrett’s chest and forcefully shoving him into the wall. For a body three-quarters as tall as it once was, he still retained quite a lot of strength. 

Garrett was petrified. “No, no, Devon, I-”

“This is all your fault somehow!” Devon roared, now inches from Garrett’s face. “Of course, being paired with Garrett Carmicheal of all people would result in some fucking weird nerdy black magic shit!” He tugged at his dapper uniform in disgust. The only remnant of his street clothes was the baseball cap still on his head. “I look like such a fucking dork!” 

Devon was speechless. It was disturbing to see the jock’s unflappable, cocky exterior completely shattered, replaced by flagrant rage. “Devon, I-” 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't pound the shit out of you!” 

“Devon, no…stop!” Garrett stuttered, overcome with fear. 

Then, the strangest thing happened. Instantly, Devon obeyed the command. He released his tight grip on Garrett’s sternum and stepped back in an almost robotic fashion. “Huh?”

“My sincerest apologies, sir,” Devon replied, placing his muscular arms to his side and standing up as straight as possible. He shook his head. “Wuh, why did I…do that?” 

Garrett wasn’t sure how to react. Instead, he just focused on catching his breath and peering down at his disoriented comrade. It was wild to think that Devon, the 6’4” tall linebacker who towered over Garrett in history class, had been reduced to a meager 5’8” height. Even crazier was the fact that he actually obeyed a command. 

POP! POP!

It took a moment for Garrett to realize that the two sharp pings had actually been his top two shirt buttons flying loose. “My shirt…” was all he could say as he wordlessly glanced down at his now, partially-exposed chest. Instead of seeing a flat chest and distinct collar bone, he was surprised to see that his pecs were actually protruding out? And they were still inflating!

“Goodness gracious!” Devon exclaimed before putting a hand over his mouth. 

The two boys could only watch helplessly while Garrett’s chest continued inflating. His pecs were a statement now - two growing muscular slabs, as sturdy as bricks, that tempted with their masculinity. Short, spindly dark chest hairs sprouted up in the center, which had now formed a small chasm. Although Garrett was enticed, he was unbelievably confused. A scrawny geek like him wasn’t supposed to have tits like this! He’d never even set foot in a gym. Or maybe he had? After all, it must’ve taken a decade’s worth of vigorous exercise to get pecs this round and supple. They were so huge that even his nipples had been pushed to the side and had puffed out, now each closely resembling the tip of a baby’s bottle. They were so sensitive too. He could imagine them tensing up every time his French cuffs grazed them or whenever he would give them loving squeezes in private. In fact, he could recall they gave him some kind of unorthodox pride - seeing them perked up in every formal picture he’d ever taken. His bros would even joke and call him Kate Upton because of it. 

Garrett’s cock ascended, and noticeably tented his wool dress pants. Absent-mindedly, he ran a hand through his thick, long hair and parted it to one side - something he’d never done before. Of course, the hair didn’t stick due to the lack of product and instead, it just hung there as a gnarled mess with most of it flattened down and the other half sticking straight up like a porcupine’s quills. “God, what is happening to me,” Garrett huffed as he impulsively grabbed at his bulge. 

“It appears you’re changing, sir,” Devon aptly replied, his voice sounding a lot more monotone. 

“I…I really am,” Garrett replied, his voice nearly crescendoing into a moan as he gave his bulge a shake. “I look different, don’t I? More cleaned up, eh? More prim and proper. More mature, even.”

“T-that you do,” Devon confirmed, stuttering his words as he was forced to swallow a snarky rebuttal. He was losing his will to be a contrarian. Instead, his disposition was becoming far more accommodating and congenial, accompanied by an enhancing vocabulary. “Me too!” he pouted, his monotone voice once again possessing his familiar churlishness. “I hate this tux thing I’m dressed in. I don’t want to look mature! Although spectacular, my regalia is quite oleaginous, isn’t it? GAHH! What am I saying?!” 

Garrett gazed back up at Devon, or rather peered down at him - the fear and frustration was evident on the other teen’s distraught face. He also appeared to have put on a few more pounds somehow. His growing arms and pec muscles took on a far more squishy shape and his tight stomach crafted by years of high school football had a much pudgier contour to it. 

“GUHH!” Garrett roared, at a low register, similar to Devon’s voice, realizing the changes were far from over. Two shockwaves of blood surged through his arms, immediately filling them with volatility. A pair of massive, bodybuilder-sized biceps gradually inflated within the confines of the bespoke twill shirt. Garrett could only watch transfixed as his skinny, noodle arms - the things he’d hated the most about himself - became nothing of the sort. The muscles in his forearms followed suit as they pulled apart and tightened up with protein-laden muscle, becoming permanent, cylindrical-shaped obtrusions in every shirt he would ever wear. Around fifteen seconds later, Garrett’s barrel-sized arms were now tastefully concealed beneath the tight, stretchy fabric of his dress shirt. Mercifully, his golden cufflinks remained intact and undisturbed, their dazzling opulence a necessary accentuation of his rigid wrists. Garrett was in awe. Even his hands looked manlier - they looked more plump and more formidable somehow. His nails were perfectly manicured and his digits must’ve doubled in size, dropping their nimble slimness in favor of a more boxing glove-like shape. 

A wave of growth undulated through his abdomen as it began to slowly extend forward to a similar breadth of his mighty pecs. With it came two distinct pops, but this time it came from deep within his abs. It felt like he was flexing abdominal muscles that had never made themselves known before. To confirm his suspicion, the two pops multiplied into four and then six until concluding on eight square-shaped indentations etched into his abdomen. Bespoke twill felt incredible against his brand new eight-pack. “God, I’m really filling out, huh?” Garrett smirked as an impulsive affirmation to himself. 

“Yes, I am too,” Devon answered nervously. 

Garrett glanced down and the first thing he noticed about Devon was the bulbous sphere that his belly had become. It wasn’t like he was obese or anything, but to call Devon a jock would be laughably inaccurate. This stomach of his had to be at least fifty pounds and it jutted straight out like a boulder. It didn’t sag low like a belly normally would, it hung high and tall, suspended by hidden, rigid muscle. Something told Garrett it would only get bigger.

“AGH!” Garrett yelped as he felt two muscles viciously tingle each of his shoulders before they began to stretch upward. A pair of glorious trapezius muscles flared out, giving him a menacing hood of muscle around his neck similar to a king cobra. Quickly, their immensity made his small, boyish head and mop of brown, unkempt bowl cut look extremely out of place. As Garrett’s trap muscles finished their transition into ones that a bodybuilder would envy, he attempted to turn his head 90 degrees, but found that to be quite a challenge. His neck too had also stretched wider to compete with the overgrown atoll of his trap muscles. Eliminating the soreness in his new muscular neck, Garrett rocked it back and forth and felt his bones and veins snap into place. The process sent a giant tear through the back of his Star Wars tie, whose lopsided Windsor knot had also fared no match for Garrett’s expanding, meaty neck and shoulder. It now hung loosely, dangling precariously over his massive tits about to plop to the ground.

“Pardon me sir, your tie is askew,” Devon piped up.

Before Garrett could react, his portly acquaintance gingerly removed the tie from his figure and was running it through his hands. He blinked and all of a sudden, Devon’s hands were concealed beneath a pair of satin white gloves. Paired with that, his hands looked larger too - like two baseball mitts. 

“What is with this tie?” Devon added, staring at the Star Wars Mandalorian emblems on the tie. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah, it’s my good luck tie,” Garrett replied. “I wore it for…the interview…” He trailed off for a moment as his memories of an interview grew a little hazier. They were both here for some reason, but this seemed like a strange situation for an interview. “Have you always been wearing gloves?” It was a straightforward thing for him to ask, but he genuinely was curious.

“Yeah, it’s a part of the uniform,” Devon nodded although his brow furrowed with confusion over his own comment. It was as if he didn’t know what he was going to say next. 

“Okay,” Garrett replied intently, giving Devon a snide smirk. His cock bobbed in his trousers as he thought of the idea of a football player bending to his whim and being involuntarily supportive. 

Devon’s face didn’t show much more emotion. Instead, he was putting his new man-hands to work some magic on the tattered tie. As he rolled up the tie, the array of Mandalorian emblems began to fade. First, the helmet’s outline faded before diffusing in all directions and melting into the navy blue coloration of the tie. In some miraculous animation, Garrett watched as the colors danced into each other before brightening until they reached a divine, subdued seafoam green. With a firm shake from Devon’s hands, the tie fattened up and lost any trace of its former self. 

“What did you do?” Garrett asked, his heart sunk as his favorite tie from one of his favorite movies was gone forever.

“Hermés,” Devon said, answering a question never asked. “Mint is quite the nice touch for the outfit too.” He handed it to Garrett who just looked at it dumbly. “You know how to tie a tie don’t you?” Devon asked smugly, his voice sounding much more…posh and preppy. “We don’t want that Cliff fellow to be mad.” 

“Yeah for sure,” Garrett replied as he unconsciously wrapped the tie around his collar. In only a few seconds and a few deft maneuvers, his hands nimbly created a Windsor knot. 

“I taught you well,” Devon applauded, his eyebrow crooked as he dissected his statement. Still, his mouth continued its whimsical dialogue. “You can tie a tie as fast as I can tie my shoes. Or at least as fast as I used to be able to tie them.” He gestured at his bass drum of a belly and chuckled at himself. 

Garrett couldn’t help but snicker too. Devon’s bubbly nature was somewhat infectious. It was kind of hot - imagining the portly ex-jock catering to his needs, but also being a genuinely nice person. That would be a nice change.  

“Isn’t that better?” Devon asked. A faint panic still permeated his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he was asking these questions and indulging Garrett like this. 

“Yeah,” Garrett smiled with a conceited grin as he ran a hand through his floppy, greasy mop of crumpled hair. The movement caused more strands to flop down successfully, causing them to be quaffed straight back as if they were drenched in gel. Garrett didn’t pay it any mind. He just enjoyed how perfectly his mint tie complemented the checkered pattern of his blazer. This nearly-gaudy attire - he wanted to hate it - but he couldn’t. It accentuated his muscles perfectly! Oh yeah. His muscles. “I feel like a million bucks!” Garrett said with an honorary flex. 

“Good, good,” Devon jovially replied. In accordance with his jolliness, a new layer of fat formed around his stomach and stretched out his resplendent tuxedo even further. A wave of compassion and maturity overcame him, replacing his adolescent panic. Looking at a burgeoning young stud like Garrett made him feel…proud in a way? It made him feel oddly paternal, as if their ages were different or something? “You have to look your best for your special day,” Devon added, before grimacing at how cringe he sounded. Still, it felt eerily correct to assist Garrett with his newfound sartorial knowledge. 

“My special day?” Garrett asked before smirking once more. “That’s right. It…is my special day. I just can’t remember why.” 

“Me neither,” Devon admitted. His adolescent rage towards Garrett had faded completely. It was impossible to get mad a young, promising stud like him. Instead, he glared down at his new rotund body ruefully. “I look like a fucking gumdrop,” he pouted as he poked and prodded at his round belly and pecs. He craned his stubby neck to see that even his broad, hulking thighs made his dress pants look vacuum-sealed. It reminded him of wearing padded football pants. His chest was ridiculously huge too - his pecs were like two airbags resting atop a giant, protrusive boulder. Thankfully, his pecs didn’t sag like other older men’s man-boobs often did. They just hung there, taunting Devon with their undeniable stoutness. It was enthralling in a way - the idea of his cannonball-shaped stomach on display in every shirt he ever wore. That made him feel so…mature, like a father figure of sorts. His corpulence, unapologetically masculine, equally disgusted and excited him. At least his plump body looked well-dressed and concealed perfectly by this uniform. Devon could picture so many men his age, or…his father’s age, who didn’t know how to dress themselves - the type to have the undersides of their bellies exposed in public and who wore thin, ill-fitting t-shirts with visible, nasty sweat stains. Devon felt some strange pleasure in the fact that his clothes were tailored just for him. It made him feel much more…powerful that way. This well-dressed, paunchy body of his was an extension of his own masculinity. 

Garrett was lost in his own self-indulgent thoughts as he inspected his own chest. He gave his nipples a tweak and winced at how sensitive they were. Rubbing the back of his meaty hand against the expensive fabric, he could feel a  God, he loved being a man. A huge, hunky, muscular, young, confident man. One whose body jutted out in every direction in his formal clothes - kinda like Devon’s did, only Garrett’s were far more perky and traditionally attractive. He’d never clamored over his body like that before. It was quite the rush - a premonition of his constantly evolving virility and an extension of his own masculinity. 

“Wait, do you hear that?” Garrett asked abruptly, causing Devon to return back to reality. The two of them froze and sure enough, they realized that there was now an abundance of noise emanating above them. A faint bassline and drums could be heard accompanied by a moderately-loud chatter of people conversing. “There’s people upstairs.” 

Devon turned white as a ghost. “Oh no, oh shit dude, people can’t see me like…like this!” he cried, holding up his pudgy, balloon-shaped belly in rife disgust. 

“Yeah, you look like a blimp,” Garrett chuckled. For a moment, he almost regretted saying it, but his fear of Devon was dissipating. They were equals now - no longer bound by archaic notions of a teenage hierarchy. 

“Manners please,” Devon retorted, primping his suit. He didn’t appear to be that offended by the comment though, considering he didn't give Garrett any vicious retaliation. In fact, he seemed to be captivated by his tuxedo jacket. “My coattails. They nearly stretch to the floor!” he said with dopey astonishment, stretching his neck to inspect the way the coat draped over his pot-bellied frame. “They kinda look like a superhero’s cape. It’s quite…marvelous, isn’t it?” 

“Whoa, your voice! It sounds British!” Garrett laughed. “Would you like some tea and crumpets, governor?” 

Devon was not amused. “Sir, please,” he huffed, far more displeased than angry. “I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to make fun of my accent. I surely don't mock you for your deep voice.”  

A twinge of guilt pulsed through Garrett. If a jerk like Devon could learn politeness, surely he could too.  “Right, right, I’m sorry,” he said, completely oblivious while his voice lost its teenage squeak in favor of a commanding, baritone register. “I guess I never expected a football player to act so formal.” The voice that Garrett now had sounded like it belonged to a male country singer rather than a raspy 18 year old. 

“Football?” Devon gasped. He could recall playing it for a brief moment, but the memories of it all came crashing down instantly. Like a piece of paper being incinerated to ash. A man of his rotund stature certainly wouldn’t be the greatest at the sport unless he was an offensive lineman. “I have…never played football before,” Devon said, almost in a state of shock as the words left his lips. “I wouldn’t be too fast on the field. Not with a belly like…OOOFF…like this.” Without warning, fifty more pounds were piled onto Devon’s stomach, causing him to look like even more of a portly freak. This monster gut looked ready to rip free from his uniform at any moment, but thankfully it had swiftly stretched with his beastly proportions to prevent that. 

“Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s not called soccer where you’re from.” 

“Huh? I…oh yes, that’s quite correct.” Devon’s head was spinning. His definition of the sport was changing. Football was nothing like it was here in the States. It was a far less violent and barbaric sport in the U.K. but most importantly, it was an excuse to get a pint with the lads and watch his favorite team whenever he went back home. Or wait, wasn’t this home? Everything was getting fuzzy. 

Garrett was feeling the same way as he zoned out for a moment, gazing down at his sophisticated clothes. Or rather hunky, sophisticated body - the clothes were just an extension of himself. “Well, I think we should head upstairs and talk to that Cliff guy and maybe he can help us.” 

“Ah Cliff, what a fine gentleman!” Devon perked up, like a robot coming to life. His deep, Welsh accent teeming with merriment. “Yes, let’s!” 

Garrett tried his hardest not to snicker as Devon led the way. His bouncy, blubbery figure certainly didn’t move the way it once did. At first, he clearly was trying to move at the speed of a highschool quarterback, but his gait was reduced to a sluggish waddle. Something else had also changed about Devon. It was his back - which looked quite broader for some reason. Paired with his angular shoulders, his upper body was turning into quite an imposing-shaped rectangle. For a man of smaller stature, his figure was still quite imposing. 

“I’m sure everyone is waiting to see you.” Devon said merrily as he reached the wooden stairs.

“Ah that’s right,” Garrett replied and a burst of dopamine suddenly hit his brain, promptly inhibiting any more questioning of their predicament. It was his special day. Being the center of attention was something he craved - people all gathered around him, listening to him talk in length - it was like adrenaline to him : a formative adrenaline. He cherished all the accolades his hulking muscles would receive. From friends, from family members, from romantic partners. After all, he’d put in years of hard work!  

Garrett was aghast as he walked up the steps behind his paunchy companion. Devon already had the tight, muscle butt of a high school quarterback, but the ascent up the staircase immediately began shaping it into an enormous cushion that was impossible to ignore. With each step upward, his glutes flared outward in all directions, stretching his wool dress pants like lycra. Inflating like balloons, Devon’s mountainous asscheeks lost some of their muscled firmness. They rhymically bobbed up and down over and over, indicative of their increased fat concentration. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, two mounds the size of basketballs and as wide as pillows had replaced Devon’s former ass. He appeared to be none the wiser as he turned sideways for a moment and readjusted his cummerbund.

Garrett froze. His cock had risen to full mast and he hated it. Illuminated by a single overhead light, Devon’s mammoth figure cast a marvelous silhouette. The equal breadth of his glorious, distended stomach and protruding suited buttocks were so oddly compelling. And stupidly erotic. Then again, Garrett had been hard since the changes started…or for the past hour while he’d been getting ready. Yeah. That was right. Dressing up always got his hormones firing. 

“It seems like only yesterday you had gotten into college,” Devon reminisced as he turned his stubby neck up to Garrett who climbed to the top step. 

“College?” Garrett asked. He hadn’t even graduated high school. “I don’t think-”

“Look at yourself, Garrett, ” Devon boomed. The newfound sagacity in his voice sent a shiver up Garrett’s spine. “You’ve really changed from the small, precocious lad you once were. You heed advice and apply it into your own life. In university and in bodybuilding. Why, I remember when I used to be larger than you. Hah hah hah! That’s not quite the case anymore, is it?” 

“Bodybuilding? College?” Garrett was dumbfounded. Two retrospections ran parallel in his brain. In one, he was a teenage misanthrope who would much rather keep to himself and his hobbies while another, more forceful side of him savored the attention of being a heartthrob, junior bodybuilder. He craved it, actually. He wanted to loathe the feeling, but he couldn’t. Everything around him was spinning out of control so beautifully, but something told him that this was a very good thing.

“Why yes,” Devon replied, “We’re all so proud of you. You have that ambition that’s going to get you very far in life.” His voice cracked a bit. “I wish I had more of that when I was a lad.”  

Before Garrett could stop himself, he’d already wrapped his arms around the portly man.  Given their height difference, he’d had to lean down slightly, but he didn’t even realize he’d done that. Devon quickly reciprocated and a mutual wave of growth radiated through the two of them. It was a weird burst of unbridled sympathy the two had never felt for each other once. But it was real. 

Firstly, Devon’s belly gained a final thirty more pounds, swelling larger than a yoga ball and tight as a bass drum. At one point, he’d competed in bodybuilding competitions just like Garrett was…or was going to. But now, a stout aging man like Devon much preferred to possess a distended, glorious muscle gut formed from decades of hard work and newfound relaxation. His body type was truly one of a kind - he had to make his own custom clothes for it too - and nothing made him more enthusiastic that Garrett appeared to be following the same fate of growing gigantic. Finishing its inflation, Devon’s belly pressed tightly against Garrett’s abdomen, which was starting to shrink in exchange. Any remaining pudge Garrett had was trimmed away and repurposed into a lean, X-shaped of a competition-ready bodybuilder. His nonexistent butt also began to change, promptly losing its shapelessness as it inflated into two boulders. His rear was only around three-quarters the size of Devon’s, but it had equal strength. Garrett had an enormous, perky muscle butt formed by nearly a decade of strenuous squatting and consistent training. In tandem, Garrett’s slender thighs beefed up, becoming a set of poles that could effortlessly support his hulking frame. Subconsciously, he rocked back and forth on them and the new muscles tightened into pillars as thick as stone. 

“Thank you,” Devon replied as the two pulled apart. His eyes were glassy and his face had a myriad of more pronounced lines on it now. He was so happy now, happier than he had ever been from his life as a football player. Being a British butler, a man of superlative etiquette, and passing eclectic style and machismo onto a man like Garrett - that was his new purpose. “You’ve become the man deep down that I knew you always could be.”

“Of course,” Garrett smiled. He felt like his heart was going to explode. While studying Devon’s new venerable face and more mature sunken eyes, he blinked and all of a sudden, his baseball cap disappeared! Not only that, Devon’s head of vibrant blonde hair had vanished too, leaving behind a faint horseshoe of hair. He pictured Devon as having a younger, boyish face in his head, but those memories were crinkling away as he looked into this new, mature man.“Your…your hat,” was all Garrett could say. 

Faint wrinkles texturized themselves around Devon’s face as he smiled. “Yes, the bowler hat felt a little unfitting on a very formal occasion like this.” 

“No, you were wearing a…” Garrett trailed off, immediately forgetting that a bald, astute gentleman like Devon would ever wear a baseball cap. That seemed too…juvenile for him. Whenever he did wear a hat, it was usually a top hat or something. Even more paralyzing to Garrett was the fact that this man in front of him didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He felt like a family member. Like a mentor of sorts. It made sense. After all, he’d known Devon his entire life. A hazy memory traveled through Garrett’s brain. He could remember being young, back when Devon had a full head of hair and he’d wanted so badly to impress him. Now he had and the family butler couldn’t be more proud. Wait, family butler? That seemed correct for some reason, but it make any-

“Have a fun night, kid,” Devon smiled, uniquely giving the words a staccato affectation with his charming British accent, as he opened up the wooden door to the banquet hall. 

Bright lights inundated Garrett’s corneas, like he’d stepped into heaven. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out around what appeared to be one hundred or so people occupying the previously vacant hall. Their attire was ritzy - like nothing Garrett had ever seen. Women adorned with beautiful, stylish dresses paired next to men dressed up in bespoke three-piece suits of various colors. A multitude of tuxedoed waitstaff were maneuvering in between the crowd of affluent guests. All parties involved seemed to be engrossed in pleasant, light-hearted conversation. 

Seeing them all sent a tidal wave of fear through Garrett and the same teenage nerves he thought he’d banished inundated his brain. “Devon, there are so many-”

He turned, but Devon had already begun conversing with a crowd of five male waiters nearby who were dressed in identical tuxedos. He wanted to chuckle at how Devon’s cartoonishly massive butt eclipsed his view of the men he was talking to, but he couldn’t. In his peripheral vision, he could see people start noticing him. All the confidence he’d once had vanished instantly replaced by his familiar teenage nerves. He hated crowds - hated them so much. And now here he was trapped in the middle of one of the largest ones he’d ever seen. 

Just as Garrett took his first step forward to try and slink towards the wall, he nearly collided with the silhouette of a huge, imposing man who nearly knocked him to his feet. Luckily, his reflexes were quick and he jumped back on his heels. 

“Vince, there you are!” thundered the familiar, lofty stranger. It was Cliff - his interviewer of all people? He also looked more put together than before. His massive pecs were thinly concealed by a tight dress shirt preventing any chest hair from peeking through. At his side was a breathtaking entourage of beautiful guests, a group of men wearing flashy, velvety suits and a group of women wearing extravagant, ruched dresses. “We were wondering what was taking you so long!” 

“Huh? My name’s not-” Garrett stopped. His deep voice, almost as low as Cliff’s, startled him and reminded him how manly he sounded. Before he could analyze it, two new heels abruptly shot out of Garrett’s sneakers, launching him a half-inch higher into the air - allowing him to become eye level with Cliff - the man who’d previously towered over him. He wanted to tremble, but there was something so comforting about the older man’s face. It made him feel seen. There was a broad, beaming smile on Cliff’s brick-shaped jaw, emanating the same sage-like reverence as Devon had. 

“There’s the man of the hour!” another well-dressed man around three-quarters the size of Garrett exclaimed. By this point, the group of guests had swarmed all around him, rendering any chance of escape impossible. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of chest, from stress and a weird, weird sense of familiarity with these people, especially one of the men in front of him. His face was devoid of wrinkles and his forehead devoid of furrows. Must’ve been a lot of Botox. Even his hairline mirrored Garrett’s, which was impressive given he looked to be in his sixties or so. “Put ‘err there, Vince!” the dapper stranger exclaimed, extending out his hand. 

Garrett acquiesced, not wanting to be rude. He didn’t realize how clammy his hands were until they were against this man’s dry ones. “Thanks, Uncle James. It’s so good to see you,” he replied before flinching at his weird, automatic response. 

The man didn’t seem to care about being Garrett’s uncle. It did seem to make sense though. He looked like Cliff, only a few years older. “Look at that! He already got himself a Rolex! Lookin’ sharp, son!” 

“A…what?” Garrett looked down at his right wrist and sure enough, there was a watch with a rich, emerald hue that looked nothing short of expensive. Upon further inspection, he realized it was the same green shade as his preppy checkered blazer and it had the same eye-catching shimmer of his cufflinks. Fuck. That turned him on for some reason. Luxury. Power. Being all dressed up. “Yeah, doesn’t it have a marvelous sparkle to it?” Garrett added, unable to contain his excitement. His voice sounded different now - a little more pompous. He was really holding the vowels of words in his mouth for longer now. It reminded him of the rich kids from his high school. Wait, where did he go to school again?

A lady in a lavender velvet dress holding a bubbling glass of champagne spoke next. She used big gestures to the group, as if she was showing Garrett off like a trophy. “Our son - the Yale graduate,” she declared, her voice sounding as proud as Cliff’s and as proud as Devon’s. “I can’t believe he finally did it.” 

“Top of his class too!” Cliff added, sipping on a glass of scotch. “Don’t forget about that, Pauline.” 

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “We never doubted our son for a second.”

“Graduated? From Yale? No, I’m…” Garrett sputtered as the final realization hit him. This was a party. All for him. And Cliff and Pauline. They were…his parents? That didn’t seem right, but Garrett had trouble recalling any other alternative. He could recall glimpses of his upbringing in opulent rooms, going to high-class events and developing a sartorial affinity. He now truly felt like an adult just like them. His parents’ positive words echoed in his head, filling him up with joy. For the first time in a long time, Garrett felt proud of himself. His memories of a recluse were fading while recollections of being a valedictorian and relaxed, sociable young athlete took their place. 

“Looks like he’s been hitting the gym at the same time!” Uncle James piped in. “What’s your current weight?”

“280,” Garrett replied and instinctively performed a front lat spread to the group who all laughed pompously. 

“Don’t get him started,” Pauline replied with a playful tap on Garrett’s shoulder. 

Another man spoke up who looked muscular too, although not as muscular as Garrett. “Even during football, you were never half this size. You really took to bodybuilding during college! I can’t believe I’m looking at the same kid!”

Garrett beamed with pride and his posh accent swallowed up his old one completely. “Once I knew football wasn’t in the cards for me, I decided to take weightlifting more seriously and it really helped me.”

“Isn’t that great,” one of the ladies in the crowd smiled. 

“He sure takes after his old man!” Cliff smiled, wrapping his arm around his equally-strapping son. 

Garrett froze as he fully took in the breadth of his alleged father. For lack of a better word, he was just so manly. Even being a man in his fifties, he still had some incredible size to him. He must’ve been sixty pounds heavier than Garrett, which was nothing short of impressive. Cliff’s cerulean three-piece suit looked ready to rip off. Garrett could recall some strong feelings about that: the idea of getting to a massive size where all of his suits had to be custom-made to contain his sheer width. He could faintly recall a short, plump man measuring him with yellow tape as he crafted measurements for him.  

Holy shit. That man was his family butler. The one he’d just seen earlier. What was his name again? Acrid guilt pulsed through Garrett’s head. This butler had been with his family his entire life and he couldn’t even remember his name. Even Garrett’s own name was growing harder to remember, but he knew one thing for sure. His name certainly wasn’t Vincent. 

“Any refills on champagne?” chirped a familiar ebullient voice. 

“Yes please, thank you Reginald,” one of the ladies chirped back as the butler filled up her tall glass. 

Garrett turned and sure enough, his family butler was right there: Reginald Chapman - a 400 pound intimidating colossus who was actually a kind-hearted giant. 

Garrett tried not to laugh. This whole situation was so far-fetched. It reminded him of that one Rick & Morty episode where the family in the show had gained memories of a butler who they thought had always been part of their family. But this situation was different from a silly cartoon like that. It wasn’t like Reginald lived with them although he was over at the house working full-time. Hell, he’d even gone on family vacations with the Atkinsons. He’d even brought his husband along. It had been a strange sight - seeing the family butler and his equally-large middle-aged husband on the beach, but it had been illuminating. But still, Reginald had his own life. He was simply the Atkinsons’ staff member. A lifelong, steadfast one at that. Happy to cater to Garrett’s needs whenever necessary and give him advice on life and bodybuilding. It seemed weird to have a private butler, but not for a family like the Atkinsons who were filthy rich. 

For a moment, Garrett found that somewhat exciting - the idea of a massive man catering to his needs, but it wasn’t weird like that. Even with his portly figure, Reginald had been quite an inspiration for Garrett to take bodybuilding seriously. He’d wanted to grow - to get as big as one of his idols - a kind-hearted Englishman who was like his second father. In fact, it had been a conversation on a Bahamian beach with Reginald and his burly partner Oliver that had made Garrett realize he was bisexual - a whole separate epiphany.  

“I assume the college grad over here needs a fresh glass too!” Reginald piped up, producing a clean wine glass for Garrett. He poured the perfect amount of the liquid into it and smiled. “He’s truly one of a kind isn’t he?” 

The group smiled and laughed in agreement. Garrett took notice of the other patrons in the background who were also turning his way. Reginald had the volume of a foghorn after all. In the crowd, Garrett could make out a few guys and girls his age - some of the friends from college. Some of them were really attractive. This really was quite the celebration. And it was all for him.

“Dom perignon, sir,” Reginald smiled, handing Garrett the glass, his fifty-six year old face glowing with adulation. 

Garrett took a sip and smiled - the expensive liquor tasted incredible. He swore he could feel the bubbles fizzing in his mouth after he swallowed. 

“Raise your glasses, please!” Reginald boomed. The guests immediately obeyed, all with smiles on their faces as they stared warmly at Garrett. “To Vincent Atkinson!” Reginald thundered as the background chatter quieted down. “A young man who has changed my life as much as I hope I’ve changed his!” 

There was that name again. Garrett wanted to reply, but instead a warm, compassionate feeling overcame him. He was touched by the sweetness of the family butler - a man who inspired him every day. 

A cheer from all of the guests echoed through the banquet hall. They all took a sip except for Reginald who just warmly smiled. “Have a glorious night you all,” he said with a bow of his head before swiftly walking away to tend to other patrons. That’s right. Reginald was on the clock. That enthusiastic, diligent butler. Garrett watched as his plump body bounced within the confines of his long, dangling coattails as as he sidled over to another crowd. 

“Vince has grown up so fast!”  chimed in a male patron as the chatter started back up. “He’s sure got that Atkinson family chin!”

“Wait until he gets those Atkinson family veneers!” chimed in another who received a chastising shove from his wife. 

“Family…chin?” Garrett mumbled as he felt a bubbling sensation emanating from the bottom of his face. It was the weirdest feeling, like someone was popping bubble wrap under his chin. The final piece of him was changing - his face. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to see it happen in real time. He just had to. “Excuse me, please,” Garrett said before promptly darting away before any patron could stop him. With each distinct footstep, his dress shoes grew more and more glossy, echoing throughout the opulent hall. Luckily, he located a bathroom nearby and promptly slunk inside, but not before feeling his broad shoulders scrape against the sides of the old, wooden doorframe. Garrett skulked to the mirror a panicked, breathy mess and promptly froze with disbelief at his strapping reflection. 

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

He turned to his side and ogled over his humongous chest and back jutting out in either direction. Even his biceps looked prime to rip right out of his checkered suit jacket. Lower on his body, his bulge and tight, muscle ass also jutted out from his midsection, quivering with his movements, both exuding undoubtable manliness. Now in complete privacy, Garrett’s cock rose back up to full mast. His body - it reminded him of Cliff’s - his new father - unyieldingly masculine and provocative. He was burning up under this sexy yet stifling outfit his butler had picked out. 

“I’m an Atkninson,” he said to himself, eager to look like just his father - his idol.

With a distinct set of cracks, his stubby chin erupted forward, immediately doubling its width and acquiring a brand new shovel-shape. Any awkward half-grown teenage facial hair vanished with it, endowing Garrett with a clean-shaven, spotless chin accompanied by the subtle aroma of expensive aftershave. Next his lips inflated like two balloons, puffing out to an extremely kissable level. His teeth straightened and became a pure shade of white. Transfixed by his reflection, Garrett watched in wonder as his unsightly pimples and zits were eradicated from his face. In one swift blink, his eyes changed from hazel to a bright blue accompanied by a slightly thicker yet attractive nose. Propelled down by an invisible wave, Garrett’s unkempt bowl cut was finally subdued and all of the long, strands shortened to a preppy, professional length. An expertly-placed layer of gel coated the young man’s greasy brown hair, slicking it back in an instant, taking off a few inches with it. 

“Mmm fuck,” Garrett huffed as he swore he felt a gust of air rush over his head. A glorious tidal wave of bright blond hair came next, swallowing up his old bushy brunette forever. He wanted to be mad at how preppy he looked, but it didn’t make sense why. This was how he’d dressed his whole life. 

“I’m an Atkinson,” Garrett repeated, hard as a rock while he watched his boyish features mature ever so slightly, eradicating anyone ever mistaking him for a teenager ever again and aging him up in a man in his early 20s. That wasn’t who he was after all. Everyone was here tonight for his college graduation. 

Garrett was treated to a final, illustrious animation of his altering face in the mirror as any remaining “Garrett-hood” he had was eliminated. His hairline pulled down slightly making his forehead less prominent, his eyes grew a little closer together, and his ears shrunk ever so slightly. And then as if Garrett had been staring at some magic-eye poster, it all clicked into place. His handsome face looked just like a younger version of his father. “Fuck yeah, I’m…Vincent Atkinson,” he trembled, his voice rife with anticipation. 

That utterance - it sent a shockwave through Vincent. In an instant, an invisible sonic boom erupted through the room. It forced down his eyes and locked all of his handsome new attributes in place - never to be taken from him. Simultaneously, his rock-hard cock became flaccid. When Vincent reopened his eyes, he was left staring at his reflection in the mirror and there was a watery sheen over his aquamarine-shaded eyes. He was on the verge of crying for some reason? He blinked a few times and the tears only welled up further in his eyes. The lifetime of Garrett Carmicheal disappeared, replaced by a brand new handsome stud. Forever. 

The instant Vincent’s mind transformed, the bathroom door flung open and in stepped a familiar, enormous man. 

He flinched. His eyes were still watering. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why did he feel so sentimental all of a sudden? 

Vincent’s father’s stern face immediately softened as he sidled up to his son. “Hey, hey, it’s alright to cry at these things, Vince,” he soothed his father as he wrapped his tree trunk of an arm around his son’s shoulders. 

Vincent sighed and a single tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. The emotions were so much. He couldn’t believe what he’d been through. All of the schooling and now this - a graduation: which felt like the destruction of his youth. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he admitted, his voice hardly trembling. “It’s just so much. I can’t believe I’m like…like a real adult now.”

“It’s alright. Sometimes the emotions can be too much to endure. Come on, bring it in,” Vincent’s dad said, pulling his son in close for a mighty bear hug, which was immediately reciprocated. Immense strength radiated between the Atkinson men as they squeezed each other tenderly as hard as they could. The immeasurable comfort of his father - the man who had helped shape him into the confident, buff specimen he was meant to be - was so much to bear. An involuntary whimper escaped Vincent’s lips as he rested his head on top of one of his father’s strong shoulders. “I love you, kid. I’m so proud of you. We all are!” Vincent’s father added as the two released each other. He wiped a tear of his own from his own face and exhaled. 

“Thanks dad,” Vincent replied before coughing and standing up straight again. He sighed and re-flattened one of his French cuffs - obsessed with the idea that his clothes were just an extension of his masculinity. Formalwear was always such a confidence-booster. Reginald had helped inspire that in him. “I think I’m alright now,” Vincent smiled. “I really needed that.”

“Anytime,” Vincent’s dad replied and the two of them headed back to the bathroom door, their two muscular butts both wider than the doorway. “How’s it feel to be a graduate?”

“Incredible,” Vincent smiled. “Like the world is at my fingertips.” 

[visceral-stories]

An INCREDIBLE commission from the amazing LoveSushi from Twitter and the generosity of my good friend creativelybankrupt, based on Gordon and his brand new sexy spandex gym outfit from my story Stronger Together (one of my most favorite and unusual stories I've ever written) which you can read here.

[visceral-stories]

Visceral Leaderboard: August 2023

Hello all, I just want to say that I appreciate your continued support. I have had quite the busy summer, dealing with many lifestyle changes and trying to search for sustainable jobs. I’m still writing off and on of course so more is on the way although I just can’t quite say when. So, I figured I could start doing an official leaderboard of my stories and maybe turn some of you onto my older (and most popular) works.

1. Family Breakfast

2. Family Man

3. Business Trip

4. One of the Boys

5. First Drink

6. Knowledge is Power

7. Yttrium Fitness

8. Getting Into Character

9. From Principal to Athlete

10. Old Money

(And my spotlight story of the month: that I wish for more love: Breaker Beach.)

Once again, thank you all for supporting me (and I hope you are all undergoing transformations into the men you are meant to be) :0

[visceral-stories]

Suited for Success

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The car dealership was the last place Avery Miller wanted to be on a Friday afternoon, yet here he was. The hand-me-down car he’d had since high school, a used 2001 Volvo older than him, was having braking problems. One week ago, the disheveled 20 year old had been driving home from a grueling ten-hour shift at the restaurant he worked at. It was foggy that night and he just wanted to get back home, but unfortunately a box turtle had daringly chosen to venture into the middle of the two-lane highway. Fortunately, the creature had left their encounter unscathed thanks to Avery’s lightning-fast reflexes, but his car had not been as lucky. Ever since then, the brakes made horrendous screeches at every push so Avery knew it was time to bring the damn thing in. 

It wasn’t like Avery had much money to spare on it though. Having not been the type to attend college, he’d thrust himself into the food service industry and had only recently been able to move out of his parents’ house. Now he was trying his best to survive off of his abysmal food service salary. Until he’d become a waiter, Avery had never known how exhausting the job truly was. He always maintained a carefree spirit at work, partially to accumulate higher tips, but also to deflect from how worn out he was feeling. This job had quickly become Avery’s livelihood and although he’d developed a knack for it, he found that he craved more security in his life. Now he had this stupid car problem he had to remedy because no car meant no income, and no income meant trouble. 

Avery sighed as he pulled up to the gate with a loud screech and watched as the automatic garage door opened up to let him in. The four sterile walls and the few other cars in the room were far from welcoming. He’d never even stepped foot inside a car dealership before. The only reason he was here was because of a recommendation from his father when he’d told him about his faulty brakes. His father said that the dealership was way more likely to have the correct parts needed to repair a vehicle as old as Avery’s and was far less likely to upcharge him. Automotive repair was not his forte so he went along with it. Waving him in was an employee standing at the opposite end of the garage behind his desk, and a very large one at that. The sheen from the man’s bald head was practically blinding and his bowling ball-sized shoulders looked like they were ready to pop out of his black polo. Driving cautiously to the man, he had to squeeze past a car - a glossy dark blue one - that looked so much nicer than his. He pulled extra far over to avoid even touching that car. Extra money to pay for sideswiping someone’s car was not something he’d budgeted for. Avery pulled the key out of the ignition and grabbed the drawstring bag holding his gaming computer from the passenger seat as he exited. Right away, the young man made eye contact with the oversized employee. Great. 

“Welcome in, sir! What can I help you with today?” the burly employee beamed with an ear-to-ear grin as the young man headed towards him. Jeez, this guy must really love his job.

“Hi,” Avery replied. He walked up to the man’s desk and realized he had to be at least a foot shorter than him. “There should be an appointment for Avery.”

“Avery, who?” 

“Miller. Avery Miller.”

The employee typed away on his computer for a tense few seconds. “Let’s see, let’s see….Ah! There we go!” he boomed. “Looks like you’re here to get the brakes checked, yes?”

“Um…yes, correct,” Avery replied, averting his gaze, tired of being at eye level with this man’s clavicle and seeing his pecs jiggle with every movement he made. 

“Great, Mr. Miller. My name is Don and it looks like my team and I will be taking care of you today. Now if you could hand your keys to the associate to your right, he’ll get that repair started for you.”

Another employee, about three-quarters as large as Don, had quietly sidled up next to Avery and nearly made him jump with shock. He then handed the associate the keys, only to see no discernible reaction from the guy’s face as he snatched them from his hand. Avery grimaced as he watched the guy start up his car and drive it to a separate section of this enormous garage. The car dealership was hell on earth to him. He knew nothing about cars and all the employees were always so intimidating with their superior automotive comprehension. 

“So uh, do you have an idea on how long this will take?” Avery asked, trying to remain undaunted by the breadth of these two employees. “I have to get to work in an hour and a half.”

Don waved his hand. “Oh, don’t you worry son. Repairs on this baby shouldn’t take longer than an hour. I promise.” He glanced up at Avery with a smirk. “Lucky for you, we just got some fresh luxury parts in the shop.”

Avery just laughed awkwardly at the bizarre phrasing. “Luxury parts?” 

Don pulled out a manila folder from a drawer and appeared to be searching for something. “So where do you work, kid?” he asked.

“Oh, I work at a steakhouse,” Avery said, dreading the inevitable follow-up question. 

“What do you do there?”

“I’m just a waiter,” he replied rather sheepishly. It wasn’t the most glamorous occupation and he didn’t have a whole lot of pride over it. “I take orders and bus tables and all-”

“Ah! Here we go,” Don interrupted, procuring a white slip of paper from the folder. He scribbled something on the page and placed it in front of Avery. “Ok Mr. Miller, I just need a quick signature at the bottom here,” Don boomed, giving him the blue pen he’d been using. 

This seemed odd, Avery swore he would usually sign a document after the service was done, but maybe they did it differently at this place. With the document in front of him, Avery curiously scanned it over, eager to confirm that the quote of the repair would be the same as when he’d called to schedule the appointment. At the bottom of the page he located the total, which was $220. He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d discussed the total being $200 on the phone, but this was much closer than he was hoping. He wasn’t the type to get into confrontation, not over $20 and especially not about something he didn’t understand like automotive repair. Avery’s eyes then wandered to the table up above which contained the words “brake repair” and “luxury automotive” both handwritten in blue ink by Don. That last phrase seemed extra peculiar, but Avery figured it was because he had a Volvo and maybe that was considered a luxury car or something?

As Avery signed the document, he soon noticed something even more strange about it. Up in the top right corner, he noticed the last name HUTTON written in big, bold letters where a name would usually be placed. That seemed odd, but maybe that guy was just the owner of the dealership or something.

“Great, Mr. Miller. You’re all set,” Don smiled. “You’re more than welcome to take a seat in our complimentary lounge and help yourself to snacks and free beverages. We’ll call you once your vehicle is ready.”

“Thank you,” Avery kindly replied, feigning a smile but still feeling dour from the estimate he was going to inevitably pay.

Stepping through the sliding doors behind Don’s desk, the 20 year old was dazzled by how nice this lounge was. There were only a few other customers present, but they all looked rather official and dressed up. Some were typing away on their laptops on separate tables while a few others were sitting down on  luxurious-looking sofas drinking coffee and tea in front of a large screen tv. Avery’s casual attire of a blue t-shirt and black shorts made him stick out like a sore thumb here. Eager to escape the concept of feeling out of place, he noticed a sign that read FOOD AND BEVERAGES and instantly made his way towards it. A few of the mature-looking customers glanced up at him as he passed by, but he meekly avoided their gaze. They all looked so official, but then again he figured that’s how most adults dressed at their jobs. 

Avery grimaced as he reached the table. His choices of fruit cups, organic granola bars, Perrier water, and coffee did not sound appetizing in the slightest. Thankfully, to his right, he could make out a vending machine full of junk food that he’d actually heard of. He promptly secured two bags of chips and a soda and spun back around to face the lobby. After a few seconds of searching, Avery found the only semi-desirable spot for him in this lobby - a private chair and table facing the group of other customers. He swiftly claimed it before another patron could. Victoriously, he tossed his bag to the side and unzipped it, pulling out his laptop - ready to watch some YouTube videos or play a few games to kill time. 

The first five minutes sped by quickly as Avery noshed away on his greasy chips, fully engrossed in the gaming video he’d fired up. Finishing the chip bag in record time, he decided to hold it up to his mouth and pour the chip remnants into his mouth. Unfortunately, his aim was shoddy and resulted in a showering of fragments and crumbs all over his blue t-shirt, a few of which had even slipped down his collar. “Shit,” Avery muttered to himself. His discomfort only worsened as a few particles fluttered to the back of his throat, causing him to start an uproarious coughing fit that wouldn’t stop. With his face now beet red, he grabbed the soda sitting on his desk and chugged it to eradicate that pesky tickle. Ahh, that did the trick. 

In due time, Avery finished the second bag of potato chips, this time with far less sloppiness, however he couldn’t quite shake a new, uncomfortable sensation. It was his chest, it was feeling itchier by the minute, especially in the places where the chip flakes had fallen. Not looking away from his video, he scratched at his chest with his greasy fingers, inadvertently smearing hydrogenated oils all over his t-shirt. This only seemed to aggravate the prickling sensation. Mildly irritated, Avery now glanced down at his baseless chest only to find something he had never seen before. Chest hair!

“What the…” the young man mouthed quietly, accidentally bumping his knees into his little desk-table and nearly spilling his drink. The small bush of thin, brown spindles was weirdly noticeable, as if they’d just fallen from his head and landed into a perfect heap on his clavicle. There was no way they were actually attached to-

“OWCH!” 

All of the adults in the room suddenly perked up at the room-shaking rumble that had emerged from Avery’s larynx. His voice - it was suddenly deeper than any male voice he’d ever heard before. More blood rushed to Avery’s cheeks as a new wave of involuntary mortification consumed him. Trying not to panic, he cleared his throat and took another large sip of his soda only for it to not taste the same. It tasted…almost putrid to him, like expired orange juice. “BLEGH!” he exclaimed, this time now causing everybody to face him. Avery’s head was on fire. He had chest hair, a lower voice, and his soda tasted like cleaning product all of a sudden? What the hell was next? 

Feeling all the surrounding eyes on him, Avery popped up from his desk, leaving his belongings behind. He made a beeline for the drinking fountain, which was conveniently next to the men’s restroom. “Excuse me,” Avery muttered quietly as he glided past all the people side-eyeing at him. This reminded him of the time he’d accidentally dropped a plate on the floor at work, sending food flying everywhere and causing every wandering eye to cast its gaze upon him. He wanted to scream.

Luckily, salvation came in the form of a few gulps of water to rid that horrid taste from his mouth. Avery just drank for a moment, trying to process what was happening to him, however a ticklish sensation on his chest reminded him of his other problem: his dumb chest hair. Desperate to escape the lobby’s silent scrutiny, he leapt inside the restroom. 

“What is happening to me today?” Avery muttered to himself as he walked inside. Man, even the bathroom at this place was ritzy. The sink was just a hunk of granite with shiny silver faucets accompanied by a broad rectangular mirror. He was relieved to see that it was vacant and also relieved to hear that his voice was his familiar, lighter tone. “At least I’m talking normal,” he said, with a sigh of relief as he studied his reflection in the mirror. He pushed his long blonde bangs to the side and itched his familiar scraggly patchy facial hair, however as his eyes drifted down he found that his tiny clump of chest hair was still present, taunting him with its patency. This was the strangest thing. Not even his dad could grow chest hair like this. An apprehensive peek down Avery’s t-shirt confirmed his suspicion: there was a light dusting of hair all the way down his torso! He stared back at his dissatisfied reflection, only to find that something else had also changed. His shirt….it had shrunk? 

The only way Avery could even tell was because his slender midriff was now exposed, and with it, a faint curlicue of dark stomach hair. Maybe it shrunk in the wash or something. “I can’t go out looking like this,” he grumbled before repeatedly trying to pull the tight blue shirt down. When that didn’t work, he frustratedly decided to hike his shorts up, which luckily did the trick although the action revealed more of his upper thighs than he wanted. “Everything’s fine,” Avery said as he averted his gaze from how dorky his shorts looked. He flashed a fake, confident smile at his reflection and headed towards the door. 

Just as he pulled open the bathroom door, he came face to face with another man entering. “Whoa!” Avery exclaimed, causing the man to look up from his phone and stop in his tracks. The man had to be twenty years older than him but looked at him like a deer in headlights. 

“Watch where you’re going!” Avery thundered, the words tumbled out at an intensity that nearly propelled him back. The guy looked petrified and instinctively moved out of the way for him as he stormed past. Avery was floored at the loudness of his voice. Part of him felt a little bad for yelling at that guy, but another part of him was irritated that the guy had been so clueless and glued to his phone. He should pay more attention and be more considerate. 

Avery took a deep breath as he sidled back into the lobby, in an effort to regain his composure. A serendipitous growl from his stomach halted him in his tracks and quickly beckoned him back to the food and beverages table. This time not thinking twice about it, he grabbed a few granola bars and practically by rote, he grabbed a coffee cup and put it under the dispenser. That aroma of coffee, it always intrigued him, ever since he was a kid - it made him feel so adult. It was too bad he loathed the taste. But that seemed incorrect. There was a coffee cup in his hand so clearly, he must like it. 

What the hell was he thinking? He’d never had coffee before. At least never without a little creamer. He poured some in and had a taste. “Not bad,” he said to himself before wincing. That deep bass had returned, but he didn’t want to think about it. “My voice is fine,” he said to himself, raising his tone up a few octaves to maintain that juvenescent regularity. And with that, he grabbed his coffee and granola bars and returned to his desk. 

The next forty-five minutes went by without a hitch. Avery started off by watching some new “let’s play” videos by his favorite YouTube gamers, however he’d soon gotten bored halfway through and spent the remainder of time mindlessly scrolling through social media. Avery’s granola bars were devoured in minutes as was all of his coffee. The stuff was really good! He could see why he liked it. In fact, he could recall having at least two cups a day, sometimes even more when he really had a stressful day at work. Avery sighed. Going to work straight after this and waiting tables for the next eight hours sounded dreadful. 

BZZT BZZT

A text appeared on Avery’s phone telling him that his car was ready for pickup. As he looked at the time on his phone, he realized he’d been here for an hour and ten minutes - longer than what Don had told him. A frown reappeared on Avery’s face as he put his laptop back in his backpack. Just because he worked a customer service job didn’t mean his need to get to work on time was less important than anybody else’s here. As he stood back up, he took zero notice of how hiked up his shorts still were. They were so snug pressed against his bellybutton, although they certainly squeezed his balls a little. Avery put his phone in his pocket and only took a few steps before a sharp glimmer caught his eye.  

“Whoa…” 

In place of his usual black watch was a silver and metallic one. He’d never seen anything so sparkly before. Squinting his eyes, he could faintly make out the word Rolex in the middle of the black watchface. Weird. He wanted to examine it further, but could feel more eyes landing on him. Not wanting to get embarrassed again, he cleared his throat and grabbed his backpack from his chair only for a strap to suddenly snap and plummet to the floor with a soft yet audible THUMP!

“Ugh!” Avery roared, frustrated at his own insistent clumsiness. He would’ve sounded petulant if his voice had not dropped significantly. Begrudgingly, he picked up the object from the floor. The worst part was that he could feel his shorts dip into his crack when he bent over. Cheap ass thing, he thought, indignantly snatching the object up by its frail strap. Almost by rote, Avery picked up the object and held it by his side. His decision had immediate repercussions as the backpack instantly smushed in on itself, its cheap material contorting over itself to reform into a pristine brown leather briefcase. The young man took no notice of it; he just wanted to get out of this place. He needed to get to work. 

A sour expression returned to Avery’s face, renewing him with a harsh, disgruntled rancor. A few people were still giving him the side eye, however they promptly diverted their gaze when he flashed them a malignant glare. He smirked. That served them right for being nosey. 

A coincidental yawn reminded Avery of his drowsiness so he promptly headed back to the coffee machine. After all, he’d only had one out of his two daily cups of coffee so far. This time preparing himself a cup of black coffee, he took a light sip and couldn’t help but scowl. The taste was so bitter, however it was still refreshing. Avery hesitated and took another sip - this time he knew what to expect, but he still winced. It wasn’t the greatest, but it would have to do. He sighed and headed towards the front desk until- 

FWOOSH! A resplendent white collar suddenly flared into existence all around Avery’s slim neck. It shielded it for a moment, standing straight up like a piece of cardboard before it flattened around his t-shirt, its white hue somewhat complementing his t-shirt’s royal blue coloration. Avery paid it no mind. He was too distracted by the distinct tapping his sneakers were making. He glanced down and flinched as he wondered why it looked like he’d dipped his tennis shoes in mud. In their place was a pair of brown cap toe dress shoes for some reason. Why had he chosen to wear his fancy shoes here? 

Avery scoffed immediately at that erroneous thought. He hadn’t worn tennis shoes in over twenty years! That was right. Freshly polished and shined dress shoes were all he wore; the pointier the better even! He almost wanted to chuckle at the thought that he was forgetful. He was always on top of everything in his life. Even his fellow waitstaff knew he could work well under pressure and manage fifteen tables at once if needed. 

The oddly-dressed young man subconsciously adjusted his collar and swaggered right back into the garage. He looked around for a few moments, seeing a few attendants he didn’t recognize. Scanning the myriad of uniformed personnel, he finally landed on the bald gentleman who had helped him before. Tom, was it? Avery wasn’t the greatest at remembering names. The employee perked up at Avery when he heard the resounding click of his dress shoes. A quick glance at his nametag revealed the guy’s name. “Ah, it’s Don,” Avery said quietly to himself as he sidled up to the desk.

“Welcome back, Mr. Miller,”  Don smiled as he stapled a packet of paper together. “I trust you enjoyed yourself in our lounge.”

Avery shrugged, placing his cup down on Don’s desk. “The coffee’s not fresh roast, but it was bearable I suppose.” He nearly doubted his weird comment, but he was very particular about his favorite drink. 

Don’s lips twitched. “Right…” he said as his smile faded. “I’ll have to ask my staff about that.”

A momentary twinge of sympathy radiated through Avery, but he shrugged it off. Sure, he'd been blunt, but it wasn’t like he was wrong. For a place this nice, the least they could do was have tastier coffee. 

Don handed him the packet of paper, detailing the layout of his car. “Well, our tests found that your car was in excellent working order aside from the damaged brakes which we have fully repaired. We also completed a complimentary oil change and tire rotation free of charge.” 

“Great,” Avery replied. One moment he was at chin-level with the burly employee. In the next, the two were at eye-level. “Whoa,” he whispered to himself, wondering if he’d suddenly gotten vertigo. His balance shifted and he instinctively extended his arms out for a moment, clenching the counter. Don didn’t seem to care so he didn’t either. Instead, he studied the packet just in front of his two hands - one of which still had that dazzling wristwatch.

“Do the repairs look in order to you Mr. Miller, sir?”

Studying the paper in front of him, Avery was met with a marked up diagram with notes added that he did not understand. “Hmm, I think that they look-” He suddenly shot up a few inches higher. At one point, he’d been eye-level with Don, now he was peering down at his clean-shaven head. “Whoa…” he said in awe, now disoriented by the additional foot of height he’d gained in the last twenty seconds. Don glanced up from the paper with a confused look on his face and Avery leaned down to get closer to the paper. 

The action also caused him to poke his butt out as he bent over, the same way that he’d once mocked his teachers in high school for doing. Stimulated by the movement, Avery’s buttcheeks began to inflate and spread apart with new, mountainous mass. For a moment, his shorts and underwear were devoured by his crack until more fabric materialized around it. The bunched-up fabric promptly became smooth and unruffled, allowing the young man’s disproportionately large derriere to breathe. Unbeknownst to Avery, even his underwear widened for his new waistline, preventing his genitals from getting constricted by the fabric. An additional detail: two buttons appeared above each of the young man’s mighty buttcheeks bringing with them two back pockets which were very unbecoming of his gym shorts. 

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Avery remembered to answer Don’s question. “Yes, the repairs look great to me!” he piped up, much too chipperly to sound like he was paying for car repairs, allowing his sonorous bass to fill up the room and causing strangers’ heads to turn. 

“Excellent,” Don replied. He pointed with his pen on the document. “Well, as you can see, the repairs come out to a total of $2220.”

Avery’s heart nearly jumped into his throat. “Wait, what?”

“Will you be paying with cash or card today, sir?”

“$2220?!” Avery exclaimed, shaking his head incredulously at the number. That was three months’ rent for him! “There’s no way that can be right! How can it be that expensive?! I…I thought you said it would be $220 to fix!” Don glanced back up at his disgruntled customer and crossed his arms over his chest, a clear distinction that his customer-service veneer was cracking. “Well for one sir, it’s a luxury vehicle. Its parts are much more expensive to fix.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous!” Avery huffed. “My car is old. It’s a….It’s a….” Shoot. What kind of car did he drive?

Don incredulously raised an eyebrow. “You brought in the EQS 450 Mercedes, correct?”

“No, it’s the uh-,” Avery wanted to correct this employee, but hearing that foreign-sounding vehicle class did something to his brain. He could envision his luxury vehicle so vividly. It was a slick black car, fitted with comfy leather seats within an all-black interior and a set of beautifully flashy rims. A smug grin appeared on Avery’s face. “Oh yeah, that’s right. That is my car,” he said. Memories of his old hand-me-down vanished forever as a seldom-felt emotion entered his mind: pride. The employee was correct. He did have a luxury car. Paid for the whole thing out of pocket too. He could also recall that it was fairly new on the market. Avery hadn’t expected to bring it into the shop to get repaired so soon, but he’d messed with them while he was out on a joyride. He’d been out in the middle of a desolate county road, his belly pressed firmly against the wheel and a lit cigar dangling from his maw, testing the acceleration on this puppy. Unfortunately, an unforeseen car pulling out a quarter mile in front of him forced him to aggressively slam on the brakes - a drastic action that had brought him back to the dealership today. 

Avery flinched and shook his head. He had just been living another man’s memory. Or…was that man him? His idea of fun was getting drunk with his friends in his studio apartment with cheap vodka after a long shift at the restaurant - not listening to music and driving wildly in a luxury car that felt like it embodied a midlife crisis. But at the same time, he found himself savoring that power this man must have. Even just having a taste of that power and being able to drive around in a car that nice must be wild. This place: it was doing things to Avery’s mind and he knew it, yet he found himself enjoying it. 

The employee cleared his throat and Avery perked back up. “Oh right,” he said, not bothering to apologize like he usually would have, as he pulled his wallet out from his pocket. A light brushing piqued his attention and he looked down at his right hand only to see a flash of white. “Oh wow,” Avery practically whispered as he looked down as a set of French cuffs finished unraveling to his wrist. The fabric felt incredibly silky and smooth. From his peripheral vision, he noticed a line of white buttons pop into fruition across his flat chest. He smirked again, this time holding back any boyish giddiness. He was changing! And he was going to become someone more powerful than he was before! It was like the universe was reaffirming his acceptance of his changes. Unfortunately, it appeared that the changes had not reached his wallet and all that lay inside was his debit card, his license, and a few stray one dollar bills. “Here you go,” Avery said casually, handing the associate his debit card, and hoping that money would just magically appear on his account.

As the man ran the card through his machine, a nervousness ran through Avery before he felt two distinct metallic pops on each of his wrists. Glancing down, he noticed it was a pair of shiny, silver cufflinks. They reflected the desk below him and they were the exact same silver shade as his wristwatch! 

A frown appeared on the employee’s face. “Sorry sir,” he said. “This card doesn’t appear to be working.”

“What do you mean?!” Avery erupted before stopping himself. Why had he just yelled like that?

The employee ran in through again. “I’m sorry sir, our system doesn’t take American Express. Do you have another card we could use?”

“What do you mean it isn’t- Oh brother,” Avery snorted, his previous calm composure immediately evaporating. He fished through his wallet, which had transformed into a brand new brown leather designer one. The irritated young man sifted through the brand new myriad of credit cards and the few hundred dollar bills he had on him, oblivious to the fact they had not existed moments prior. “Here!” he boomed, now audibly irritated. “This one should work.” 

The employee successfully ran the credit card through, signified by a triumphant DING! “Alright sir,” he replied, his voice sounding somewhat shaky while he handed Avery back his card. “All we need now is a signature on the screen and we are all set to go.”

“Wonderful!” Avery boomed, although his monotone inflection didn’t reflect that. Grabbing a tiny pen attached to the keypad, he scribbled his name in and jammed the green button. 

The employee’s smile returned, possibly because he was glad this interaction would soon be over. Avery didn’t fault him. He knew what it was like having to deal with rude people all day during his shifts at the restaurant. It could be so frustrating when people were so stubborn and antsy. 

The employee pulled out Avery’s car keys. “Marvelous, Mr. Milton. Your car is parked outside in spot #1. Is there anything else we can do for you today?” 

Milton? Avery couldn't quite place why that last name sounded weird to him, but he disregarded it as he stood back up straight after leaning on the desk for the past few minutes. “Nope, I think I’m all SET,” he replied, dramatically emphasizing the final word as his spine suddenly snapped itself into place. His poor posture, formed through years of poor sitting habits, corrected itself forever. It also reminded him how much taller he’d grown than the employee in front of him….whatever his name was. Sure, the guy looked like he hit the gym often with those muscular arms and shoulders, but he definitely wasn’t as tall as Avery. It felt powerful to look down on a man he’d once thought was so intimidating. 

“Excellent,” the employee smiled. “Thank you for your business Mr. Hutton. We hope you have a fantastic rest of your day!”

Hutton. That was his last name. Avery could envision it on a golden plaque sitting on a mahogany desk in a humongous office somewhere, fitted with a giant bookshelf and a display of authentic Persian rugs. 

A polite smile returned to his face as he grabbed his keys from the desk. “I apprecia-” Avery swore his mouth practically zipped shut on itself as his usual genial response of “I appreciate your help” was abruptly cut off. Harsh jowls formed on either side of his lips and dragged down his boyish smile in an instant, giving him a perpetually grumpy expression. “I had to wait quite a while, but thank you,” he snarkily replied, not even bothering to look at the employee as he snatched his coffee cup with him. A pair of bright red suspenders formed over his shirt as he flounced away, quickly fastening to his strange gym shorts. A sharp panic filled Avery. He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh away the fact that he was acting like the type of customer he’d make fun of at work, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even giggle at the fact that he could feel his buttcheeks bouncing with every step that he took. His demeanor remained stoic and silent. 

By the time he stepped outside, the grumpiness had gotten to him even more. He knew it wasn’t the worker’s fault, but it wasn’t fair for him to make him wait longer than he’d expected. It was just poor customer service all around. This guy was an amateur. And Avery knew a thing or two about providing good customer service!

Avery pulled out his keys to hit the unlock button and felt one of them graze his cufflink. Sure enough, there truly was a black, luxurious-looking car in Spot #1. “Holy shit,” Avery said, although his face didn’t emote much. The sunlight warmed his slender figure the more he stepped into it. Immediately, Avery began to feel warmer all over. New tendrils of hair were stemming from nearly every major body part, resulting in a moderate light dusting all over him. His chest however, was a different story. From his waistline up, hair exploded out of his skin like an overgrown savannah. Luckily, the hair on his back and shoulders was far less pronounced, resembling more of a chaparral biome compared to the grassy fur pelt that had engulfed his chest. Most noticeably, the few tendrils of his exposed chest hair stretched up toward the sun like plant stalks. Avery would’ve been furious that he was becoming hairier than he’d ever imagined, but the infinite soft pinpricks felt like a full-body massage that was rewarding him for walking closer to the car.

Peering down at his chest, Avery was met with an eyeful of bush. Just below, his eyes gravitated to his hairy, exposed legs. Even weirder was the fact that there were two black….things around Avery’s calves that were holding up his socks, which had also shifted from cotton white socks to a pair of stretchy black nylons. Before he could comprehend what he was seeing, his shorts suddenly started moving on their own. They stretched down his long legs, covering up even more of his hairy body. His new pair of pants expanded in width, which became more than accommodating for his enormous bubble butt. The new material maintained its stretchiness as it puckered around his rump and also amassed an extra bunch of fabric over his crotch. A metal zipper etched itself just above his cock, preventing any more discomfort. The final touch was a sartorial display of thin white pinstripes down the legs of his brand new dress pants. “Ah that’s better,” Avery smiled, his mind quickly forgetting the asinine idea that he would ever wear anything but wool dress pants out in public. His glee was forced down again. This was just the outfit he’d been wearing to work every day for years. And with that, the hairy and oddly-shaped gentleman opened the driver’s side door to his Mercedes and eagerly sat down inside.

The interior of the car left Avery speechless. Granted he knew virtually nothing about cars, but this seemed extremely nice! The seats and the steering wheel were both an eclectic shade of light gray accentuated by a faint sapphire glow coming from the dashboard. The center console was a gorgeous shade of mahogany, complete with a multitude of buttons to adjust the vehicle. Most interestingly, Avery detected a faint yet permeating odor. The smell wasn’t bad per say, but its distinctly earthy aroma reminded him of a campfire. Maybe the dealership had chosen to spray some bougie car freshener. He placed his coffee down in the cupholder just below it and twiddled his fingers excitedly as he placed them on the steering wheel. His jowls still prevented a full-toothed smile, but the close-lipped smirk on his face was irrefutable. A large rectangular screen lay in the center that quickly connected to the Bluetooth on Avery’s phone. 

“STARTING ROUTE TO WORK,” the car’s robotic GPS voice said at a volume much too loud so Avery jumped up and turned down the volume. On the center screen, the maps app had opened up and presented Avery with a route to follow. The ETA in the bottom right corner read only ten minutes away. It was crazy that the car had already calibrated to his phone. 

Excitedly, Avery sunk his rear deeper into his comfy chair and put the car in reverse. Unacquainted with driving any kind of luxury vehicle, he drove very cautiously through the lot. The car responded exceptionally well to the subtleties of his footwork, even when he lightly tapped the brakes to turn onto the main street. The acceleration was incredible too and within a minute, Avery found that driving this car was like second nature to him. Any vestigial trepidation about inhabiting an object so luxurious dissipated as he turned up the radio. All was going fine until Avery turned onto a freeway and felt a weird tingling sensation in his crotch. It was a deep, bubbling sensation and he could feel it in his balls.

He divvied up a speedy glance at his bulge before putting his eyes back on the road and was shocked to see that the miniscule lump in his pants was expanding. “OOOH,” he moaned as the lump in his pants inflated and became two. The once-baseless fabric now housed a brand new growing pair of bull-sized balls that now softly rested on the driver’s seat. Avery was in awe. His cock bobbed up as he felt the pulsing waves of new cum churning around his balls. There was no denying he was a larger than life man with these two kumquats on display. They also distended down and now tacitly rested on the leather seat. The feeling of two new buoys outgrowing his mediocre cock was enough to cause it to change next. At one point Avery had been nervous about changing, but that fear was vanishing. His lust for power, wealth, and a larger body was taking its place.

“MMMM!” Avery moaned through his pursed lips, hearing his deep rumble reverberate through the vehicle. His cock was getting aroused and in that process, it was also growing larger and wider than it had ever been before. As it elongated, it pointed up towards the sky, taking his tight underwear with it, causing them to constrict his balls. Avery’s cheeks became flushed red with both lust and discomfort. Taking his hand off the wheel, he sat up in his seat and tugged on his confining underwear to liberate his crushed bulge. Thankfully, the action proved to be successful. Beneath the cover of his suit pants, Avery’s black boxers finally stretched around his groin, becoming a size fit for a giant like him. The elastic waistband strengthened, allowing it to sit firmly yet comfortably around his gigantic bulge and butt. The cheap polyester material promptly dyed itself white and finished its movement, settling itself as a luxurious pair of silk briefs. 

“Much better,” Avery sighed, feeling his cock sit comfortably in the underwear’s ample pouch, however his tone sounded more irritated than gracious. He didn’t smile, instead he tenderly brought one of his hands down and began to caress his longer cock, almost as if he was in a trance. With dopamine flooding his brain, Avery stroked away for a minute until his arm was suddenly pushed against the steering wheel, nearly setting off the horn.

Before he could react, a loud ringtone blared through his speakers. A caller by the name of Joel appeared on the display screen, but Avery quickly denied the call. 

“What the hell?” he growled furiously as he realized his arm had been propelled forward by his stomach of all things. Glancing down, he noticed that his view of his meaty bulge was now obstructed by his stomach, which looked…bloated? It dipped over the lip of his gym shorts, dangling over like a potato sack. As Avery tried to get comfortable in the seat, the new pudge jiggled with him. He put his eyes back on the road and sneered to himself. “I’ve never even had a belly before.” It wasn’t like the thirty pounds his stomach had gained was atrocious, but it certainly made him look more portly than studly.

“TAKE EXIT 15B TO THATCHER BLVD.”

Avery perked up and quickly obeyed the disembodied GPS voice, remembering that he was still driving a moving vehicle after all. As the frenzy of new hormones continued swimming through his bulging body, a subconscious thought escaped his lips. “Hmm, this isn’t the exit to the steakhouse.” He pondered aloud before questioning himself. Where the hell did he work again? He sure as hell didn’t work at no damn steakhouse. 

THUMP!

Suddenly, Avery was propelled back into the driver’s seat. At first, he’d thought his airbag had been deployed, however a few inspective touches revealed the culprit to be his stomach - which was now straining the fabric of his dress shirt. It looked like he had swallowed a balloon and its new weight didn’t feel the greatest as it rested against his cock and balls. His red suspenders, once straight lines, had become a pair of strained parentheses. Avery slowed down to a stop at the red light at the bottom of the turnpike. 

“TURN RIGHT ONTO THATCHER BLVD.”

Turning the wheel was a lot tougher for Avery with this giant gut smushed against it, but he managed. He wished he could back his seat up and give himself some literal breathing room, but he was in the middle of traffic and had no clue how to. He glanced down at the freakishly massive bulb resting in place of where his slim midsection usually was. “God, is this really my-”

“IN A HALF MILE, YOUR DESTINATION WILL BE ON THE RIGHT.”

“Thank God,” Avery huffed as he turned onto the suburban road. The sour expression returned to his face as he squirmed in his seat, trying his best to feel less compacted. He was growing more desperate to leave the car. His stomach felt like a lead weight, uncomfortably stuffed up against the wheel like an unstretched accordion. The street led him past a few businesses until it eventually instructed him to turn onto a small cobblestone road that more closely resembled a public plaza. Ten stories of the adjacent office buildings surrounded the tiny sidestreet, shielding it from any harsh sunlight. Avery huffed with frustration, perplexed by this foreign dead end street. Where the hell was he supposed to park? 

A soft rapping on his side window by a man in a tuxedo startled him. Confused, Avery rolled down his window. 

“Good afternoon Mr. Hutton,” the attendant said with a nod of his head. “How were the repairs on your vehicle?”

“They went fine,” Avery curtly replied. There was an awkward moment of silence between the two as Avery undid his seat belt and pulled his seat back, finally allowing his medicine ball-sized belly some breathing room. “So what do you guys do?” he asked curiously, still semi-oblivious to what was happening. 

“Um…We’re the valet, sir,” the attendant replied, still awkwardly holding the door open.

“Right! Of course!” Avery barked as he opened up his car door. “I was just testing you of course.” He tried to whimsically grin, but his face once again showed no emotion. 

Stepping out of the car proved to be a difficult feat for the plump young man. The first thing he did was snatch his briefcase from the passenger’s seat and after two failed tries, he finally hoisted his massive frame onto the pavement. The first thing he noticed as he stood up with his new weight was the sheer, burly breadth. The globular cynosure that his belly had become was surprisingly firm, powerfully stretching out his white dress shirt and hovering just above his dress pants. He stumbled around for a moment, moving his legs back and forth to reposition his weight. His medicine ball sized gut and glutes remained firm and mostly stationary during these movements, indicating that they consisted of firm muscle. Meanwhile, the Mercedes bounced up and down, now alleviated by the absence of its three-hundred pound owner. Avery just stood there for a moment, subtly gawking at his new frame. It was like he had teleported to a whole new dimension since he left the dealership. 

“Oh!” the attendant chirped, bending over to grab something from the ground. “It appears you dropped this, sir.”

“Thanks,” Avery replied with little emotion as he reflexively grabbed the object, which he quickly discerned to be a cigar. He froze - he wasn’t a smoker - and wanted to return it, but suddenly, he was inundated by its aroma - that earthy, wooden, and tantalizingly familiar-smelling tobacco. It was exactly that faint smell that he’d noticed in the car when he’d first stepped inside. 

“Oh!” the attendant piped up, looking at Avery from his own car. “And would you like the coffee you have in here, sir?” “Of course not,” Avery snarled, almost annoyed that this guy was taking up more of his time. “Throw it away.”

The valet attendant just nodded and drove the car towards the parking garage entrance in the distance. He then looked down at the cigar, which looked like it had shrunk? Or had his hand swelled larger? The twelve gauge humidor in his hand looked to be as wide as one of his sausage fingers and it was completely dominated by his oven mitt-sized hand. It felt so inconsequential and so familiar. Avery wondered for a moment what the appeal was behind these things. They seemed like a waste of time. Didn’t it take like 30 minutes to smoke one? The smell was rather pleasant, but Avery wrinkled his nose with disapproval. He couldn’t be bothered and he sure as hell wouldn’t smoke one that had touched the dirty pavement anyway. 

Carelessly, he chucked the object on the ground and gallivanted away, or rather, he tried to.  His speedy stride had morphed into a lethargic waddle and even a simple fifty-foot walk to the front entrance took a lot longer. He realized it required a lot more effort to control his brawny frame. Just walking to the front door was a laborious lower-body workout, however his legs promptly remedied that problem by thickening up with muscle with every step he took. His young, skinny thighs widened with impenetrable muscle to match the proportions of his gigantic bubble butt. His shins and calves promptly gained the same sturdiness, solidifying into football-sized stanchions trained by years of exercise bolstering his massive figure. In no time, his muscular legs hugged his dress pants as tightly as his bulge and butt did. 

Looking straight ahead, he noticed a shiny, metallic plaque above the front door to the office building that read: HUTTON AGENCIES. 

“Hutton,” Avery murmured. It was odd to see his last name on full display, but then he realized something. His face twitched and fell back into a gruff, almost grumpy expression. “That’s right,” he grunted. “I’m the boss.” 

His cock ascended at that thought. He was already so hard from the drive over. It felt so perfect thumping between the underside of his hairy belly and the pendulous balls that swung below it. He hadn’t cum in a few days. Damn late-night shifts at the restaurant…err...office. This was where he worked now! He could picture himself on top of the pyramid, both metaphorically and literally. It was what we deserved, right? Avery could envision his top-story office so vividly - the bookshelf, the comfy leather office chair, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the view of the downtown skyline in the distance. A blooming, unshakable confidence filled Avery as he entered the front door. He needed to get there - that was his palace - his home away from home. 

The automatic doors opened up, blasting Avery with a gust of cool air. In front of him was a modern and rather expansive lobby filled with a sizable assortment of well-dressed people walking in and out of a labyrinth of office doors. As Avery looked at them, they all immediately diverted their gaze. A woman who had been walking towards the front door turned around when she saw the hulking, boy-faced giant who was blocking it. Avery rolled his shoulders and felt them stretch out his tight dress shirt, giving him a brand new boxy shape that made his neck disappear. 

“There you are, sir!” came a man’s voice from behind him.

Avery tried to crane his neck, but found that his new bulky shoulders and trap muscles inhibited that action, so he turned his whole body around to face the culprit. Walking up to him was a semi-tall, decently-built man with a head of thick brown hair who looked to be in his late 20s. As the guy got closer, Avery realized he had to be at least double his size. 

“How were the repairs on your vehicle?” 

“They went swell,” Avery replied with a stone-faced expression. He pulled on one of his red suspenders, loving the firm tug they had on his dress shirt. 

“Good, good,” the man replied, maintaining his close-lipped smile. He then hit the button for the elevator he was standing next to and Avery waddled closer, figuring if he was the boss, his office must be on the top floor. The young man spoke again, having to crane his neck up slightly towards his superior. “Didn’t you get my call?” he asked. 

“Oh! That was you?” Avery asked, remembering the strange phone call he’d gotten in his Mercedes. 

“Yes it was,” the guy replied, a hint of vexation in his voice. “We talked about this. You have to hit the call button twice in your car.”

“I know, I know,” Avery said, waving his hands in dissuasion. “I just didn’t want to be bothered.” His eyes widened with disbelief at his own earnest rudeness. 

The elevator dinged and the assistant stepped inside and Avery promptly followed. Thankfully there were no other passengers as Avery’s mammoth frame filled the vast majority of the elevator. Even his personal assistant Joel was in a corner as he pressed a button. 

“I understand, sir,” Joel replied. “I only wanted to get you up to speed for the rest of today.”

Avery’s browbones thickened, causing his eyebrows to drop lower and frame a permanently stern expression. “Of course. Well, I’m here now so, let’s get to it.”. For a millisecond, he was amazed that Joel hadn’t retaliated about his unapologetic disinterest, but then he remembered he was the boss. And the gratifying thought of that only made his erection sprout higher behind his fly.

Joel began to ramble about some kind of important meeting, but Avery couldn’t help but get distracted by his own hulking body. As the elevator climbed higher, he noticed a new presence just below his chin. Avery’s pecs exploded in size, reaching a circumference he’d never thought possible on anyone other than a porn star. They hovered just like two dinner plates above his gut. His nipples also widened and became extremely perky and sensitive as they pointed straight ahead. Was it possible for nipples to get hard…or to feel this sensitive? It was a wonder his dress shirt hadn’t ripped. A network of vascular back muscles stretched in tandem, tugging the luxurious polyester in the opposite direction. Avery shot Joel a glance, but the fresh-faced assistant didn’t bat an eye and kept on rambling as if nothing was happening. 

A resounding “DING!” filled the air as the elevator finished its ascent to the top floor. Simultaneously, there was an equally loud “PING!” from Avery’s shirt collar as the top two buttons flew from his shirt collar and pattered on the floor. The change hardly fazed the boy-faced boss’s mind. Instead, he treated himself to a quick peek at the two hairy coconuts of his. The soft black tendrils of chest hair were like overgrown vines guarding his pair of tight muscular tits, which like his belly, hardly shook with his movements. For a brief moment, he just stood still, transfixed by the way his bodybuilder-sized breasts bobbed up and down with his heavy breathing, which also was starting to change. 

“Oh! It appears you dropped this,” Joel chirped without any visible fuss, obsequiously bending over to pick something off of the ground.

Avery held out his hand and realized what Joel had picked up was definitely not a shirt button. In his oversized hand was another cigar identical to the one he’d been given at the valet! This time he didn’t even hesitate. Of course, he was a cigar smoker - all the executives here were. That familiar earthy fragrance he’d once found revolting was now so vividly nostalgic. A luxurious craving burrowed its way into his brain and he wanted so badly to smoke it there, but he knew he couldn’t. It would set a poor example for the staff after all. 

As Joel stepped out of the elevator, Avery inattentively tucked the cigar away into his suit jacket. He felt warmer all of a sudden as if another layer of clothing had materialized over his torso. Wait a minute…Since when had he been wearing a blazer? He stopped in place for a moment and gawked at himself with wonder. Not only was he draped in a buttoned-up dapper black suit jacket, but a resplendent scarlet tie now ran down from his collar across his globular stomach. The sportcoat was indeed slimming, but no article of clothing could suppress the immense curvature of Avery’s stomach. Avery shook himself out of his reverie and began shuffling out of the elevator, immediately falling in love with the firm clutch of his jacket. Even the buttons to Avery’s shirt collar had repaired themselves, allowing the top of his gorgeous tie to be displayed properly. Now he fully looked the part of a boss. 

Joel stepped out of the elevator and into a lobby around a quarter of the size of the one downstairs. This one seemed to be far less populated than the one downstairs.

“Good afternoon Mr. Hutton,” chirped the young male receptionist at the front desk. 

Avery didn’t reply - he never did -  he just curtly nodded as he followed his assistant into the executive office suites. A symphony of keyboards clacking filled his ears as he and Joel entered a new open office space. There were only around twenty employees either working at their desk or conversing at tables, but they all avoided Avery’s gaze as he walked past. The distinct tapping of his wingtips served as a metronome for his sluggish gait, and as a reminder to all that he was the boss. His cock sprouted against his trousers. It felt incredible to be feared. What felt even more incredible was the undulating rhythms all of his muscular body parts had. He caught glimpses of his brawny reflection in the office windows he passed by. The S-shape of his burly stomach and protrusive ass was so ridiculously sexy, not to mention how resplendent his clothing looked on him. Even his face looked more intimidating - more strained, more serious, as if he hadn’t smiled in years.  

“Sir,” Joel piped up. “Also just a reminder that your board meeting is at 2.” “Ah right,” Avery replied, oblivious to the fact that his deep voice had developed a new gravely tone. “Is this the one with the O’Leary Trust?” 

“No, that one is at 3.”

“What a late time for a meeting,” Avery griped. “Ah well, as long as it won’t cut into my family dinner tonight.” His petty vexation began to dissipate as the duo exited the chatter of the office floor and approached a side hallway where the words “CEO OFFICE” were painted above the wooden door in big chunky letters. Avery’s bulge was now at full mast as he knew it was time to enter his new palace.

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Joel replied, feigning interest. “Who will be there?”

“Just my sons and I,” Avery retorted just as they stopped outside the office door. Unconsciously, he reached for a key from his suit jacket and unlocked the door. “Of course the grandkids will…be there too.” That word made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He’d accepted that he was becoming a boss, but was he ready to become a father? And also a grandfather?!

“Well that sounds excellent,” Joel said with an unassuming smile as he backed away from the office door, nearly bumping into one of Avery’s round glutes. “Breeze up on those papers on your desk and I’ll meet you in the conference hall at 2, okay sir?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Avery replied in a despondent tone, uncharacteristic to this new man he was becoming. A wave of sobriety was rushing through him. Subconsciously, he ran a hand through his short, unkempt facial hair, feeling the familiar brush of a French cuff against his weak chin.  “A…grandfather,” he repeated to himself disbelievingly as he stepped through the office door. 

Mr. Hutton’s office - the one he’d been having hallucinatory flashes of all day - lay right in front of him. It was all his. Avery wanted to be ecstatic, but found that the idea of aging was frightening him. 

“I can’t be…old.”

At the utterance of that last word, all of Avery’s self-imposed confidence accumulated throughout the day seemed to vanish from him. He dropped his briefcase on the wood floor and examined this unfamiliar place - this glorious, unfamiliar place. He didn’t want to be old. He was only 20 years old! It had been a joy to grow and inflate larger all day, but Avery wasn’t ready to be a goddamn grandfather! 

“What the hell is happening to me,” Avery huffed to himself, his juvenile mannerisms resurfacing. Everything about this room tantalized the soon-to-be CEO with its maturity. There was a towering bookshelf filled with files and an assortment of reading material resting in front of a wonderfully huge window left ajar allowing a soft breeze to waft through. Resting on one of the three Persian rugs that occupied the floor was the office’s centerpiece - the freshly lacquered cherrywood desk that Avery had pictured. There was even a private bathroom! A leather office chair was tucked into the extremely tidy fixture, which was holding a computer, a few loose papers, and a shining name plaque, which read GENE L. HUTTON in bold letters. 

A singular drop of sweat dripped from Avery’s forehead as he hovered over the desk. “Is that…my name?” he asked himself. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a red satin pocket square that had not been there moments before and he used it to wipe his forehead. A body this big generated a lot more heat in every area. “Ugh, no!” he exclaimed as he took notice of the red handkerchief and flung it onto the desk. He itched one of his angular forearms nervously. It felt like he was trapped in a vortex of impending adulthood and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

Warily, he trudged closer to his desk and delicately placed one of his manicured hands onto the top of his office chair. His bulge pounced upwards at the touch. He could actually be a real adult. There would be no more rules, no more starvation wages, and certainly no more stress. This new life, it had all the answers he wanted. Sure he was a grumpy schmuck, but his wealth was beyond compare. “My name is A-Avery,” the young man stuttered, trying to recollect his past. It was all so hazy now. 

Unable to resist the temptation anymore, Avery plopped his supple butt into the chair as his right hand gingerly unzipped his suit pants. His nine inch wonder tumbled out in all its glory, only making the boss more excited than ever. He pulled open a drawer and snatched a small tub of lotion. He promptly squirted some onto his hand and began to stroke away. 

As the boss rubbed his thick shaft up and down, an onslaught of new memories came flying in that quickly corroded his old ones. Memories of being a scrawny, stressed waiter were quickly replaced by memories of owning a business, the countless important meetings he partook in, and of course, the luxury. “I c-can’t believe that…I remember everything,” the suited goliath accepted, his new voice rife with animalistic ferocity. Recollections of his old apartment were replaced by recollections of an opulent four-story mansion right by a lake on the edge of town. The Hutton house was one of the nicest estates in the metro area, fit with an array of luxurious rooms, all decorated with extravagant rugs and marble walls and floors. Memories of the boss’s old friends and coworkers faded, replaced by a genuine tender love for his close family and a rather uppity, standoffish persona with everyone else. 

“My name…my name is Gene-very,” the boss huffed, his bright blue eyes widening at the realization that he couldn’t even say his name correctly anymore. His despair was the final catalyst needed to give him a brand new older face. The first thing to change about the boss was his weak chin, which abruptly widened to a sharp, angular state while his neck was simultaneously swallowed up by fat. Next, his blonde unkempt neckbeard and whiskers immediately flaked off, leaving him with a brand new clean-shaven face. With his unsavory facial hair gone, the boss couldn’t resist moving a hand up to feel the clean-shaven bristles beneath his fingertips. His fingers caressed his multiple chins, which bounced up and down with his fervent stroking.

The boss stroked harder and harder, edging himself further as his mind continued trying in vain to challenge his fate. “I ca-can’t be changing,” he cried. In response to his anguished statement, a display of sharp wrinkles etched themselves across the man’s face. Even his jowls intensified, giving him a no-nonsense, eternally sullen expression. A sensual oral massage commenced inside of the boss’s mouth as his slightly-curved teeth immediately straightened and transformed into a pair of expensive, flawless veneers. His lips also grew a little fuller although they soon became surrounded by more tiny wrinkles. Dark circles formed around his eyes and his nose ballooned out, becoming an unmissable ball in the center of his widening face. 

“My name is Gene Hutton,” the middle-aged man bellowed, as an affirmation to himself. A spurt of precum dripped down over his wrist and onto his Rolex. The boss furrowed his brow, making sure that none of it touched his gorgeous suit pants. As he did, a trifecta of three horizontal lines burrowed their way across his forehead followed by extremely-pronounced crow’s feet around his eyes. The final thing to go was the boss’s boyish short blonde hair. Its volume dwindled and dwindled while its longer curls were reduced to a very short men’s cut. The sandy blonde coloration promptly darkened to a deep sable black with gray around the temples - a reminder that he was a newly-minted grandfather. He’d only just started to accept his salt and pepper hair and stop dyeing his gray roots black. He looked so stern with lighter hair and he found that he loved his new age. It gave him tenure and it forced people to respect him even more. To finalize his approval, a faint bald spot opened up over the back of his head as he finished aging into a wealthy 55 year old business daddy. 

The boss shifted his weight in his chair, feeling every part of his massive frame jiggle with his movement. He was now only seconds away from orgasming and he could only deeply moan with anticipation as he knew he was about to lose everything forever. He was okay with it though. In fact, he knew it was what needed to happen. He knew he would be so much happier as a gruff, wealthy older man for the rest of his days. He had no recollection of what job he did in his past life, but he knew he belonged here. Right here. In this chair and this executive office. He was meant to be a grumpy older man. He had a wife and three kids who were having kids of their own. It was just who he was. This room was his. This body, crafted by a mixture of exercise and excessive eating, was all his. This life could be all his and all he had to do was surrender to the idea of being a rude, snobby, and wealthy grandfather who never had to pretend to be nice to anyone ever again. He was the boss and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. It was what he deserved. 

Gene Hutton snatched the red handkerchief from the table and shot his seed straight into it. The release was unbelievable. His show-stopping glutes clenched together as what felt like the most powerful load in his lifetime poured out of him for the next ten seconds. All of Gene’s muscles and that big belly of his all bounced together in unison with his movements until he finally laid back in his chair, totally spent. He then delicately ran the handkerchief up and down his cock, eager to drain himself of every last drop. “Fuck,” he curtly moaned to himself as his gigantic pecs heaved up and down with his ecstatic breaths. He was such a pro at getting off in the office. He never got spunk on any of his clothes. Gene examined his humongous, hairy body, which was faintly moist with perspiration all over and gave one of his muscular breasts a long, tender squeeze. As his orgasmic bliss began to fade, he glanced down at his Rolex, and flicked the prespunk off of it. It read 1:30 P.M. He still had a half-hour till that next meeting of his. 

Now Gene had to clean up his mess - the only mess that he didn’t have assistants clean up. 

He zipped his pants back up and threw open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a cleaning kit. This was a routine of his. Firstly, he tucked away the contaminated pocket square into a tiny, discrete bag of his - the likes of which he would pack away at the end of the day when he took his briefcase home with him. 

Usually, Gene’s next step was to grab one of his Armani cologne bottles and spritz the room and his clothes, but he had other plans. He needed his cigar first. Generally, he smoked it before jerking off, but today he had apparently been way too excited to wait. 

It took a few seconds for the mighty middle-aged behemoth to hoist himself to his feet, but his toil was rewarded by the routine sensation of his nylon socks pressing into his wingtips, which sharply clacked across the floor as he flicked on the vent in his private bathroom. The vent paired with his wide open office window always rid the office of his beautiful smoke. Gene adored the erotic smell of cigars, but he was a professional after all and needed to smell and look acceptable to everyone. If the boss was slacking on anything, it would give his staff ideas and he certainly couldn’t have that. 

Gene plucked one of his luxurious cigars from his coat pocket and lit up. That familiar earthy tone inundated his nostrils as he laid back into his office chair. He rubbed his belly as he exhaled his first cloud, which billowed across the room. He readjusted his flaccid yet still noticeable bulge in his pants and daydreamed for a moment. 

“I’m really a grandfather,” Gene said to himself, almost as a question to himself, as he touched the silver hair on one of his temples. His eyes drifted to a picture on his desk of his family. Him and his colossal gut took up the entire right half of the photo with his belly while his sons and their spouses took up the left side. The picture of the five of them had been taken only three years ago and even then. He’d definitely freaked out the first time his oldest son Malcolm told him his wife was expecting, but now he’d come to accept this fact. Fatherhood was long over for Gene as Malcolm and his other son Leo were now well into their thirties and both now had children of their own. Gene was so proud of his sons. He could envision the two of them now, both dressed up classy like they were in that photo on his desk, at an extravagant steak dinner, just like the one they were going to tonight. 

Gene had been divorced from his sons’ mother for the last ten years, and he’d found himself enjoying his new freedom. He’d discovered how much pleasure he could give himself in solitude. People were always genuinely shocked when they heard that Mr. Hutton, the stern CEO who never smiles at anybody, enjoys philanthropy, reading, and listening to opera in his free time. Opera was the boss’s favorite pastime. He wondered if his grandkids would enjoy some calming Luciano Pavarotti like he did considering his two sons could care less for it.

“I am a grandfather,” Gene repeated, this time far more accepting. After all, he had his hobbies and job to keep him young. His love of exercise also kept him healthy and huge too. Malcolm and Leo had also gotten into weightlifting, just like their father. Perhaps they took it more seriously than even he did considering their father had a rather rotund figure. When Gene had been a bodybuilder in his younger days, he never would’ve imagined he’d enjoy being big in a totally different way, but he’d really come to love his torpedo belly over the past few years though. It felt nice to maintain an appearance based on his own standard. 

Mr. Hutton took another drag and sighed. He was ready to go out to the steak dinner he had planned tonight and catch up with his sons. He just hoped these meetings he had for the remainder of the day didn’t drag. He was a busy, important man, and innately pugnacious - a white collared tyrant. He was the harshest yet wealthiest man in the building and one of the richest in the whole metro area. That only added to his mysticism. The very few times Mr. Hutton ever did dish out compliments, people could never tell if he was being serious or not. That towering stature of his and his no-nonsense attitude sent fear into all of his employees although that was the way it should be. As a CEO, his job was to make the company the best that it could possibly be. After all, he is the boss and whatever he says, goes. 

(Thanks for reading and here's a reminder that any donation is immensely appreciated. 😘)

[visceral-stories]

Just a lil' update

Hello all, just wanted to say that my creative process may be a little inhibited for the next few months. I'm in my final semester of college and I've been pretty bogged down with work and school and the future and all that fun, chaotic stuff.

I'm currently am working on a new TF but it won't be out for quite some time. I just wanted to say thank you all for supporting me and I promise some new, fresh stories will be coming your way later this year!

♥️

[visceral-stories]

Stronger Together

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The time read 8:45 P.M. on the dashboard of Colton Henley’s black Toyota as he pulled into his local gym’s parking lot, which contained only eight parked cars. His best friend Dylan Washburn was sitting in the passenger’s seat playing on his phone while the two listened to Colton’s music. Over the last month, the pair had started a ritual of going to the gym together every few days, mostly as a way to encourage the other to go. They had also chosen to go to a gym that was a few miles away in an adjacent suburb since it was not nearly as hectic as the one at their college. 

“So what are you gonna workout today?” Colton asked as he put the car in park and turned to his friend. 

“Probably everything,” Dylan laughed as he looked up from his phone. “Midterms kicked my ass, dude. I swear to god, every time I close my eyes, I can still see all the equations we had to memorize.”

Colton pulled his key out of the ignition. “Do you think you passed ‘em all at least?”

“I’d better have after all that studying,” Dylan replied, putting his phone in his pocket and opening the passenger side door. “What about you?” 

“I think I did decent for the most part,” Colton replied as he also stepped out of the car. He and Dylan then opened up the door to the backseat and grabbed their respective gym bags. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if I flunked that organic chemistry one though. That shit had no reason being that hard!” 

“Ugh, so true dude,” Dylan replied as he began to walk toward the front door. The two walked side by side in brief silence as the faint green glow of the flickering neon letters above the gym’s door illuminated their bodies. With a taller and slightly fatter build compared to his best friend, Colton had been the one to propose the gym routine. He wanted to lose weight and burn off the extra thirty pounds that had accumulated on him over the course of the last year, which mostly consisted of rigorous schoolwork. Dylan had been more than happy to support his best friend, especially since it was also an excuse to get himself in the gym. Having had a high metabolism his whole life, he wanted to see if he could finally put some meat on his bones. “So what are you gonna work out?” Dylan asked.

Colton opened the driver’s side door and thought for a brief second. “Probably everything,” he said, playfully imitating Dylan’s voice.

Dylan just laughed as the pair of twenty-three-year-olds walked in. They smiled at the receptionist and scanned their key cards before stepping into the wide and mostly unoccupied gym. The pair had grown to love this place. There were never more than a few other gym patrons and there was an abundance of available machines. The same could not be said about their campus gym, which was littered with students all day and night. Sure, this gym was located in a distant suburb, but the tranquil atmosphere was more than worth it. 

A wall coated with a surprisingly high quantity of pictures on it guided the journey to the locker rooms. Despite seeing it every time they came here, the two men always studied it as they walked by. There was a surprisingly high quantity of buff-looking men and women lined on the wall, many of whom were flexing those ridiculously-sized muscles and exhibiting their proudest smiles. Weirdly enough however, there was one brief part of the wall that was just a bright yellow square. It severely clashed with the collage of pictures and certainly hadn’t been there in the past. The two didn’t comment on it, but they both wondered what that sudden vacancy on the wall was all about. 

As they reached the men’s locker room, Colton was just about to open the door before it swung open all of a sudden. “Whoa!” he exclaimed as he collided with the locker room door and lost his balance. 

Instinctively, Dylan reached out his arm to prevent his friend from falling on his ass, but unfortunately, the little arm-strength he had did not save him from slipping down with his friend and caused the duo to plop down to the floor with a dull thump. Luckily, they caught themselves with their hands and knees so as to not fall over completely. 

Now irritated, both men glanced back up to see a huge man step out from the huge wooden door. The guy looked like he was from a magazine! He had an extremely macho face, framed by perfectly plump lips, an extremely broad chin, and a backward blue cap on his head. Most notable however were his enormous biceps that looked like they could easily crush skulls! They were so thick and veiny, like nothing the two boys had ever seen up close before. Despite this impressive physique, this guy couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Colton and Dylan. As the muscular guy stepped further, his cocky grin quickly turned into a look of concern. 

“Oh shoot, man. I didn’t see ya there. Here, let me help you up,” he said, immediately walking toward him and obliviously stepping past Colton in the process. The guy extended his brawny arm as he made eye contact with Dylan. Surprised by the guy’s clear compassion, Dylan grabbed ahold of the man’s arm and was hoisted back on his feet with impressive speed. “So sorry about that, dude,” the guy said sympathetically, a look of genuine sorrow on his square face.

“Oh, it’s um…all good,” Dylan replied, still dazzled by the size of this guy. He had to be at least a foot taller than him and he probably weighed two-hundred pounds more!

“Are you sure?” the guy asked once more.

“Yea, I’m totally fine,” Dylan repeated, trying to maintain his cool. This guy looked like he was pulled from the cover of some fitness magazine. His attire of a black tank top and skimpy gym shorts practically looked painted onto his vascular frame. 

By this time, Colton had propped himself back on his feet after slowly hoisting himself back up with zero help from the clumsy jock. A scornful look appeared on his face, the complete opposite of Dylan’s elated grin, as he thought about how this guy had actually knocked him to the floor yet was apologizing to Dylan. “Ow, that hurt dude,” Colton muttered in an attempt to draw attention as he begrudgingly dusted himself off. 

Just then, two of the most massive men Dylan and Colton had ever seen stepped out of the locker room, nearly bumping into their friend whose broad frame took up most of the doorway. “Did klutzy Zeke here knock you over?” one of them bellowed with a smug grin. 

Dylan and Colton were speechless. The two additional jocks were tall and towered over them, leering down at him menacingly. They both were extremely handsome with buff physiques. Their perfectly sharp cheekbones and straight teeth caused hot waves of anxiety to spark through the younger men..However, just like their friend, sympathetic expressions appeared on the other two jocks’ faces as they made eye contact with Dylan. To say Dylan was flabbergasted was an understatement. Like excited children, all three jocks talked to him at the same time. 

“Again, I’m sorry for pushing you over, man.”

“Have you been doing alright?” “We haven’t seen ya around the gym in a while, bro.”

Dylan wasn’t sure which guy to look at. “Oh yes, uh…thank you…a lot,” was all that came out as his knees began to tremble in place. Even though these guys seemed super friendly, the young man had trouble releasing that nervousness. Regardless, Dylan still smiled broadly and ran a hand through his black hair and readjusted his glasses in an effort to look more suave for the guys.

Colton, meanwhile, just sulked speechlessly. One of the bodybuilder jerks was still holding the door open, thereby trapping him in the corner. Any attempts of him trying to communicate with Dylan or the jocks were drowned out by their insipid bickering. All three of them didn’t even bother to look at him, like he didn’t even exist. Even Dylan was too starstruck to even glance over at his best friend.

The first guy spoke up once more, his voice still shockingly devoid of sarcasm as he spoke to Dylan. “Alright dude, me and my bros here are gonna go lift, but we should totally talk after, you game?”

“Yeah, yeah! Totally, for sure!” Dylan said, sounding a little too excited for a moment before he dialed it back. 

“Word. Say, what’s your name again, big man?”

“Dylan.”

“And I’m his friend Colton!” Colton said, his figure still visible behind the open door. To his dismay, not one of the jocks even looked over at him, as if they didn’t even register his voice. Dylan didn’t either, but Colton figured his friend was focused on other things based on the starstruck look on his face. 

“We’ll see you round, dude,” the head jock replied, ignoring Colton’s comment completely before heading away to the machines with his brigade of bros in tow, both of whom patted Dylan on the shoulder as they walked past, leaving the young man aghast from their interaction. 

“What the hell!” Colton griped as the last jock finally headed out. “Those assholes didn’t even acknowledge me!” he added, his previous excitement now completely replaced by indignation. 

After a moment of brief hesitation, Dylan looked over to his friend, almost like he was surprised to see him. “Oh, for real? I’m sorry about that, dude,” he said as he processed his vexation. While he’d been on cloud nine, his friend had been shunted to the side. 

“It’s whatever,” Colton sighed with a casual shrug. “Those guys look like total meatheads anyway.” 

“I guess,” Dylan acquiesced, although it didn’t sound convincing. The joy returned to his face as he gazed out toward the gym floor and could see the aforementioned meatheads  dispersing to use the unoccupied machines. It was like he was watching aliens. These men’s sizable muscles and scantily-clothed bodies were hypnotizing to watch. “You have to admit though, they are freakin’ jacked!” he smiled.

Colton noticed the genuine joy in his friend’s eyes so he decided to not push the issue any further. “I guess so,” he said apathetically as he pulled open the locker room door and stepped inside. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous toward Dylan. Why did those guys clamor over Dylan like they knew him? 

Luckily, Dylan and Colton’s workout was devoid of any more strange interactions, instead it was filled with them pushing themselves through a variety of machines. They both opted to use different machines, giving each other a smile, a nod, or a quick comment whenever they happened to pass each other by. The two seldom followed any sort of pattern or routine; they just exercised on the machines they liked and did their best to work out all muscle groups. Being beginners at the gym was tough. Half the battle was just getting to the gym. 

The next hour sped by for Colton as he fully got into the zone during his workout, doing a balance of both upper and lower body exercises. With a victorious exhale, he finished his last bicep curl and stood up from the machine. It was amazing how fast he and Dylan could complete a workout when it was this late at night. The only minor distraction Colton had faced was the sight of those pretentious bodybuilders, but unsurprisingly, they paid him no mind. One of them had even almost run into him as they walked past each other. Man, they were a clueless bunch. 

Colton strolled over to the drinking fountain, sweat still emanating from his pores. His legs felt so sore. Like extremely sore. That must’ve meant that he’d had a great workout, right? He took out his earbuds and began refilling his empty water bottle. 

A few seconds later, he perked up as he saw Dylan sidle up to the fountain next to him. His tall and slender friend was drenched in sweat. Colton flashed him a smile and Dylan gave a curt nod, but maintained a stoic expression on his face before drinking from the fountain. Judging from Dylan’s red face, wet hair, and the way his shirt clung to his sweaty torso, he was really pushing himself today. 

A sense of innocent happiness washed over Colton. It felt cheesy to think about, but he was really proud of the strides his friend was making in his fitness journey. Even though Colton had suggested the idea for a gym routine, Dylan had been the one to take it very seriously. Although he hadn't made any major gains yet, he was well on his way. The same could be said for Colton. The road to achieving gains was gradual and laborious, but at least he was making progress. And he was doing it with his best friend. The thought of that brought a smile to his face. 

Why was he suddenly feeling so sentimental over his friend?

With that thought, Colton felt a faint tingle enter his body. It was a super faint yet discernible feeling, like a pinched nerve. Rather than attempting to remedy it though, he just shrugged it off and headed back to the locker room.

The first thing Colton noticed when he entered the locker room was how humid it was. The smaller, confined space wasn’t helping - it only made his warm feeling escalate from a minor tingle into a full-body numbness that gave him goosebumps for some reason. Walking slower than usual, Colton trudged over to his gym locker and grabbed his bag. He threw it down on the bench next to his metal water bottle and began to strip out of his workout clothes in an effort to cool down. It was an uncharacteristic action, but it was late at night: there was hardly anyone else in the gym and the feeble glacial stream from the air conditioning up above was not enough. 

In a matter of a few seconds, Colton had taken off all of his clothes except for his pair of black boxer shorts. Wearily, he grabbed his gym bag from his locker and  threw the items onto it, not even bothering to unzip it. “God, it’s s…so hot in here,” he muttered weakly as he looked at how clammy his hands were. He had never felt this intensity of warmth before in his life. It wasn’t a humid heat either. It was a scorchingly arid heat that caused his sweat to dry the instant it escaped his skin, not even giving him a morsel of being cooled down. Was this what heat stroke was like?

Eager to quench his dry throat, Colton plopped down onto the bench and reached his arm out to grab his water bottle…but there was nothing there! An additional glance revealed an even more shocking discovery. His gym bag had vanished too! “What’s going on?” the poor  twenty-three year old asked, his tongue drying up as he surveyed the vacant locker room. “I…I know I put it right there,” he said, frantically looking on either side of him to no avail. 

Colton shook in place - his full-body tingles were dramatically escalating. Still tremendously disoriented, he placed his sticky hands on the bench to catch his balance. As he did, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. To his confusion and disbelief, his workout trainers were changing before his eyes as they grew larger. It took considerable effort to wiggle his toes for some reason, but he realized that his size 8 feet now had a ton of free space in his comically-oversized shoes. Quickly, they had completely dwarfed his feet, widening out to become a wide pair of size 13s. It didn’t take long before the shoes plopped off his feet and onto the ground, leaving the young man speechlessly bemused. What was even stranger was that they had changed designs upon making contact with the locker room floor. The bright colors drained out of the fabric until all that was left was now a pair of dull black workout shoes resting on the floor. 

Before Colton could even react, he realized his socks looked quite different than before. They were…gray for some reason? That was weird. Colton could’ve sworn he put on black socks this morning - they’d been the same obsidian black as his underwear. In an effort to combat his persistent tingles, Colton wiggled his toes in his changing socks to regain feeling. Then the strangest thing happened. The rapid movement caused his toes to start clinging together, as if they were made of glue. The individual lines of his toes grew increasingly more faint until they jammed together to form one solid mass. Even the curved arch of his foot looked far less pronounced. Colton could only helplessly watch his toes assimilate with his feet to become definitionless masses.

"Huh?” Colton grunted as that same tingly feeling intensified itself around his feet. It almost felt as if the stretchy polyester was melding to his skin. Suddenly, his round feet shrunk in on themselves, as if they were being vacuumed in from the inside. Now entirely consumed by the whitening, silky material, his feet continued their deflation. “What the fuck?!” Colton squeaked, a twinge of patheticness present in his voice. Helplessly, he watched as his feet shrunk and shrunk until all that remained was shapeless white, stretchy fabric. Black lines etched themselves into the brand new pair of white workout socks as they painlessly detached from his body. The lifeless pair of socks delicately plopped inside the dazzling pair of oversized gym shoes. 

“No, no, no,” Colton sputtered as he squirmed in place. He wanted so badly to find Dylan or a gym worker to beg for help, but it wasn’t like he could even walk since all that remained of his feet were a pair of inert shoes and athletic socks. Much to the young man’s horror, he was stuck alone in the locker room watching as the white color that had swallowed up his feet had no intention of stopping. “Somebody help!” he whimpered. “I-I think I’m…huh?” Colton realized that the silky fabric was creeping up his ankles and shins with nerve-wracking speed. It clung to him like cement, becoming skintight and restrictive on his legs. Quickly it surpassed his knees before reaching his thighs where the rippling wave of fabric collided with Colton’s black boxer briefs. The cotton underwear stood no chance against the flood of white silky fabric and succumbed fully beneath it. Climbing a few inches higher, the wave of white fabric finally came to a halt and tightened around Colton’s waist. “Oooohh,” he moaned, looking down at his new tight pair of white leggings. A smile reappeared on his face as he instinctively began to run a shaking hand over the soft material. Quickly, he deduced that it was stretchy spandex, and he couldn’t deny how nice it felt around his legs. The abrasive numbness was dissipating, replaced by the soft, soft polyester that delicately cradled his legs. It almost felt like they were surrounded by quicksand. The worst part was that it now felt marvelous. 

Suddenly, Colton’s legs began to swell outward beneath their veneer of tight, white spandex. They were…broadening for some reason? With supple elasticity, they bloated into a ridiculously large size that did not match his slender upper body. Excess fabric also formed around the young man’s butt and bulge, giving his loins much more space than necessary to occupy. Amazingly, the developing lycra still maintained its tightness around Colton’s legs, but even stranger was the fact that they felt entwined with it. The pleasure was dramatically intensifying. The divide between his flesh and the overpoweringly pleasant material was becoming harder and harder to discern. What was weirder was that Colton’s legs felt incredibly hollow yet far too broad and taxing to move. It was as if the spandex was merging with his nervous system. Despite being bewildered, the added pressure around his loins caused Colton’s cock to twitch beneath his thick lycra pants, which were so tight now that they practically felt like skin. It was so….comforting, like a thousand faint pinpricks stimulating every one of his skin cells. Conflicting emotions burned through his head. 

“Grrh, I…I have to get t-these things off,” Colton growled to himself, trying his very hardest not to surrender to his sensational lower-body massage. It really did feel unbelievably nice, like the comfiness of his clothes had been magnified 100 times. He grabbed at the waistband and tugged repeatedly. Sure enough, the lycra clung so tightly to him that it had practically woven itself into his skin. After a few desperate pulls, a familiar numbness filled his fingers - the same which filled his disproportionately-sized legs. “Uggghh,” the disheveled young man muttered, yanking his arms away as he felt a rush of the same euphoria fill his hands. Even more frightened, he tried to wiggle his fingers, but found it so much harder to do so. The same feeling of warm static was spreading across his upper body and he quickly began to see the effects. 

To Colton’s horror, his fingers began to recoil on their own. Involuntarily, his hands curled into a ball before they gradually disappeared from top to bottom. His hands lost their texture and detail while they vanished into thin air. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Colton panted as he watched his wrists and forearms begin to follow suit. His arm hairs and faint freckles disappeared. Even the faint mole on his left forearm faded into nothing as his arms continued retracting from existence. Losing balance, the young man fell backward onto the bench.

THUMP!

“Shit!” Colton cursed weakly, now feeling the wood of the bench against the bare skin of his back. His fatty arms were of no help to him anymore in their vestigial state. Helplessly, he felt them shrink up inside of him, the same way his feet had, dwindling down past his elbows and biceps until finally stopping at his shoulders. The young man craned his neck upward to realize he was nothing more than a torso with legs. “WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!” Colton cried as he writhed in place. His excessive fat melted away as he squirmed on the bench, trying to sit back up. His unsightly love-handles jiggled with his movement until they shrunk in on themselves and retracted back into his abdomen. Despite being shirtless, Colton still felt that immaculate warmth, almost as if it was spreading through his upper body now. That intoxicating feeling was so relaxing that it slowed the young man’s rapid heartbeat. For the first time, Colton’s pleasure began to permanently override his panic. 

“No, no, no, I…” Colton groaned defeatedly, trying not to think about how enjoyable the tight fabric felt around his legs. It was an intense comfort that eclipsed every other pleasure he had ever known. By this point, he was having trouble telling where his body ended and the spandex began. Now thoroughly addicted to his slenderizing figure, Colton continued squirming in place. As his cock rose to full mast, it delicately pressed against his leggings. The numb nerves on the head of his cock finally elicited some much needed calm in Colton and he promptly relaxed his shoulders and plopped back on the bench. “That f-feels sssso nice,” he purred, his once-anguished brain now releasing every drop of dopamine left. The pleasure was utterly debilitating.

With the shirtless young man sufficiently tranquilized, more modifications befell him. A grid of distinct black circles appeared all across them. Some patches appeared on Colton’s lower legs, some appeared on his thighs, and some appeared on either sides of his broad, hollowing ass. Seeing the designs filled Colton with a fuzzy happiness. It was wild enough that he was clearly becoming clothing, but he truly was becoming an intricately-design object. These new geometrical grids of black splotches on his lower body were meant to be curved over the wearer’s immense body. “Mmmmm,” Colton moaned, his mind now obsessing over the idea of some strong man wearing him. 

The nerves from his butt to his crotch were on fire as the refined spandex delicately glided across them. Even more pleasurable, Colton’s hole was promptly filled with the same, smooth lycra as it finished materializing over his shrinking rump. The remaining flab was absorbed into the garment followed by his dwindling genitals. A few seconds later, his lower body had all but ceased to exist now. Colton was too distracted though. The lovely feeling from the fabric was all too distracting. It was like he was cradled in a warm blanket, forever filled with its warmth. All that remained was a hollow pair of bichromatic compression pants standing up on their own.  

Colton couldn’t even focus on that however, instead his attention was diverted to his tingling torso. Out of his peripheral, he could see bright yellow fabric appear around his slimming midsection. Two thin straps materialized around his shoulders and produced more saffron polyester below, effectively concealing his pudgy stomach and back. Like the compression pants, the shirt’s textile was addictively soft. His fat torso gradually clung to it like glue, and the reward of even more fizzy fabric sensating Colton’s nerves made him even more exuberant. “MMMM,” Colton moaned with relief, as if he was at a spa receiving the best possible massage. The amorphous yellow material finally solidified into a tank top that promptly outgrew the young man’s diminishing figure. Colton craned his neck one last time to catch a look at his body. It was a flat line! Almost in slow motion, he watched as a black emblem of a muscular man etched itself into his thin chest. Its existence took away any of the remaining upper body that Colton had. His fatty pecs and pudgy stomach had all but vanished and all that remained was this giant, hollow shirt, now adorned with the gym’s logo. Still levitating in midair, the tank top broadened even further, hanging above the edges of the rectangular workout bench, as if it was ready to be occupied by a true barrel of a man. 

“I’m…I’m c-clothing. I’m b-becoming cl-clothing,” the head atop a pair of workout clothes sighed weakly. A few minutes ago, that sentence would’ve terrified him, but now, he didn’t seem to mind. The pleasure was just so euphoric and it was getting tougher to speak. His mind was draining of ideas as he stared up at the locker room fluorescent lights. The trials and tribulations of his old life were rapidly leaving his head. Study guides, lecture notes, and the dramas of being a fatigued college student were vanishing forever. Colton could still recall his best friend Dylan, who was still in the gym and completely unaware of what was happening to him. Any remnants of fear were dissipating as he thought about their wonderful friendship. Colton wished Dylan could feel an ounce as much pleasure as he was feeling right now. Even though his body was mostly reduced to a tank top and compression pants, Colton wanted to give his best friend a great life in any way he could. 

The tingling feeling was fading and Colton could feel his final memories emptying. His head began to vanish into oblivion as his neck retracted into the tank top. His human memories were promptly forgotten as his hair began to disappear from his head. At first, the idea seemed frightening, but the former man quickly adjusted to his new role. After all, he wasn’t a man anymore; he was clothing and clothing didn’t have emotions or the ability to talk. If his purpose was to serve a larger man, then so be it. 

No longer able or wanting to speak, his mouth and nose dissipated soon after. His head then disappeared fully, swallowed up by the almighty fabric. The set of workout clothes remained levitating above the bench, now with no more indication that it had ever been a twenty-three year old minutes prior. All memories of Colton faded, allowing him to entirely embody the object he was destined to be. Its human experience was all but gone now and it was totally at peace with that. In one final burst of energy, the magic left the spandex attire and caused it to lifelessly fall down into a heap on the wooden bench, anxiously waiting to be filled by a very large man. In its final thought, the spandex knew it existed for one purpose - to serve its future owner forevermore. 

—----

Dylan’s workout had been going rather smoothly. With the scant amount of other gym patrons, he had no trouble using all of the machines he needed. He reveled in pure isolation and could just immerse himself in his music. The only interaction he had was between him and a slightly pudgier guy who was staring at him at the drinking fountain. The young man had smiled broadly at Dylan so he just curtly nodded in response. The guy looked semi-familiar but he couldn’t quite place the name. As he progressed through a few more machines, all memories of Colton were vacated from his mind, replaced by memories of only ever going to the gym solo. 

Still dripping with sweat, the young man trudged over to the men’s locker room - exhausted yet triumphant. He figured he must’ve really pushed himself tonight because even the short walk to the drinking foundation felt like a voyage. With his thirst subsequently quenched, Dylan noticed that the gym was completely vacant, save for the few young jocks he’d talked to earlier. They were too engrossed in their lifts to look over at him, but Dylan still couldn’t shake that morsel of starpower he’d felt from them. It was such a pleasant surprise to have such intimidating-looking guys turn out to be super friendly, almost to the level of adulation. 

Just the recollection caused a broad grin to appear on Dylan’s face as he ambled into the men’s locker room. Luckily, it was entirely empty as well, save for a randomly-placed pair of huge white compression pants and a yellow tank top on a bench. Just below them, a pair of black exercise sneakers lay on the floor with white socks in them. That seemed odd, but Dylan didn’t think much of it. Usually, his workouts were solo so the rousing camaraderie had really been a welcome surprise. 

Silently, he wished someday that he could get as big as those jocks.

And then his shorts ripped.

“Huh?” Dylan peered down, drawn by the cool air conditioned breeze riding up his loins. His eyes goggled in disbelief as he was greeted to the sight of two large tears around both of his thighs. It took him a moment to process what he was viewing. Somehow, his slender thighs had inflated with a small helping of muscle. Dylan just stood in place motionless, blinking a few times to verify if he was seeing things or not. 

RIIIIIP!

Two sharp tears appeared above the young man’s pecs, allowing a peek inside. Dylan was beside himself. There was actually some dimension to his pecs! Even after a few months of working out, they had remained as flat as a board, but that seemed to be quickly changing. Unlike the subtle, rapid growth of his legs, Dylan had the privilege to watch his chest gradually inflate with muscle like a balloon. A glorious and tastefully slow ripping sound accompanied his pectoral expansion. “H-h-holy shit,” Dylan purred as he watched a busty rack explode beneath his strained dark blue workout shirt. The sinewy cotton fibers were pushed to their extremes yet miraculously held on, although the two tears had grown further and ultimately  merged into one hole, allowing the vacant locker room a crystal clear glimpse at Dylan’s brand new muscle jugs. All Dylan could do was purse his lips as his round muscles stretched towards the ceiling. His nipples followed suit, becoming rounder and perkier. Dylan felt an odd mix of confusion and wonder. His giant chest demanded attention; it was so naturally provocative. He really looked like he could pass for one of those muscular jocks: a thought which his cock nodded in agreement with. 

More audible crackling inundated Dylan’s ears followed by an intense tingling germinating from his gut. The frayed shirt fibers tried their best to stay wrapped around the young man’s increasingly burly figure, but they fared no chance. With a resounding tear, the shirt finally gave. The shredded remnants rained down like blue confetti, leaving the disoriented 23-year old completely shirtless. It was impossible for Dylan to turn away as a solid eight pack etched itself into his baseless abdomen. Even more surprising, his new ab muscles curved slightly, allowing his flat stomach to develop a subtle circumference. Super thin hairs peppered his torso, giving his skin some additional texture. The shifting even caused his belly button to open wider.

A cocky smirk emerged on Dylan’s sweaty face. “No way,” he said as the changes progressed to his lower body. “Is th-this is really hap-”

His praise was cut off by the sensation of his calves expanding, giving his exhausted upper thighs a break from holding up his body weight. Even behind him, Dylan felt his small butt expand slightly. In defiance of his old life, the young man’s waistline began to widen. It stretched and stretched until there was an explosive POW that tore his skimpy black gym shorts into pieces. Seconds later, his boxer briefs met the same fate and the shredded cloth fluttered to the floor. Even his socks and shoes tore as Dylan’s feet expanded and created gaping holes in them. Lifting up his feet one at a time, he calmly shook off the discarded footwear, leaving him now completely nude. 

Dylan’s half-erect member triumphantly tumbled out from its restrictive confines and seeing it fully exposed brought him back to reality. He studied his slightly more muscular nude figure before staring into his own familiar eyes in the mirror. Victoriously, he lowered his shoulders and released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He actually looked like a young jock! Sure, he was probably smaller than those other jocks he’d seen earlier, but he actually had some muscle mass! “I look so…great,” Dylan declared to himself, his eyes drawn to his aroused cock. He ran a hand through his ruffled head of hair and tried to replicate a bodybuilding pose he’d seen online once. 

Loud, booming voices filled the air and Dylan’s blood went cold. It was those jocks…whatever their names were, he couldn’t remember. And it sounded like they were just mingling at the drinking fountain - just outside the front door!

Adrenal glands pumping, Dylan broke his pose and nearly fell to the travertine floor. He stumbled around like a newborn fawn as he tried to navigate his enhanced frame. His debilitating modesty resurfaced in full force. Those macho jocks couldn’t see him like this: a naked, bumbling, smaller version of one of them. Panicked, Dylan quickly swung open the locker he’d stuffed his gym bag in, only to find that it wasn’t there somehow! Opening up the adjacent lockers only warranted the same vacancy. Cursing to himself, the nude man turned his eyes to the oversized spandex clothing on the bench. He’d just gotten cool with these guys. He didn’t want to accidentally flash them! Would they even recognize him with his new muscles?

His fear now at a fever pitch, he turned to the spandex outfit lying on the bench. “Fuck it,” he grumbled and snatched the pair of pants. Curiously, he brought his nose up to the garment and was met with a faint musk. “Oh wow, that’s k-kinda nice,” he huffed to himself. His cock agreed and began to strain against the fabric. It was laughable how oversized the white spandex was, but Dylan increasingly began to care less. He imagined what it would be like to fill these compression pants. To swagger around with a body big enough to fill these pants. They were meant for some gigantic man, someone far larger than him with a body as wide as a doorframe. Just from holding the pants up to himself, it was clear that both of his toothpick legs could fit in one side of the leggings. 

Cautiously, Dylan maneuvered his legs into the gigantic garment. His cock rose even higher as he felt the silky texture rub against his leg hairs. The pouches for the butt and bulge were certainly larger than Dylan’s own, but he couldn’t help but get aroused at that thought. The man who wore these clothes must be some kind of monster! Dylan hoped he wouldn’t run into him, but also….he found himself not caring. It was so unlike him - almost like these pants were compelling him to change. The worst part was that Dylan found himself getting hypnotized by the faint odor they emitted. It was a blend of sweat and pheromones - like a more concentrated version of what he smelled like after a workout. 

“WHOA!” Dylan exclaimed as he was suddenly launched upward in the air. His 5’6” height was promptly taken from him. In one moment, the bottoms of his pants had extended past his feet and in the next, they had risen to his ankles. Releasing his grip on the waistband, Dylan held out his arms to catch his balance. “I’m t-tall now,” the young man muttered weakly as he surveyed his surroundings. He could see the dust on the top of the lockers now and even more telling was his reflection in the mirror straight across from him. It looked like he’d been stretched out like saltwater taffy. Dylan didn’t know what to think of this. He’d never been tall growing up and now he was taller than the average man. He was so tall now that even his jockish build looked rather tame compared to his size. 

A bubbling filled his lower body, the same that had filled up the spandex outfit when it had started transforming. It felt like a million Theraguns were pumping his leg muscles, beating them but also sculpting them. “Whooooooaaaaaahhhhhh,” Dylan moaned as a fluttering euphoria inundated his synapses. The extremely soft material caressed his legs so perfectly, almost like a full-body massage. Each time he blinked, he could see a vision of himself, swelling larger and larger into a pure Adonis of a man. “Ffffuck yessss,” the twenty-three year old growled, a new tantric desire burning through him as he imagined himself as a pure monster of a man. Compelled by his hunger even further, he snatched the yellow tank top from the bench and threw it on. Dylan’s once meek and tender eyes were changing, becoming overrun with lust as he stared at his changing reflection. He didn’t just want to be muscular, he wanted to be the most muscular man here. He wanted to make cowards shy away from him, he wanted to look like a menace: a roided up god.

The fleeting magic still sustained in the lifeless clothing granted his wish and the bubbling feeling poured through Dylan’s upper body. His pecs ballooned forth with muscle, immediately bending the straps of the tank top. They swelled and swelled until each one of them grew as larger than Dylan’s head. A layer of horizontal striations texturized his meaty chest, only making its existence more provocative and exaggerated. His miniscule nipples swelled and swelled, becoming puffy centerpieces of Dylan’s glorious pectorals. They bulged out so far now that they partially escaped the confines of the tank top. Enamored by the changes, Dylan couldn’t resist grabbing one of his pecs and giving it a shake. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. His pec rigidly moved while being manhandled, maintaining its brick-like integrity, but his nipple felt amazing rubbing against the saffron fabric. He never knew that nipples could feel so amazing to caress.

“GUH!” Dylan spluttered as his traps exploded around his head. They instantly became two monumental buttes, the likes of which would make any bodybuilder envious. Two convex epaulets ascended upward, just stopping at the latitude of his chin. The dual protrusions immediately had an adverse effect on Dylan’s shoulders, causing them to broaden and broaden. His deltoids looked like they were carved from marble. The young man grunted and squirmed with pleasure. His youthful head looked like a chasm surrounded by his two trap muscle cliffs. “M-m-more!” Dylan heard himself say as he instinctively leaned forward and flexed his biceps. 

The riptide of brawn that followed was no laughing matter. Huge, yoked biceps and triceps exploded from Dylan’s scrawny arms, rounding out until they became a colossal size he’d never imagined possible. As he gave a celebratory flex of his right arm, a bevy of muscle engulfed his flimsy forearms, making his taut flexors and extensors impossible to deny. For a brief moment, Dylan couldn’t even see his puny hands beneath the size of his giant forearms. That was until they erupted forth with size, rapidly becoming the size of baseball mitts. His calluses grew far more defined and took precedence beneath all of his sausage-sized fingers. Dylan was enraptured with himself - a feeling he’d never experienced before. This new body: it was endowing him with an ego. These muscles were something that people earned over years and years of work. Even his hands radiated crushing, rugged power. He had the type of hands that had adapted to match the demands of the iron bar. A light peppering of hair appeared across his chest and promptly spread all around his body. Currently training for a  competition, Dylan kept his naturally hirsute body hair lightly shaved although he loved to let his body hair run rampant when he wasn’t. Those thoughts seemed so foreign to Dylan, but they seemed correct. Of course, he wasn’t ashamed of flaunting this enormous body on stage clad in only a poser. 

“Th-thi…s is s…so fucking cool,” Dylan trembled, his shaky voice now developed a burgeoning gravitas. 

A sharp cacophony of pops emanated through Dylan’s body like a line of firecrackers. Years of slouching were corrected in an instant as his back snapped up as straight as a rod. His rib cage expanded, allowing his gut to bulge out even further. He couldn’t resist the urge to buck his hips as the changes spread to his abdomen. His pre-existing meager eight pack exploded forward, its new, protruding girth nearly knocking him over in the process. Tight and conspicuous, his gut was a powerlifter’s wet dream - an octet of rectangular abdomen muscles all bulging out of his belly. They were pliable too and they bent ever so slightly to the circumference of his brand new roid gut. His obliques flared forth as well, adding some much-needed stability. Dylan huffed and flared his nostrils with delight as he felt his slender waistline widen to support his gargantuan upper body. 

“MORE!” the expanding man growled, this time far more animastically as he reached beneath the waistband of the compression pants and started stroking his cock. More distinct cracks echoed from his pelvic bone as it widened to allow his new wide yet trim waist to occupy his pants. Dylan’s torso wasn’t the only thing that was rock-hard about him. Some precum dripped free and christened his new pair of compression pants. “This…this is who I’m really meant to be,” he moaned to himself, only getting harder when he realized his voice was changing too. His voice still had that adolescent timbre, but it sounded smoother and more sultry - like he was a young stud. 

A handsome, self-indulgent smirk befell Dylan’s face as his balls suddenly inflated forth, swelling to the size of eggs. Testosterone soared across his body almost immediately. It endowed his muscles with a succulent roundness, it caused a light yet trimmed island of hair to appear from his chest all the way down to his ankles, and most importantly, it brought Dylan’s voice down to an unrecognizable low. “Fuuuuck,” he murmured, although the voice that came out sounded like it had dropped a few octaves. It took him a moment to even realize that the baritone vibrato was actually his. It was so low and sonorous that it sounded like he’d been raised on testosterone his whole life. 

“I feel fucking amazing!” Dylan howled, now fully surrendering to his new aggro nature. To reward his conceited realization, his cock elongated, becoming a girthy eight inch bulge that was quite detectable in his elastic compression pants. His bull balls were truly a sight to behold. Overrun with frisson, Dylan peered down at the meaty mound that now marked his pants. 

Next to change were his small glutes. The two spheres gradually inflated to a monumental size. Jutting out nearly a foot behind him, his butt became something only achievable through rigorous bodybuilding. The white spandex sunk into his crack as his glutes rounded out into two mountainous globes that were destined to be noticeable in every single pair of pants he ever wore. That’s why Dylan got all of his pants custom-made, although he had a preference for spandex and elastic since it wouldn’t rip on him the way that traditional pants did. 

The feeling of Dylan’s thighs rubbing together piqued his attention. They had never done that before. It took far more effort to crane his stubby neck down, but Dylan was able to catch a view of his legs expanding into a viable undercarriage capable of supporting his gigantic muscle butt. Any remaining mobility was stolen from him in an instant as his thighs became just as impossibly large as the rest of him. His hamstrings tensed up as they swelled to a breathtaking diameter - the perfect type to squat over 600+ pounds. Readjusting his weight on the new robust pair of stilts that were his legs, Dylan realized that his thighs were so large now that they pushed out his bulge, making it even more lewd and provocative. His massive thighs also did a stupendous job of bolstering his muscle butt and making the pristine, silky spandex pucker around his perky asscheeks. 

“I n-n-never want this to end!” Dylan roared as he toyed with his balls, playfully edging himself and feeling them bob up and down like twin buoys in his pants. Gradually, he was growing obsessed with their size. They rivaled the size of kumquats now and contained enough testosterone to fuel a football team. His calves inflated into powerful, rigid oblongs, juiced full of raw muscle. To complete his behemoth stature, Dylan’s feet broadened to a size 13, leaving behind all former traces of his old body - well, other than his head. He wasn’t afraid though. He was still grinning ear to ear as he marveled at his gargantuan lower body, which was now more than capable of supporting him. The compression pants, once baggy, were now as skintight as possible. Fuck, he must’ve weighed at least 350 pounds now, probably close to 400. 

With the glorious changes in his lower body ceasing, Dylan craned his nubby neck back up to the locker room mirror that lay before him. “Is that me?” he bellowed as he looked at his imposing reflection. “God, I look like such a freak.” He flexed his biceps in celebration and gave one a loving kiss, savoring the feeling of the taut muscle against his lips. His spandex outfit practically looked painted on. 

He stepped closer towards the mirror and immediately found that the simple movement wasn’t as easy as before. Those massive thighs of his forced him into a bodybuilder’s waddle. Every part of him was immodestly on display in special thanks to this wonderful outfit. His gargantuan buttcheeks and perky pecs shook with each heavy footstep. Dylan’s agile gait and speed were gone forever. This body wouldn’t allow him to move fast like that anymore, not that he minded though. He was a bonafide muscle bull - all heft, no swiftness. He was a goddamn sculpture. 

Dylan’s boner felt like it was going to explode as he trudged closer to the mirror. Unnoticed by him, he stepped right into the pair of black sneakers and socks that were lying on the floor. Marvelously, the objects opened up and bound themselves to his growing feet. The black socks rested around his ankles and the dark sneakers even tied up their laces on their own. Dylan was too distracted to care. Like a true Narcissus, he was transfixed on that musclebound stud in the mirror. He walked up to the counter, allowing him a view of only his upper body. Then suddenly, he could feel some changes happening in the last place left unchanged - his head.  

“It’s finally happening,” Dylan rumbled excitedly, although his excitement was hard to discern due to how deep his voice was. The first thing to change was his flimsy neck. It only stretched a few inches taller, but it did broaden out exponentially, allowing it to reside comfortably between the towering atoll that was his trap muscles. To his surprise, clumps of his black hair came pouring down over his chest and shoulders. It was a glorious waterfall and although Dylan was a little surprised, he didn’t flinch. In a few moments, all that was left behind was a thin, almost military-style buzzcut, a prominent widow’s peak, and a much-receded hairline. Dylan continued grinning as he looked at his macho reflection. After all, he was a man who seldom experienced fear and being nearly bald seemed fitting. Or wait, hadn’t he experienced hair loss for at least a decade now? 

Suddenly, an intense pain filled Dylan’s chin and not even his macho persona could evade its clutches. “GGGAAAAHHHH!!” he screamed as he felt it expand nearly four times its original size. The confident young man’s smile was eviscerated from him in an instant. By the time he reopened his eyes, his chin had the width of a shovel. It was ridiculously broad and it made him look like a Ken doll. A five o’clock shadow immediately colored in the ledge and spread across his swelling cheeks. His black glasses broke in two and vanished from existence as his brow bone pushed itself outward and years of blurry vision were instantly repaired. Dylan tried to smile, but found he couldn’t. The bone structure of his face was changing forever and was keen on making him look like a stoic supermodel. His lips inflated, growing so thick and puffy now. The urge to smile was taken from Dylan in an instant. But that seemed correct. He was an unflappable giant who didn’t smile all that much. It wasn’t out of choice, it just came with his nature. Not only that, his permanent sternness added to his edge. He was a pro-bodybuilder after all so he might as well act the part. 

It was who he was meant to be. 

With a few sharp cracks, the cartilage of Dylan’s nose restructured itself, allowing it to become a sharp beak and the focal point of his wide face. His eyes grew slightly closer together and their green hue turned to a penetrating light brown. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” the tall stoic man grunted, repeatedly blinking as he took in the aging spectacle before him. He watched as wrinkles carved themselves into his cheeks and prominent horizontal lines etched themselves across his more pronounced forehead. His youthful prowess vanished in an instant, finalized by a light peppering of gray around his temples. He was well into middle age now, but he showed zero signs of slowing down his strenuous workout regimens. A subtle, close-lipped grin reappeared across the man’s face as his reflection triggered an avalanche of new memories. For some reason, he had the asinine idea that he was a gaunt college student, but there was no way that was true. He was just a macho bodybuilder wearing his favorite spandex outfit, nothing more. In fact, he had a fondness for this particular outfit, but he couldn’t recall why. 

Nearly completed, the 50 year old man continued to beat his cock beneath his spandex. This was a common occurrence of his. No other fabric made masturbation feel as sensual as spandex did. He was obsessed with it and its elasticity made it ideal for his colossal body. The nameless bodybuilder’s mind started to feel numb as he jacked off more aggressively than ever before. The jiggling of his enormous balls and asscheeks functioned as his personal metronome. Most men were obsessed with their cock size, but the nameless bodybuilder had a more personal preference. He was obsessed with his bull-sized balls. They carried so much cum and stuck out in every pair of compression pants he wore. His favorite was feeling other men suck on them - when they pushed them around, and he could feel all the unspent spunk churning around inside. This was just like how he felt right now. No longer was this man an unspoken young adult, he was actually a strong bodybuilder whose very existence radiated rigorous masculinity. He wasn’t pretending anymore. Everything about him was truly herculean. He really was one: body and soul, now and forever. 

The menacing bodybuilder studied his stern expression. All around him, the cloud of manly musk intensified, causing the hurricane of pheromones and sweat to inundate all of his senses. More sweat pooled inside of his spandex attire and its pervasive stench filled the locker room and invisibly radiated off the herculean man like a cloud. Breathing it all in, the bodybuilder felt his mind finally slip, his past life tumbling into oblivion forever. An hour and a half ago, two young men had entered the gym, and now in their place was a jacked bodybuilder adorned in his favorite stretchy outfit. Reality bent itself as any remaining inklings of Dylan and Colton’s old lives were wiped away forever - now replaced by the bond of an owner and his set of objects. 

Blinking a few times, the disoriented man could’ve sworn he’d been hard as a rod seconds prior, but that didn’t seem to be the case. The mound in his pants still indicated he had a semi, but it was not at full mast. The man smirked at his reflection. He was commonly hard at the end of his workouts. It was something about his devout masculinity and crushing muscles that always got him roused up. Even his face got him going. His brow was thick and his gaze was penetrating. 

Abruptly, the door to the locker room swung open and the motionless bodybuilder craned his short neck to see three muscular dudes enter. The leading one recognized him first. “How was the workout, Sarge?” he boomed.

Sarge. That was right. They’d called Gordon that during his stint in the Navy too. It had a much better ring to it than Melrose: his last name. It was such a coincidence that the boys at the gym had started calling him that too. Well, maybe it wasn’t that much of a coincidence. With his unexpressive face and no-nonsense attitude, he really did seem like a drill sergeant from hell. 

“It went well,” Gordon replied, still maintaining a stone-faced expression. It was common for the aspiring muscle guys, Zeke, Travis, and Anthony, to be rapt in his presence. Gordon got the three of them confused since they all clamored over him equally. At first, they’d been somewhat annoying at first with their boisterous attitudes, he’d eventually warmed up to them. Their adoration was definitely saturated with reverence. “Chest day,” Gordon added, giving the three extra content to interact with. 

“Word,” one of the jocks said with a dopey grin. They all sat down on adjacent benches and were in the midst of disrobing, but Zeke continued his conversation with Gordon, clearly fascinated by him. 

“Sarge, I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot,” Gordon replied, studying his soaking buzzcut in the mirror. Usually, he was rather mute to the jocks, but this one, Zeke, had been developing a new fondness for him. It was cute to watch. 

“I’m having trouble meeting my daily calorie count,” the young man confessed.

“Ah,” Gordon sighed. “You all been following that diet plan?” he asked while opening up his locker and grabbing his gym bag from it. 

“It’s hard as hell,” Zeke responded. “Seven meals a day is so hard for me, man.”

Gordon snickered ever so slightly although one could hardly tell because his face hardly moved. “Hey, if you wanna be the biggest, you gotta eat like nobody’s business. I do eight meals a day, but that’s not for everyone.” He could tell the young man wasn’t sufficed. “Who are you trying to look like?”

Zeke seemed taken aback by the directness of the question. “What?”

“Who are you trying to look like?” 

Zeke pondered. “I’d love to be as jacked as you, Sarge.”

Gordon let out a low rumble that shook his muscle gut. He respected the kid’s honesty. “I know, I know,” he replied with a light grin. He got that a lot. “But you need to start somewhere in your weight class first. Then, we can talk about you as a heavyweight.”

“Well,” Zeke thought for a second. “Jorge Cochado does look like a fuckin’ god.”

Ah, Corchado. A Mexican light-heavyweight. They’d fucked a few times. Good lay. Gordon had loved to hear that man squeal beneath him. And he’d loved to run his hands through that luscious black mane. Zeke didn’t need to know all that though. “Corchado’s a great man,” Gordon replied. “And he’s far closer to your weight class. Do what he does.” 

“But what if I can’t,” Zeke replied in a rare moment of meekness. 

“Then do it in increments, kid,” Gordon replied as he secured a towel from his gym bag and dried his sweaty face. “You’ve gotta learn to be patient with yourself. Getting huge takes years of time and years of discipline.”

“True.”

Gordon faced the locker room door before speaking once more. “Whey protein.”

“Huh?”

“Whey protein,” he repeated as he took a deeper look at the adoring young man. Zeke had a cute, handsome face and the type of body that would do wonders expanding if he treated it right. “Two scoops between your meals. It’ll do the trick.” 

Seeing Zeke nod his head at that idea, Gordon astutely nodded in return and headed out the door. The jocks gave him a bevy of calm farewells as they watched the immense man, who nearly eclipsed the doorframe, gracelessly waddled out. 

Trudging out at the speed of a rhinoceros, Gordon Melrose breathed in through his nostrils, still smelling the manly musk that emanated from his pores. He walked out purposefully even slower than usual, each footstep an opportunity for his bulge to press against his pants. 

To his left was the wall of experienced bodybuilders and athletes who frequented this gym. Closest to the locker room was a picture of him facing forward and leaning forward to flex his manly muscles. His bulge looked practically ready to pop out of his compression pants and his gigantic upper body dwarfed his yellow tank top. 

Gordon could remember everything about that day - how hard he was. The photo had been taken just after he’d worked out  and he was all ripe and sweaty.  Those rewarding endorphins and potent sweat were an addiction. Gordon’s half-erect cock bobbed in his spandex as he thought about the unrelenting worship he gave his manly muscles. The spandex he draped himself with during workouts always made him feel like a million bucks. It allowed so much room for those massive bull balls of his to exist and it also accentuated the flamboyant curve of his enormous, meaty ass. Gordon glanced down at his hulking frame and chuckled quietly. “Well, it looks like I’m wearing my favorite outfit.”

[visceral-stories]

Saw your tweet about ideas for new stuff. What about a fisherman TF? ‘Ol salty sea dog, big gray beard, etc

Ooh that could be fun. A young man’s private yacht turns into a fishing vessel or something similar. That could be interesting 🤔

[visceral-stories]

The Christmas Spirit

Thank you all for waiting for this belated Christmas present! MAJOR thanks to the stupendous @agingtime. It was truly a pleasure to have one of my biggest influences collab on this gigantic story with me! Happy belated holidays to you all and an even merrier 2023! 

Support me on Ko-fi! |Or follow me on Twitter 

Also support agingtime on buymeacoffee.com! 

DECEMBER 23RD:

It was a busy day, in a busy week, in a busy month for the idyllic small town of Mistletoe Valley. The town square was bustling as its big winter celebration was being set up. Christmas was only a few days away, and you wouldn't find a more festive town for miles. Cutesy ornaments in the shapes of snowmen and presents graced every shopfront, a massive wreath hung above the town hall, and a festive market selling handmade crafts tempted visitors to the center of town. To top it off, an elaborate tree garnished with multicolored baubles, and golden trim stood center stage in the town square, prepped and ready for the annual lighting ceremony.

Nearby, just outside of town, the Hollybush Mall was less than idyllic. The shopping complex was packed with frantic last-minute shoppers, desperately trying to complete their to-do lists before the big day. Chirpy songs with bells and children's choirs piped over the noise of bustling guests, only adding to the chaotic atmosphere. Yet despite the stress, dozens of eager families had come to visit the big guy himself. Santa had transported his workshop to the mall, just to give the kiddies the chance to personally let him know their wishes for the year. A few elves were on hand to ensure the queue stayed civil. And for a time, there were no temper tantrums or overstimulated minds.

Little Timmy had waited a full hour for his chance. He was so close to entering the jolly man's winter cabin, he was close to bursting. To take his mind off the excitement, he glanced around the festive cavern of a mall until his eyes fell upon a rather unchristmassy gang of teens. The three of them stood in a line, their leather boots and worn-out tennis shoes all pressed up against the wall as they judged the commonfolk. All of them were dressed in black clothes, laden with piercings, chains, and neon hair. The apparent leader of the motley crew was a lanky guy with ripped jeans and multiple spiked bands running up his arms. His hair was spiked high like it had been electrocuted and dyed a darker shade of blue. He jabbed a thumb towards the crowd of Santa-seekers.

"Shit, look at all these fuckers," Trevor gurned to his pals before saying in a louder voice, "Don't they know that Santa doesn't exist?"

His crew chuckled, and one piped up louder, "Wait, Santa ain't real?"

"Of course not!" Trevor cawed, pausing to glance over at little Timmy, eyes once full of wonder, now shattered as he tugged on his mom's sleeve. Trevor relished the heartbreak, and belted at the top of his lungs, "Santa isn't real! He was invented to push Coke onto the masses!"

"But what about the presents?" Timmy meekly asked. 

"It's just your mom and dad forcing a lie into your tiny brain!"

Children were starting to well up with tears, while the adults were throwing icy glares his way. A couple of parents had caught the attention of the elves, and jabbed accusing fingers in his direction. All Trevor could do was flash his usual shit-eating grin. He adored the attention, especially the wrong kind of attention. The indignation aimed at him only emboldened his desire to fuck shit up. He didn't need praise, he was a lone wolf amongst the mainstream masses.

Eventually, a man stood in their path. He was wearing the same pinstriped suit, and floppy hat as Santa's helpers. But his brutish glare, and stout, square physique sold him out as a guard in elf's clothing. He crossed his arms, and grunted, "You three gotta head out. We've had some complaints."

"What? Us?" Trevor cooed in mock offense. "Why, we were having a private conversation! If anyone should be offended, it's me. I mean, eavesdropping? Shameful!"

"Don't be cocky, son. If you'd like to follow me..."

"It's not our fault if such nosy nobodies overheard us discussing the theory that SANTA DOESN'T EXIST, AND EVERYONE WHO SAYS HE IS IS A LIAR now, is it? You can't kick us out for the truth."

The large man smirked, clearly pleased to have something to do other than console the odd tantrum. He grabbed Trevor by the shoulder, and began guiding him away from the workshop. His friends tried to leg it, but were thwarted as other Elf Guards emerged out of nowhere.

"Hey, watch it!" Trevor barked as the guard clutched him a little too rough. "You can't stifle the truth! We have rights to free speech!" He managed to turn around and caw once more, "SANTA'S A FRAUD! HE'S JUST A GUY IN A COSTUME!" before being ushered through a nondescript door, and into the depths of the mall backrooms.

The security guard was unamused as he manhandled Trevor down the winding hallway. “Listen,” he lectured. “I know you boys must be bored out of your wits today, but you’re gonna have to be nuisances somewhere else.”

Trevor writhed in place, trying to free himself from the guard’s iron grip while being marched forward. “Well, at least I’m not a loser like you who follows orders mindlessly!” he cried, rearing his neck to catch a good look at the guy.

The guard pulled open a massive steel door and shoved the kid out. “Go be a pest somewhere else, alright?”

Shuffling onto the adjacent sidewalk from the guard’s force, Trevor tripped on his untied shoelace and fell forward. He caught himself with the palms of his hands as his box of cigarettes plummeted out of his coat pocket. The cries of his delinquent friends followed a few seconds later. “Hey!” Trevor yelled as he spun back around, to watch the guards shove out his friends. “You can’t do this to us! You can’t-”

“Merry Christmas ya twerps,” the head security guard snidely replied. His tone seemed more perturbed than furious, like Trevor and his delinquent friends minorly inconvenienced him. The guards just burst into laughter with each other before slamming the steel door. They looked so dumb. Their gross chins and bellies bouncing as they crudely laughed in those dorky elf uniforms. Trevor pushed himself to his knees, and coiled his fists. He just wanted to punch those rude fucks in their stupid faces. The disheveled young man couldn’t imagine living a life like those overfed bozos. He was a rebel. He wanted to be a blemish on the face of authority. A true rebel doesn’t abide by any social norm. At least that’s what he told himself. Feeling a mix of anger and disdain, he reached for his box of cigarettes only for his fingers to brush against something else. Resting atop the cigarette box was a golden-yellow envelope. Most disturbingly, it read TREVOR J. CLARK in handwritten ink. “What the….” The teenage outcast was frozen with confusion. He snatched it from the ground and jumped to his feet, staring at the embossed address that sparkled in the winter sun.

TREVOR J. CLARK

HOLLYBUSH MALL EMPLOYEE PARKING LOT

MISTLETOE VALLEY

VERMONT

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Who the fuck would leave this for him? Why was it so specific? It didn't make any sense.

"Whatcha got there, Trev?"

"Huh?" He barely noticed his buddy Skids peeping over his shoulder until the teen's grubby hands reached over and snatched the envelope from him. "Hey!"

"Ooooooo, somebody's got a love letter!"

"Knock it off!" Trevor growled as he snatched it back. He guarded himself behind his tough demeanor, ripping open the envelope and chucking it on the floor. Inside was a laminated card that made the teens cringe at its captivating, bright colors and regal caligraphy.

Dear Mr. Clark

Congratulations!

We hope this letter finds you well. You have been personally selected to be our Christmas representative for the new year! One of our special helpers will be in touch with you shortly as you prepare for your new journey.

Best wishes,

The signature was in such elaborate cursive, it was practically illegible. Trevor's shoulders slumped as he processed what he’d read. It must’ve been some kind of spam mail. It probably got sent to everyone around this time of year.

The silence was broken by Skids' sudden snort, followed by the rest of the gang cracking into uproarious laughter. "Holy shit, Trev!" he cackled, jabbing an elbow into his pal's ribs. "You going soft on us?"

“Hell no!” Trevor retorted, giving his friend a forceful shove. “I don’t know why the hell this pansy shit is even addressed to me!” 

Trevor felt his other delinquent friend Axel place a hand on his skinny shoulder.  “Don’t worry Skids,” Axel said, stifling back his laughter. “Trev here has gotta wait for one of his ‘little helpers!’” 

“Fuck off,” Trevor snorted, pulling his shoulder away from his friend and regaining his composure. 

“Maybe he’ll find the true meaning of Christmas!” Axel razzed, twirling his hands for added emphasis. 

The boys continued laughing like hyenas, causing Trevor to smirk with them. This situation was soooo stupid. Whoever the geek was that wrote this oughta be ashamed of themselves. Now chuckling a bit too, Trevor ripped up the letter in his hand over and over. He tensed up for a very brief moment as a chill ran down his spine, like an icicle sliding down his back. Quickly shaking the feeling away, Trevor tossed the shredded remnants of the envelope to the ground. “That’s what I think about fucking Christmas! Now, let’s go to the skate park or something.” 

“I’m down,” Skids replied. “Only if your special little helpers aren’t waiting for you there.” 

Trevor just flipped him off and started walking, shrugging off how strange the situation was. It all must’ve been just some dumb coincidence.

—----

The local skate park proved to be far more relaxing than the Hollybush Mall. Good. That was just the way Trevor and his guys liked it. The trio of eighteen-year-olds were all primed to become high school dropouts and exerted their hormonal angst by how seriously they treated the skatepark. They were tyrants who wasted no time usurping their kingdom from any unsuspecting kids who had the foolish notion they could coexist together. They were truly insufferable while they skateboarded, choosing to blare punk rock and leave their cigarette butts and food wrappers behind. 

For Trevor, it was just like every other day. He was in his element, just listening to the loud electric guitar pulsate through his bluetooth speaker and focus on trying and failing to complete a varial heelflip in his corner of the skatepark. After a half-hour of futile attempts, Trevor finally allowed himself a break. Frustratedly, he snatched a soda he had sitting on the concrete and chugged half of its contents. He glanced around and noticed Skids and Axel in their own respective corners of the skatepark, focusing on their own maneuvers. Trevor was just about to jump back on his board when his eyes landed on something golden tucked into the railing of a halfpipe. 

“No fucking way,” he mouthed. Grabbing hold of the object, he was shocked to find that it was another golden envelope addressed to him. Or at least it could be. Trevor raised an eyebrow. They’d spelled his name wrong, that was if it was even meant for him! 

TREAVOR J. CLAURK

SPIRIT SKATE PARK

MISTLETOE VALLEY

VERMONT

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Dear Mr. Claurk

It appears our first letter didn’t reach you. We would just like to welcome you as our Christmas representative. Our special helper should reach you shortly. We think this would be the perfect opportunity for you to spread some Christmas cheer! Believe us, this may be surprising now, but it will all make sense in due time. More changes are to come to warm up that Christmas spirit in your heart.

You may be surprised why you have been chosen. Our reasoning is quite simple. We have realized that your heart is pure and your true nature is gentle. Spreading joy is- 

“So lame!” Trevor snarled, not even bothering to finish reading the letter. Who was this freak sending these letters? They hadn’t even spelled his last name right…or his first name for that matter.

Trevor wasted no time tearing the letter to shreds. However, the torn pieces of paper didn’t abide by his action. They fluttered to the ground for a very brief moment before they suddenly glided up into his open hands, regaining their rectangular shape. Perplexed, Trevor ripped up the paper once more, only for the same result: the fragments of paper sewed themselves back together! What the hell, Trevor thought as his hands trembled with the magical paper in them. He'd never encountered unrippable paper before. He must’ve been hallucinating or something weird. Maybe his vape had expired. 

Before Trevor could inspect the mystical object further, he could hear the sounds of his friends returning back from the sandwich shop. If he told them that this letter had a mind of its own, they’d think he’s crazy, so after little deliberation, he shoved it into his jeans pocket.

Unfortunately for him, that action warranted an immediate consequence. It was a soft, almost-unnoticeable sensation, but Trevor subtly felt his belly inflate ever so slightly, bloating forth for a fraction of a second. Curiously glancing down, he was surprised to see that his rail-thin stomach had definitely inflated. It wasn’t super overt, but it definitely had a subtle roundness to it now. 

Axel’s shrill voice cut through the air as he came bounding over. “Trev, did you see my laser flip?” 

Trevor ran a hand through his electric blue hair and shook off his momentary vulnerability. “Holy shit, you actually did it?”

“Fuck yeah I did!” Axel boasted. “I can’t believe I learned a trick before you did.”

“Trev’s losin’ it,” Skids gibed, sidling over to the gang with his board in hand. “He’s listened to too many shitty punk bands and now his motor skills are starting to fade.”

Axel couldn’t help but give a halfwitted laugh while Trevor rolled his eyes. “Shut up, you stoner. I’ve got more tricks in me than you have brain cells.” The trio was always like this: just crude vessels of angst who terrorized each other. 

“At least I don’t got hairy forearms. You look like a lumberjack!” Skids remarked.

“I don’t have…huh?” Sure enough, Skids was actually right. There were carpets of hair running over both of Trevor’s slender arms. The hairs were wiry and brown: the color of his natural hair. His arms, and the rest of his body for that matter, was not capable of growing much hair so this was quite a shock. There were even brown strands just above Trevor’s knuckles. 

“Trev, you got any cigs?” asked Axel, who was unbothered by their typical banter. 

“Oh um…yea,” Trevor replied, trying to keep his cool. As he reached into his jeans pocket for some, his forest of forearm hair rubbed against the black denim, making it hard to ignore. He opened up the pack only to find zero remained. “Shit, I’m all out.”

“Damn! Let’s get some more,” Skids declared. “And let’s get some food too! I’m hungry!” 

“Do you have enough boxtops to pay the clerk this time?” 

“Fuck off,” Skids said, giving the other lanky teen a harsh shove. 

The trio’s walk to the gas station was routine, however their scathing vitriol for the holidays was reignited as they reentered the town’s commercialized yuletide hellscape. The familiar sight of the same wreaths, tinsel, and decorated trees made Trevor’s skin crawl. Luckily, he wasted no time in ridiculing the town with Axel and Skids while they smoked their newly-secured cigarettes. All the while, Trevor couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling. It wasn’t just his arms that were feeling hairier; he could’ve sworn his stomach did too, but there was no way he’d check it out in front of his friends. A few minutes later, the trio finished their cigs and wandered down the street to find some grub. 

“Whoa, whoa, are you really about to go to that cafe? Are you crazy”

“I’m hungry, Trev,” Skids retorted. 

“So you’re gonna eat in this cringy place? It looks like a goddamn Hallmark card.”

Skids didn’t listen. He’d already bolted inside, completely unfazed by the yuletide exterior. 

Trevor glanced over to Axel for reassurance, but Axel shrugged and followed his friend inside, causing Trevor to reluctantly oblige. He scowled as he walked into the joint. It was infested with happy patrons enjoying the festive decor and the Christmas music reverberating through the cafe’s speakers. What was worse was that he caught the eyes of several patrons, mostly kids, leering at him with wide eyes filled with wonder as he walked to the front. This town was such a drag. People needed to mind their own fucking business. He couldn’t wait to be out of here once he graduated high school. He’d go somewhere cool - somewhere he, Axel, and Skids could mess around forever. They’d never have to worry about responsibility or being cordial or-

“Excuse me sir. Can I help you?” the woman at the register chirped.

“Oh!” Trevor said, realizing his friends had already ordered. He ran his hand through his spiked blue hair and thought for a moment.  “Yea, I’ll just get a…uh…cream cheese bagel and a black coffee.” He always got black coffee, thinking he was cooler that way - no need for all that sugary crap. 

“Great! That will be $4.97.”

Trevor pulled out his wallet and frowned. Fuck. All he had was 5. He probably shouldn’t have bought that last pack of cigarettes. An opportune growl in his stomach solidified his decision and he reluctantly handed her the bill.

“Thank you!” the cashier smiled, but Trevor had already walked away to the other side of the counter. His stomach…it was peeking out from his t-shirt, seeming to protrude further and further out as he walked up to his friends. 

“Put your gigantic stomach away dude!” Skids exclaimed, super obnoxiously which caused other patrons to turn their heads at him.

“Shut the fuck up!” Trevor hissed, his face turning a shade of red as he looked at how bloated his stomach looked. He hated that Skids would call him out like that in public. What an asshole. Even weirder was that he could discern a few dark hairs curling out from the exposed skin. This was so embarrassing! And that was an emotion Trevor was not used to dealing with. 

“I was only joking, Trev,” Skids sarcastically replied with a crude chuckle. 

Trevor wasn’t listening. He was far too distracted by how round his stomach was. Even worse was the fact that a few long, spindly hairs had spread to his chest! They protruded out from his graphic tee from the top and bottom. Desperate to rid himself of this sultry embarrassment, Trevor repeatedly tugged on his shirt to get it to cover his extra fifteen pounds. 

“Cream cheese bagel and a black coffee!” 

Trevor perked up, releasing his grip on his tight shirt. Sheesh, he’d fixated on his appearance for so long that he didn’t even notice Axel and Skids walk away to a booth. 

“Merry Christmas, sir!” the cafe clerk smiled as the scrawny teen stepped forward. 

Trevor snatched his items off the counter. “Yeah whatever, Merry Christmas” he snarled before raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Why on earth had he even said that? Not wanting to entertain his slipup further, he turned around and headed toward his friends. He had more important things to worry about. He had to figure out what the hell was happening to him. Murmurous conversations commenced as he walked past and more people seemed to side-eye him as he walked to his table. Another sensation caught his attention. It was his thighs - they were…rubbing together? Sure enough, Trevor could see his upper thighs had more girth to them than before and his bouncy and sprightly gait had evolved into a bow-legged shuffle. He couldn’t help but blush again, this time with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. This was ridiculous! 

“Dude, you walk like an 80 year old!” Axel gibed. 

Great, Trevor grimaced. He could always count on his friends to be discreet. “Cause I twisted my ankle at the skatepark, now move it,” Trevor lied as he plopped down on the wooden booth next to Axel. Skids didn’t say anything, he was too busy scarfing down his sandwich to pay attention. As he sat on the bench, Trevor could feel his fatty thighs touching through his tight denim jeans, but he disregarded it. His hunger was too strong to be ignored. Accompanied by the odd sensation of his hairy forearms against the wooden tabletop, Trevor took a bite of his bagel. That hit the spot, so he took another bite only this time, he tasted…sweetness?

“Huh?” Trevor muttered, his mouth still full of food. Pulling the item away from his mouth, he noticed his simple bagel had changed! The hole in the center was gone and even stranger, the brown dots looked larger and gloppier, almost like they were partially-melted. He swallowed and tasted chocolate. “What the hell,” he griped, causing his friends to perk up. “There’s chocolate chips in my bagel!”

“Ain’t that what you ordered?” asked Skids, not bothering to finish chewing.

“No! I ordered a bagel with cream cheese,” Trevor replied, although his angry voice more closely resembled a deep bellow. He coughed to clear his throat and regained his pubescent inflection. “This looks like a cookie!” 

 “You’re so full of it,” Axel interjected. “Skids, when hasn’t this dude gotten a chocolate chip cookie and a hot chocolate?”

“Mmhmm,” Skids nodded, still ravenously eating.

Trevor’s brow drooped. “You guys are mental. I’ve never go-OTTEN t-that bef-fore.” The force generated by Trevor’s belly nearly propelled him backward. In a split second, around twenty pounds of fat appeared around his already-pudgy stomach. It now pressed firmly against the table, thwarting any effortless attempt to get out of the booth. The blue-haired punk was speechless. His new spare tire looked ridiculously out of place! 

“Just drink your hot cocoa there, grandpa,” Axel mocked. 

“Fuck off,” Trevor snorted, leaning back in the booth to give his new fat some breathing room. “You don’t see this?”

“See what?”

“That I…look like…t-this,” Trevor’s voice trembled. Once again, he faced that helpless feeling he was not used to confronting. He was a rough and tough outcast, but it seemed like his body was fighting and his two-bit friends didn’t even care. To comfort himself, the poor young man subconsciously took another bite of his cookie. The treacly chocolate chips mixed with the mixed butter and flour danced across his tongue. It tasted so delicious that he happily finished off the oversized cookie, even licking the melted chocolate from his fingers. Satisfied by his lunch, Trevor grabbed his coffee cup from the table and took a big sip. That tasted nice, he thought. Part of him wanted to hate how sweet and sugary it tasted, but a stronger part of him actually didn’t mind. It was a nice difference to the harsh, bitter coffee he usually ordered. Better yet, it wasn’t even that hot. That was a nice change, he thought, so he daringly took another large sip, this time nearly draining the cup of its contents. “This c-coffee,” Trevor said, now unintentionally musing aloud. “It’s really good! It…tastes like chocolate.” He realized he was smiling super broadly so he promptly stopped, matching the apathetic expressions of his friends. “I feel like…this isn’t what I ordered.” 

“You’ve got chocolate in your beard there big guy,” Skids interrupted before snickering. 

“No I…don’t?” Trevor stopped, bringing up his hand to his chin only to find…thin, wiry bristles! It didn’t feel like very many, but this was a first! Trevor had never been able to grow any sort of facial hair, now it felt like he had a thin carpet on his chin. “Imma head to the bathroom, guys,” he said, maintaining his cool. It took a few tries to pry himself from the booth, but he finally succeeded. Stupid bloated stomach. He figured it would go down in a few hours or so. 

Standing up, he disgruntledly pulled his tight t-shirt down over his exposed midriff, quickly tucking the front into his jeans while unfortunately leaving the back untucked. Axel and Skids were making confused remarks, but Trevor wasn’t listening. For eighteen years, he’d never been able to grow a strand of facial hair, but the clump under his chin said otherwise. Darting past bewildered customers, the disheveled young man hurled his body through the mens’ bathroom door.

“Oh wow,” Trevor said: a knee-jerk reaction to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, Skids was right. Trevor had a thin dusting of facial hair. It wasn’t anything too egregious and calling it a beard had definitely been an exaggeration, but it was certainly there. Trevor turned his chin and observed himself in the mirror. The facial hair really didn’t make him look half-bad. It clashed with his sapphire blue hair and made him look a little older.

However, as Trevor analyzed his reflection closer, he noticed faint wrinkles on his face. That was odd. There were faint lines by his temples and ill-defined furrows on his forehead. That didn’t make much sense so Trevor didn’t ponder it further. And with that, he left the bathroom, this time pulling his shirt over his slightly-round belly. He figured he was just tired and bloated from the cookie and hot chocolate. 

Exiting the bathroom, Trevor didn’t make it far before he nearly bumped into an older man holding a coffee standing just outside the door. 

“Oh, excuse me!” the older man said with a jump before smiling. His voice was so loud that it sent a shiver down Trevor’s spine although he would never admit that. He was dressed in a sweater vest and khakis with a cannonball-sized belly and thick white facial hair. “I didn’t see you there, kid.” He surveyed Trevor further. “Say, you look real familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” 

“Um…no,” Trevor said, the judgmental scowl returning to his face. 

The guy didn't seem convinced. “I swear I’ve seen you around town.”

“Dude I don’t know who the hell you are,” Trevor retorted, now too inconvenienced by the man’s innocent musing to be polite.  

“Oh?” the guy said, raising an eyebrow but still keeping his cordial smile. “Yep, I remember when I used to be rude and crass at your age. Too cool for school or whatever the kids say. You’ll learn.” He nodded and took a sip from his coffee. His eye contact was warm but penetrating. 

Trevor could hear the faint sound of Skids and Axel giggling from their table in the far corner. He’d developed an ear for it over the years. This jumbo-sized man blocked Trevor’s path, but he was able to grin at his jovial friends. He looked Trevor in the eye once more. “Just don’t be surprised when those friends of yours turn on you. Teenage angst fades and trust me Trevor, you don’t want to be angry for the rest of your life.” And with that, he quickly walked away, completely unruffled by Trevor’s insolence.

Trevor winced. “Wait, how did you know my…” As he turned around, he realized the fat old man had vanished and right behind him was a crowd of people walking to and from their seats. Some of them had overheard the recent exchange and were giving Trevor quite the stink-eye Turning back around, another uneasy feeling shot through Trevor: the same way he’d felt from those creepy letters. 

With his hands in his pockets, Trevor trudged over to the table. The old guy’s words were still echoing through his head. There was something so defeating about their exchange. It kind of bummed Trevor out. It eviscerated his spiteful vexation and forced him to do one thing he’d seldom done: self-reflect.  

“What was that about Trev?” Skids asked as he and Axel jumped up from the booth, both not bothering to discard their waste. 

“Some weird old dude,” Trevor said, subconsciously itching his hairier chin. “I dunno what he was going on about.” 

“Probably what a dork he is,” Axel added with a dopey chuckle. “Anyway, dude, we’re gonna head out to Gunnar’s place right now and get high, you in?”

“Eh, I’ll pass.” The phrase left Trevor’s lips before he could correct it. Part of him wanted to go hang out and get high, but he really wasn’t feeling up to it. Besides, he was feeling oddly deflated and fatigued. Getting high didn’t seem like much fun right now. 

“Whoa, you’re really passing on this?” 

Trevor ran a hand through his spiky hair and feigned a yawn. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired guys, but I’ll uh…meet up with you guys tomorrow, okay?”

“Wow, suit yourself,” Skids remarked. In a horrible impression of a posh accent, he mocked “My name is Trevor and I’m way too cool to smoke weed with my friends. I’d rather go home and beat off.” 

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” he hissed. 

Skids just walked past, clearly inconvenienced by Trevor’s independent decision. Skids was always like this whenever Trevor wanted to do something else. Insufferably stubborn and rude, he was just like Trevor in a way. Trevor had to admire that about him. 

Axel shared a similar stubbornness. “Give the pillow a good hump for me,” he added, giving Trevor a rather harsh punch on the shoulder. 

Trevor held his shoulder and watched his friends walk out the door. His friends really were really rude and aggressive, but then again, so was he. It really was the only behavior they knew.. Trevor sighed and walked out the door a minute later. He just wanted to go home. And maybe he could sleep off this lethargic feeling and his dumb, bloated stomach. 

When Trevor arrived home, he was the only one there. Both his parents were working late again. "Typical..." he muttered as he kicked his shoes off, and chucked his jacket over the staircase banister. As he was about to head to the lounge, something familiar caught his attention on the floor in front of the door - a golden envelope. He threw his hands in the air and whined, "again!?" He’d forgotten about those stupid things. Maybe the letter from the skate park fell out of his pocket when he pulled out his house keys. Yet after reaching into his jacket, he procured the other envelope.

"I'm not fucking having this," he growled, snatching the other envelope off the floor without a second glance. He stomped into the lounge, and chucked them into the fireplace. He turned on the gas, held his lighter out, and torched the envelopes without a second thought. "Good riddance..." He grinned maniacally. He wasn't going to let those fuckers get in his head.

As if on cue, his stomach growled. He'd only just eaten at the café, yet he felt as if he'd had nothing all day. Maybe it wasn’t that peculiar. He was a growing teen after all. When he entered the kitchen, he was dismayed to find nothing prepared for dinner. Even worse, the fridge was full of food in preparation for Christmas Day. Not that that would stop him. He peeled back the foil covering a pre-prepared tray of cocktail sausages. They wouldn't be missed. His fingers danced over a particularly plump sausage, only for his hand to freeze mid-grab. Those are for Christmas, a voice echoed in his mind. You shouldn't eat them. Trevor shook his head, confused. When had he ever cared what he should and shouldn't do? If his mom didn't want him to eat them, then she shouldn't have prepared them so early and made him dinner instead! Yet try as he might, Trevor just couldn't make his hand grab a single sausage. 

With a slam of the fridge door, Trevor stomped over to the pantry and pulled out armfuls of baked goods. He'd never known his family to have so many cookies and cakes stored away. Not even for Christmas. He tore open a bag of cookies, and pulled one out. "Whaddya say to this? Huh??" he yelled out loud to no one. The voice didn't respond. Satisfied, he scooped his goodies up, along with a soda, and carried them into the lounge. Cookies for dinner was clearly the better option.

He had a pleasant evening gorging himself on sweets in front of the fire, while enjoying the latest ultra-violent streaming series until he felt close to being sick. He rubbed his bloated belly, and groaned. He had eaten too much, his little stomach couldn't handle so many sweet treats in one go. And that fizzy soda had only exacerbated his bloated feeling. Despite the intense levels of sugar he'd consumed, he'd never felt so tired. It took all his mental effort to stumble up the stairs, and into his bedroom. He fell back onto his bed, the springs creaking under his weight, and fell unconscious the instant he closed his eyes.

—------

A knock at the window woke Trevor up. He glanced at his phone, it had gone midnight. Even better, his bloated, hairy body had returned to its natural rail-thin splendor. He sighed as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. It had all been just a dream! As he found himself elated to be fit and healthy again, the rapping noise occurred again, more urgent this time. It was Axel, the fire haired teen's face glowed in the night with an impish smile. He rapped on the glass once more until Trevor finally pulled himself off the bed, and threw open the window. "Whaddya want, Ax?" he grumbled more out of annoyance than tiredness. In fact, he felt oddly alert given his sudden bout of unconsciousness.

"We're going to check out that abandoned place, remember? See if it could be our new base."

Trevor squinted at his friend. He didn't recall any kind of abandoned place. But he didn't feel up to breaking-and-entering for the time being. Which was odd. Either way, he dismissed Axel with a wave of his hand. "That's a hard pass for me."

"C'mon. Don't be such a lamewad," Axel jibed.

"Lamewad?" Trevor repeated. Who called people that nowadays? But it did its job, and Trevor sighed, "Okay, fine... But I've gotta be back before morning, or my folks'll worry."

Axel snorted, "Whatever, geek..." Then he hopped back to the ground as Trevor climbed out the window and into the night air.

They reached the house in no time. The dilapidated structure stood out amongst the surrounding picturesque homes. It looked as if a fire had torn through it. He briefly wondered whether he turned off the fireplace at his own house before he was dragged through the front door and into the burnt out husk. It was less 'breaking-and-entering', more of a 'walk right in' scenario.

Inside, the whole crew sat on a dirty sofa surrounded by rubble, each with a bottle of beer in their hands. One of Trevor's pals passed him a bottle, which he left resting on his knee. He didn't feel much like drinking right now. Something which didn't go unnoticed by Skids.

"Go on, drink it. Or are you afraid of what your mommy will think?"

"What?" His face scrunched in confusion. Why were his friends acting so weird? "No, I'm just not thirsty." Why was he acting weird? This whole situation felt wrong...

"Lookie fellas! We got ourselves a chicken!"

The others began clucking their heads off, until Trevor couldn't stand the noise any longer. "Okay!" He tipped the bottle back, and gulped down the amber liquid in seconds. He didn't know why he was so finicky, it didn't even taste of anything.

Then he saw it. A shining light amongst the wreckage, resting within reach of every guy in the room. A golden envelope. Trevor snatched it off the ground, hands shaking. The address was a gibberish string of symbols, yet he knew it was meant for him. He tore open the letter, and unraveled an impossibly long piece of paper. So long, it piled into ribbons at his feet. Most of it was more gibberish, except the large cursive writing at the very top of the page. NAUGHTY LIST. He stared at the title until the rest of the gibberish faded away, and only one word remained. NAUGHTY. It glowed a haunting red, flashing ever brighter, until the page crumbled to ash in his hands.

Thunder cracked, and a strong wind blew through the abandoned property, whipping up the dust and trash in angry bursts. The wind spiraled around Trevor, the ash picked up in dark gray clouds that hindered his vision. "Guys!" He cried out, reaching his hands out to his friends. "Axel? Skids? Anyone??" Through the whipped up dust and ash, he could make out his gang backing away from him, trying to avoid his reach. "Help me..."

A burst of lightning crashed between Trevor and his gang, sending debris flying. He gasped as the electricity shot through his body, and swelled inside of him. He shot higher, suddenly towering over his peers. His body burst outwards, ripples of muscle and fat pushing against his skin until his clothes shredded to pieces at his feet. Trevor grasped at his swollen body as more and more flesh piled onto him, more and more curly hairs rushed down his exposed skin. The ash swirled around his naked body, clinging to him as it brightened into a fabulous red shade. A bushy white beard unraveled from his chin, brushing up against his swollen ball belly.

As terrifying as it was, Trevor was more horrified to discover that he felt pure joy, a wide smile plastered on his face. He could even feel his cock getting hard beneath his gut, bouncing up against the soft flesh, and sending shivers of pleasure through his body. He didn't want this! He tried to tug the beard off of his face, tried to tear the excess fat right off of his body. But his hands were caked in thick leather gloves, unable to grasp a single thing. He glanced around in panic, his friends no longer present within the swirling vortex. His cock throbbed harder until he felt himself thrusting in mid-air, wave after wave of cum staining his bright red pants. He groaned in a mix of fear and ecstacy as the vortex reached its climax at the same time, plunging him into abject darkness. In the distance, he could hear jingle bells, and the sound of boisterous laughter. Through the gloom, a large, heavyset figure approached. Trevor cried out, his deepening voice rumbling around him. "Oh noooo ho HO HO HO HO!"

-----------------

Trevor felt himself thump to the ground, an awful ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes, blinded by the early morning light as he could barely make out “December 24th” on his digital calendar. He was still in his bed, surrounded by the familiar mess. He sighed heavily, his relief impalpable. It was all just a dream. A dream within a dream, he concluded. It had to be, of course. As if something like that could ever happen.

He pulled himself up, and stumbled across the hazard strewn floor of his bedroom. In his tired state of mind, he barely even registered the torn fabric that scattered his bed. He slunk to the bathroom with a heavy yawn, his footsteps landing heavier than usual. When he entered the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of his reflection, and he paused. His stomach flipped, it took all his might not to scream to the heavens. Staring back at him was an overweight man with a short, thick beard. Remnants of his clothes still clung to his arms and legs, only further highlighting his chubby body. His stomach protruded outwards more than yesterday, while a pair of flabby pecs rested atop the bulge. To top it off, his pale torso was dusted with curly, brown hairs that piled in-between his pecs, sparse across his round stomach, and lapped up against his shoulders.

Trevor stared agape at the mirror. This couldn't be him, he was thin, and hairless, and technically still a teenager. But this person, this stranger, was every bit his opposite. He still had to be dreaming, within a dream, within a dream... A trembling hand reached up to his face, and tugged at the beard that masked it, wincing as he plucked a hair from his chin. He brushed a hand across his head. His prized spiky hair had been tamed, shortened and reverted back to its dull brown hue. And the sides he usually shaved to a fade had abruptly grown out to match the top, providing him with a conservative style of haircut he'd always loathed. "I'm not having this," he grumbled as he swung open the bathroom cabinet. He flung products aside until his hands landed upon his precious tub of hair-dye. "I'm FUCKING done!" he cried aloud, yanking some plastic gloves on, and scooping the goop out, smearing it across his entire head with no rhyme nor reason.

Next, he pulled out his hair clippers. The harsh electric buzz rang through his ears as he methodically chopped away at his beard. Brown hairs piled up in the sink, which he proceeded to shovel into a plastic bag. Before long, he was beard free, but he still had a persistent stubble that clung to his cheeks. So he whipped out a razor blade to finish the business, along with several nicks of his skin. Finally, he was beginning to look like himself again. Aside from the extra forty pounds or so he'd unexpectedly gained. He prodded at his rounder chin with a frown. He was close to developing a second chin, which wouldn't be flattering in the slightest. Maybe the beard was good for one thing. He just had to keep his head held high to disguise the droop.

"Trevor! Breakfast is ready!"

He flinched at his mom's call. She couldn't see him like this, bloated and covered with hair. It was bad enough facing his friends, but his parents? Their judgment was scathing. "Just a minute!" He called back. Trevor snapped the plastic bag off of his head, and stuck his head under the shower. Within a few minutes, his hair was back to a shocking, if subtler, shade of nuclear blue. "Much better," he grumbled as he took another look in the mirror. He looked closer to himself than he had an hour ago. But he couldn't help but feel like an imposter. Like a grown man attempting to recapture his lost youth, and failing terribly.

Finally, he dug through the clean laundry at the top of the stairs, and acquired one of his dad's long-sleeved shirts, along with a pair of his jeans. He poked a tongue out at the red and green plaid, but it would have to do. It wasn't like his own clothes would fit him. He paired it with one of his oversized skater hoodies, zipped up to the top. It was just about baggy enough to disguise his belly. Maybe he could get away with this, he thought to himself.

Trevor stumbled down the staircase, scratching his cleanly shaven face. Even after such a close shave, his skin still felt like sandpaper. But the enticing aroma of breakfast quelled his thoughts. He almost floated into the dining room, his eyes bulging at the sight before him. The entire table was filled with piles of breakfast food. He'd never known his mom to go to so much trouble before. But he wasn't complaining. He piled up his plate, and dug in without so much as a good morning to his mother.

"So nice to see you enjoying my labor," she sighed, unsatisfied.

"Mmm-huh..." Trevor shoveled his breakfast into his mouth, vacuuming every scrap of food off of his plate. He didn't realize how hungry he was until he sat down. And even after taking seconds, he still wasn't satisfied.

His mother still seemed unimpressed. "By the way, this came for you in the mail."

Trevor's ears pricked up. He gulped as his mom produced a golden envelope and placed it on the table in front of him. Trepidation filled his mind.

TEAVAR J. CLAUK

25 SNOWDON WAY

MISTLETOE VALLEY

VERMONT

Trevor’s name was further botched. How his mother even assumed it was addressed to him, and not some weirdo with a freak name, was beyond him. That is, until she dumped another three letters on top. "I found these in the fireplace this morning," she said curtly. "They look important. I hope you weren't trying to incinerate your school reports again..."

"It looks important, but it's just junk," he grumbled. "Some kinda Christmas promotion that I want absolutely nothing to do with."

"Junk, huh?" She nodded. "Because it looks handwritten. So you don't mind if I open one..."

"No!" He snatched the letters off the table, and stuffed them into his jacket. "No, there's no need. I'll dump them myself."

"Well, alright..."

Trevor pulled himself out of his seat, which audibly creaked, and dusted himself off. He couldn't help but notice that the shirt he'd quote unquote borrowed from his dad was beginning to feel a little tight around the midsection. He prodded his belly, his finger making a dent in the soft mass. His lips tightened with disgust. He couldn't be fat, he was like a machine that burned everything he ate. He was always a lithe figure. Yet here he was, looking like he was smuggling a turkey under his hoodie. He briefly considered unzipping it to give himself room to breathe. But then his mom would only ask more questions he wasn't in the mood to answer. So he sucked his gut in, making little difference to his size, and stomped to the front door.

"Oh honey, before you leave, could you tidy up that beard of yours? You've got your breakfast all over it."

Trevor froze in his steps. "Beard..." He reached up and brushed a hand across his face, feeling the long strands of a bushy beard, even longer than when he had awoken that morning. He immediately tugged on it, wincing as he yanked his entire head along with it. He'd only been downstairs for twenty minutes, there's no way he could have grown several month's worth of facial hair! He turned to the mirror to confirm his fear, he had a bushy beard that now swept down to his neck. Even worse, he could spot several dull, gray hairs hidden within the chestnut brown bush. And underneath his beanie, he could see strands of brown hair trying to poke free. He stammered, unable to take it in. "M...My b-b-beard... I-I... It can't..."

"I don't mind if you want that horrid thing hiding your beautiful face, but at least keep it presentable!"

He managed to spit out a goodbye before being shoved out of the house, and into the blistering cold air. Trevor looked up to the dreary sky as snowflakes began to drift down in front of him. On instinct, he cracked a smile. They were going to have a white Christmas after all. A smile that he forced into a frown. Great, they were going to be snowed in for the rest of the year. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, frown stiffening further as they were crushed between his heft belly and the golden envelopes. The cold nipped at his nose, but at least his lower face was protected by his beard. It was the only good thing about it. He couldn't show his face at the skate park now. Who would even believe that he was who he said he was? Not when he looked like a wild lumberjack on the loose.

As he drifted along on his skateboard, the snow seemed to come down heavier than ever. Trevor was momentarily blinded, unable to see a thing. Suddenly, he crashed into something heavy. Or rather, someone, as the two of them, made a loud "oof!" followed by the sound of objects clattering to the ground.

Trevor struggled to his knees, looking around for the punk that knocked him off his skateboard, only to see an old man with a white mustache and shaved head, groaning on the floor, colorful presents scattered around him. At least he could still cause some chaos, he thought with a smirk. But the more he dwelled in the schadenfreude, the worse he felt. Was he feeling empathy? Trevor shuddered, he felt dirty... Eventually, the joy of watching this man struggle to stand on the frosty pavement left him just as cold. He rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Here, let me help," he growled, sticking out a reluctant hand.  

The man tugged on his hand and Trevor grunted as he pulled backwards, his thighs growing thicker, his calves tightening as his body piled on more weight to keep him grounded. As the man finally sprang to his feet, Trevor wiped his brow, now dotted with sweat, and bent down to pick up the scattered parcels. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had each and every present piled in his arms. "Oh, how kind! You don't find many folks like you these days!" The old man jabbed him in the ribs, making Trevor scowl. The man grabbed a couple of gifts, then asked, "You wouldn't mind helping me take these to the community center? It's only down the street from here. I think..." He squinted into the distance. The flurry of snow was still rampant. 

"It would be my pleasure," Trevor spat through gritted teeth as he latently grabbed his board from off the ground and positioned it under his armpit. The old man then stacked a few presents into his open arms with a tender smile and began leading the way. Trevor was beside himself. He wished more than anything to dump the presents on the ground, and stomp on each and every one of them. Then shove the old kook into oncoming traffic for good measure. Yet his whole body tensed up, unable to act on his anger. That is, until it decided to follow the old man down the snowy path.

"Some weather, huh?" He chirped with small talk. Trevor only grunted back. The only thing worse than unwillingly doing a good deed was small talk. "Yep, the ol' forecast predicted clear skies! Them weather folk, always getting it wrong!"

Trevor had to hold his bundle of presents high, using his large belly to keep them balanced as they sidled into the warm community center. Festive decorations adorned the usually mediocre hall, and a plastic Christmas tree sat in the center. In front of the tree were several tables, along with volunteers available to take the gifts. About a dozen people mingled throughout the room clutching cups of hot beverages, and chatting about their holiday plans.

Trevor felt uncomfortably aware of his presence as he weaved his way through the groups of people. He could almost feel himself getting rounder by the second. It was almost predictable. At least nobody was flashing him dirty looks the way they usually did. People were side-eyeing him the same way they had at the coffee shop yesterday. Trevor couldn’t blame them. The sight of his immense gut was quite a sight to behold after all, but at least he was dressed in Christmas colors. 

“Right here will be good, kid,” the old guy said as he reached a table in front of the Christmas tree. 

Trevor obeyed and plopped the parcels down in front of a group of extremely gracious volunteers. Then he wiped his hands down his face to get the frost out of his beard. What he didn't notice was how stubborn the snowflakes were, clinging to his face fur until they sunk into the follicles and stained them a wintery white. He gave his whole body a good shake for good measure, to clear the effects of that unexpected blizzard off of his clothes, acutely aware of how his stomach bounced up and down, and how his soft pecs jiggled within his coat's confines. Unfortunately he’d done so a little roughly, his belly bouncing into a gift, and sending it tumbling to the floor. “Oh crud,” he muttered and bent over to grab it. As he did, his skateboard slipped from his armpit and thumped onto the table. A faint pain filled Trevor’s knees as he grabbed the wrapped present and broke free from his squat, staying true to his original mission.

As he rose back to his feet, gripping the tabletop to keep his balance, he came face to face with a particularly large, shiny bauble hanging from the tree. Trevor gazed at his twisted reflection, trying not to whine out loud. His freshly grown beard was now a brisk salt and pepper. His hair had gotten shaggier, bursting free of his beanie hat in silky, brown and gray ringlets tinged with only the slightest hint of the blue he'd dyed into it only an hour earlier. Even the hairs that crawled across the palms of his rough hands, and the abundance of chest hair that poked free of his shirt collar were making the turn to old man white. But he wasn't an old man, he was young! Younger than all the old farts he had the displeasure of acquainting with in the community center. He spun away from the ghoulish reflection, panting in short breaths that only quickened as he came to find a volunteer was in the midst of stealing his skateboard!

"Woah, woah! Hey! What do you think you're doing!?"

The woman looked scared. She meekly said, "I-I'm sorry, I thought this was one of the gifts..."

“It’s mine!” Trevor snatched it back, and turned around. With a reignited flare of rebellion, he decided he’d ride it around the community center and mess with the other patrons. He dumped it on the floor, and stepped on it, ready to ride out of the hall as a final “fuck you” to all these Yuletide dorks. But just as he was about to push off, there was a sickening CRACK! Trevor couldn't even bring himself to look down. When he did, he felt sick. Underneath his foot, his precious skateboard had splintered clean in half. He crouched down, and picked the board pieces up, his lip wavering. This board had taken him through so many tricks and accidents over the years. And now his fat-ass had split it in two! Not even that one trick he attempted had done that.

He dumped the two skateboard halves on the gift table, and turned away. The lady was completely unfazed. "Oh, did you change your mind?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

"Excellent! I'm sure these will make wonderful gifts. You know it's an Olympic sport now? Crazy, I know!"

Trevor ignored the lady's insipid chatter, still lamenting the loss of his board. If he couldn't show his face at the skate park due to his abhorrent changes, he certainly couldn't now. Not without a board.

He turned around, and gaped. There were two boxes on the table. Just before the woman delicately put the lids on, there was no mistaking it. His skateboard had become two mini boards! Just the right size for a little skate punk in the making. He clutched a meaty fist to his soft chest, his breath caught in his throat. No! He had to keep it together! Keep his anarchist nature alive!

Then he spotted it, tucked underneath a roll of wrapping paper. That fiery anger sprung forth once more as he snatched the golden envelope away. It certainly wasn't there before. Which meant the stalker had to still be in the building! He cleared his throat, and asked "Excuse me, where did you get this?"

"Oh, that lovely gentleman over there must have left it behind. But the post office is closed for the holidays... Would you be a dear, and hand it back?"

Trevor left his older companion and stomped up to the man in question. He was a fellow large-bellied man with a luxurious, long, white beard, and a crown of cropped, white hair that highlighted his bald pate. Despite his belly, there was a definite muscle beneath the thick padding, bringing about an unparalleled size. There was something familiar about those rosy cheeks, and laughter lines. But any old man with a beard bore that semblance, so Trevor ignored his intuition. "You!" He shouted, jabbing a finger at the man. "What's your f...fu...fu-reakin' deal, man!?"

"Me?" The man replied, looking quite hurt by the accusation. He stroked at his beard, a soft, Scottish burr littering his words. "Why, I'm simply a volunteer for this charity drive! Those poorly children can't go wi'out a gift this Christmas, you see." He held out a large paw of a hand, just begging to be shaken. "Rusty McCoy's the name, on account o' my shocking red hair. Before it up and vanished on me, o' course. Maybe I should change it to Baldrick. Or Snowy. Or Beardo..."

"Enough!" Trevor slapped the man's hand away. "I don't care about your stupid name! What the heck are these about!?"

As Trevor held out the golden envelope in his hand, Rusty gasped and broke into a broad smile. "Oh my, you're the new representative! Why, look at you. I shoulda guessed!"

"You don't recognize me?" Trevor grinded his teeth, his smile lost to confusion. "But you're the one who's been leaving these ruddy letters for me!"

"I wouldn't have to keep doing that if you'd just open and read the gosh darn things, instead o’ trying to burn them up!"

"How did you-"

"I should know, because I'm Santa. Or rather, I was Santa..." Rusty bowed his head, trying to hide his disappointment. "I can't be him anymore, because o’ you..."

Trevor winced, feeling a slight pang of guilt. Something he'd seldom felt before. "Look, I'm sorry about the whole disruption at the mall yesterday, but it ain't my fault you got fired!"

"Mall?" Rusty shook his head, his beard bouncing across his chest. "No, no, no. I can't be Santa anymore, because it's your turn. You're the new Santa."

"I'm... What?"

"You're Santa. The ultimate Christmas representative? Spreads goodwill and happiness around the world?" Rusty sighed. "If ye read your letters, you would have known by now, and prepared for-"

"I'm not Santa. Do not Santa me. I'm not becoming Santa. Because Santa isn't real!"

"O’ course he's real. I mean, I should know."

"You..." Trevor looked at the man before him and actually studied his features. The blubbery stomach that shook like jelly. The luxurious white beard. The rosy red cheeks. That twinkle in his eyes. There's no way, it was impossible...

"Every year, a new person is chosen to be the Christmas representative. I was chosen last year, just a wee lad from Braemar. So I understand how ye feel. The denial and confusion as you take on your new role. But once you embrace it, and accept your new role. Well, it's as easy as baking chocolate chip cookies!"

"If you love being Santa so much, why don't you stay as him, and leave me alone?"

"I would love to, believe me. Every Santa feels this way. But we have to pass the gift on." He patted him on the stomach. "I have one last gig tonight, at the tree lighting event in the town square. Maybe I'll see you there, and we can part ways amicably?"

"No, we're not doing that!" Trevor seethed with a stomp of his foot. "Make this stop!"

"I really wish I could," Rusty said pensively. "But once it's started, there's no stopping the transfer. I'm already losing my memories of the workshop, and the reindeer, and the elves... Pretty soon, you'll gain the full Santa persona. Even your clothes'll make the change."

Trevor glanced down, only to see the same bloated belly covered with that garish plaid shirt underneath his warm hoodie. Rusty pointed upwards, towards his head, and he reached up to feel his beanie hat. Except there was a peculiar furry lining around the base. Curious, he pulled the hat off of his head, releasing a hatful of bouncy, curly locks, and almost jolted in surprise. Somehow, his hat had been replaced with a red gnome hat! There was a white bobble on top, and the rim had a white fur trim.

"What the heck... You switched my hat!"

"Of course I didn't, it's the magic! Every Santa needs a red bobble hat."

"Well, not this Santa. Because I'm not Santa!" Furious, Trevor shoved the hat into Rusty's chest, pushing the man slightly, before spinning on his heels and stomping out of the community center.

Rusty tugged on the hat in his hands, and sighed. "I hope I wasn't this stubborn back then..."

Snow had started falling once again as Trevor stepped out onto the street. As he stormed past groups of people, he tried his best to zone out the nauseating Christmas music blaring outside of every storefront. Trevor had no destination in mind. He just wanted to escape the merriment. Trevor’s calves and thighs swelled as he walked aimlessly, gradually occupying more and more space in his dad’s jeans. Eventually, the denim was pulled tight across the young man’s legs, causing his tiny butt to perk out slightly. The sensation of Trevor’s junk becoming squished in his tight underwear and jeans was less than pleasant and he eventually had to face a brick wall outside a storefront and alleviate his predicament. Readjusting his squished member brought him some much-needed relief. Simultaneously, a succulent aroma entered his nostrils, immediately conjuring a rumble in his stomach. 

“Free samples!” 

Trevor turned back around, nearly toppling over due to his fattening undercarriage, and came face-to-face with a man in a coat and an apron holding up a platter of free samples. Better yet, the free samples were a tray of steaming chocolate chip cookies! He was about to snatch one off the plate before he remembered his manners. “May I?” 

“Absolutely!” the server replied ecstatically and Trevor impulsively stuffed one in his mouth. It tasted so warm, sweet, and fresh, like it had just come out of the oven. “Please, take the whole tray if you’d like,” the server said with a grin.

“What? Oh no, I couldn’t-” Trevor sputtered mid-chew. 

The server dismissively waved his hand. “Nonsense, I insist!” he said, forcing the tray into Trevor’s open palms. “A guy like you is perfect to drum up Christmas sales. Just tell ‘em you got the snacks from Martin’s Bakery, okay big guy?” 

Trevor swallowed the first bite of his cookie, his taste buds now aroused by the delicious taste. “Okay sweet! Thanks! How kind of you,” Trevor acquiesced, although it came out sounding far more gracious than he thought. Still, free food was free food, and the growing man’s appetite needed to be satisfied. 

The next few minutes were a blur for Trevor. At first, he tried to walk and eat the platter of cookies he’d been so generously gifted, but he soon found he needed a spot to sit. Luckily, a nearby bench devoid of snow was just the ticket. Trevor’s gut hung over the loops of his pants as he sat down, way too distracted noshing on his snack to notice - a simple Christmas song playing from a nearby storefront soundtracked his meal. 

Subconsciously, Trevor tapped his right foot to the beat of the song, humming a melody while he feasted. The movement caused a chain reaction to occur in his flimsy, beat-up old tennis shoes. They gradually began to gain a glossy sheen, shedding their gray coloration and ragged polyester for a far more refined, rich black leather. A rubbery layer formed beneath Trevor’s sneakers, adding a few additional ounces to them and making them far more slip-resistant. The ratty shoelaces sunk into the shoes and were promptly replaced by brass buckles. Black leather glided past Trevor’s ankles and rose a few inches before stopping. Upon contact with the new shoes, the bottoms of Trevor’s jeans promptly moved on their own. They uncrinkled and subtly slid their way down, allowing the black leather to be on full display. By the time Trevor had finished eating the platter of fresh cookies, he was wearing a resplendent pair of black leather boots. 

“Excuse me,” he coyly said after a faint belch escaped his mouth. The young man readjusted his burly body in the bench, unaware that the food was making it expand even further. His typical sneer morphed into an earnest grin as he felt his swelling stomach massaging his crotch. The cookies had really done a number on his waistline. Still, Trevor’s smile didn’t flicker as he felt himself widening, nearly taking up the entire wooden bench. His impressive ball gut had swollen to equal girth as his husky lower body. Hesitantly, he reached out to squeeze it, only to find that it was rigid and tight as a drum. “OOOF!!” the young man exclaimed as he suddenly launched upward from the bench. His miniscule glutes had solidified into two round globes, each nearly a foot in diameter. If his jeans hadn’t expanded along with them, Trevor’s noticeable rump would’ve surely burst the denim. 

“F…f…freak this,” Trevor huffed, hoisting his fattening frame off the bench. Frustratedly, he brushed away his hat’s bobble from his shoulder. His new brawny legs had little trouble elevating his new frame. 

Suddenly, a little kid’s voice filled the air. “Whoa, is that Santa Claus?”

Trevor tried to grimace at the sound, but found that he couldn’t. “Why hello there young man,” he said with a warm smile, unwittingly lowering his voice. “You must have mistaken me with someone else. I know I look b-big, but I’m not Santa Claus” An awkward laugh escaped his lips, however it more closely resembled a deep “ho ho ho” before Trevor coughed to clear his throat. Dashes of rosy red appeared on both of his cheeks. 

“He sure looks like Santa, doesn’t he?” the kid’s father said before facing Trevor. “He’s even got the rosy cheeks for it. Are you sure you’re not Santa, sir?”

“No! I…I’m nothing of the sort. I’m just a…” A sharp twinge of guilt infiltrated Trevor’s mind as the kid’s smile flickered, but he rallied again. “I do…not…ssspread Christmas mAGIC!” The young man’s then heart nearly leapt out of his throat as he dramatically ascended upward like a weed. His 5’8” height was lost in an instant as he gained six more inches of height in milliseconds, leaving him at an imposing 6’2”. In one moment, Trevor went from looking up to the kid’s father to gazing down with a clear view of the top of his bald head. The feeling was dizzying yet incredible. Trevor squirmed in his leather boots as he wobbled in place trying to find his new center of gravity. As a result of the sprouting, Trevor’s boxer shorts now closely resembled a pair of short briefs that delicately clung to his tree trunk thighs and tightly encompassed his sizeable loins.

The father turned to his son while Trevor just looked down at his beefy body, still in shock. “You know Leo, if you’re good, Santa will bring you a present tonight.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely!” Trevor boomed, but not of his own volition. “It’s my p…pleasure to visit Mistletoe Valley and m…making sure we all have a wonderful Christmas.” Trevor wanted to stop, but during his sentence, his voice plummeted four octaves, replacing his snide arrogance and higher register with a deep range and volume that sounded like it belonged to a coal miner. 

To punctuate his deeper and hardier voice, he let out a begrudging “ho ho ho.” Internally, he cringed at himself, but he had to admit it sounded rather convincing. 

“Whoa you are?” the kid exclaimed. His face reignited with unbridled joy. “That’s so cool! Don’t you live in the North Pole? What do you do up there?” 

“No…I…don’t,” Trevor whimpered, although it sounded rather pitiful coming from his brand new vocal cords. “I go skateboarding all the time and I…hang out…at t-the skate park every d-day. I’m not magic.” Trevor wanted to punch himself in the face. His new voice made it sound like he was going through a midlife crisis. But he was a teenager! However, he was having trouble remembering how old he was? He wanted to say he was eighteen, but the hairy and growing body he looked down upon was far from youthful.

The father spoke up once again. “Did you want to give Santa the letter we found?” 

“Yea!” the kid squeaked. “I think you lost this, but I found this on the ground when you were walking!” He handed a yellow letter to his father who in turn, handed it to Trevor. As he reluctantly grabbed it from the man’s hand, his fears were confirmed once again. 

“Thanks kid,” The automatic response came out far lower and more confident than Trevor had anticipated. His new, resonant drawl didn’t allow for any adolescent shyness.

“Say thank you to Santa. I think he has to get to the parade that’s starting later today,” the father said to his son. “Is that right, Saint Nick?” He threw Trevor a wink.

“Y-yes,” Trevor replied, his face burning with confused helplessness. As a result, his cheeks grew far more round and took on a warm, red hue, just like the Santa Claus from Coca-Cola ads: his sworn enemy.

“Thank you so much Santa! I’ll see ya later” the kid beamed before his father marshaled him away. 

Trevor didn’t want to smile, but his rounder cheeks practically forced him too, showcasing an award-winning smile of straight white teeth. Even the tooth that Trevor had chipped in a fight years ago had both bleached and healed itself, leaving him with a flawless smile. With no time to waste, he tore open the yellow letter he’d been given. The address on the front didn’t phase him anymore. It was painfully obvious he couldn’t stop what was happening to him on his own. 

TRENTAR CLAURS

109 MAIN STREET 

MISTLETOE VALLEY 

VERMONT

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

You are coming along quite nicely! We are glad the spirit of Christmas is influencing you so. After all, who could be miserable on a day as wonderful as this? Just remember, don’t be afraid. You are a confident, hulking tower of a man and your presence brightens up everyone’s day! 

Take care, your transformation will soon be over and you will be delighted to know that you will be spreading joy to millions of families across the world. 

Sincerely, Rusty McCoy

“This is so absurd!” Trevor griped, now unable to cuss, or even fake-cuss. It should’ve come as no surprise that Rusty was behind this mess. However, Trevor couldn’t even fully surrender to his typical anger. After all, this hectic change had come with some perks: being 6’8” was a great benefit and that first paragraph about being a mammoth of a man was semi-inspiring. It was all so much to bear. 

The defeated young man glanced up at the sky in contemplation, placing his meaty hands on his broadening hips while a light flurry of snow continued falling all around him. He couldn’t accept this. He just wanted the changes to reverse so he could just-

SPLAT! 

Turning to his side, Trevor saw a squashed red velvet cupcake on the snow-covered ground just behind him. His broad butt extended out nearly an entire foot behind him and he had narrowly avoided having a cupcake smeared all over it. “Oh my,” he muttered, wiping a drop of red frosting that had landed on his jeans. His round caboose shook a bit from his light caress and it made him feel even more self-conscious. 

Peering up higher, he could make out the faint outlines of young men standing on a third-floor balcony. He couldn’t make out their faces, but he could hear their shrill yammering and whooping, which instantly caused a frown to appear on Trevor’s round face. "Who is causing all this ruckus!?" he exclaimed before sighing to himself. His deep voice and vocabulary made him sound like some old codger. 

The kids up above just continued laughing like crazy. “We’ll be right down, sir!” one sarcastically cried out as they hurried back into the store. 

“I know that voice,” Trevor murmured to himself. It sounded like Skids! He just wished they weren’t so far away so he could actually confirm that it was his lanky friend. Just as the thought left his mind, a pair of round-lensed glasses materialized around his eyes and his fuzzy vision cleared right up. “Whoa,” he said, jolting upright, his weathered eyes narrowly missing the tailends of the boys who had ridiculed him. Suddenly, Trevor’s new pair of light brown glasses began to slip off his face, but luckily, he narrowly caught them by bringing a hand to his face. “What the hell…” he murmured as he held out the new object in front of him, although it just looked like a blur to him. “No, no, no,” Trevor huffed as he begrudgingly placed them back over his eyes, only to watch them correct his foggy eyesight. They slipped once again down the bridge of his nose before they suddenly stopped! The fat young man’s nose had inflated to stop his new corrective eyewear from ever falling from his face. It took on a faintly scarlet hue similar to his cheeks and had now become a rotund bulb that took up far more real estate on his face than before. 

Before Trevor could analyze his new glasses and transforming face further, an abrupt feeling of warmth overtook his torso. Millions of tiny fibers spread like wildfire across his fatty pecs, broadening shoulders, and firm back. They crossed over his equator and promptly appeared all over his lower body, causing the changing man to unwittingly chortle with glee. His attention shifted to the hairs on his arms and his smile quickly dropped. The long, spindly hairs were white! “No, no, no,” Trevor cowered, but it more closely resembled a confident “ho ho ho.” He began to breathe heavier, now feeling as if he was trapped in a vortex of predestined fate. The world wanted to make him that fat bozo and he couldn’t let it happen! 

“There he is!” a teenage voice called out.

The quartet of boys was almost comical to Trevor since now he had to arch his neck down to look down at them. Two of them he recognized as Axel and Skids, the other guys he vaguely recognized, but couldn’t even recall their names. 

“So what’s your problem, old man?" Axel fearlessly jeered. He had the same vain grin as the rest of the gang.

"I'm not old!" Trevor snapped back, defensively. Truthfully, he wasn't quite sure how old he was. Mentally, he still felt on the cusp of adulthood. Physically, however, was a different matter. Long stripes of white began to appear in his beard as it began to extend past the recess of his chin. “It’s me, Trevor!” he cried. “Don’t treat me different ‘cause I look like this.” His rich bass made his despondency sound far less pathetic.

“Differently?” Skids said while cockily raising an eyebrow. “Please, you’re just a commercialized extension of this Hallmark commercial of a holiday.” Skids took a deep breath. His last sentence had had some larger words in it. “How about you go back to teaching kids about this PHONY HOLIDAY?”

Trevor winced, now bothered by the vicious rancor of his friends. It permeated Axel and Skids and the whole friend group for that matter and Trevor had to admit that it seemed rather toxic. "C'mon Skids. Let's talk about this..." Trevor added, reaching out his hand. 

"Only the gang can call me Skids,” the young punk spat, slapping Trevor’s arm away. “And you ain't a part of it no more."

"Wh- I'm..." Trevor felt his heart break in two. His face felt damp, his eyes blurred with tears. On the outskirts of his vision, he could hear the others cackling at his misery. 

"Face it, old man. You can't keep up with us! You're too nice. We only used you to get the good stuff, and now we don't need it!"

"I know I may be old,” Trevor growled, no longer slouching. “But at least I’m no longer miserable like you guys!” To reaffirm his rage, Trevor’s spine promptly snapped into place as vertical as a pole. His back cracked as he shot taller than ever until he stood a few taller than even Axel, who he remembered was 6’3”. He crossed his arms and rested them on his drum of a stomach. The action caused them to inflate within their clothed confines, immediately swelling to the size of drainage pipes. 

“Let’s get outta here, guys,” Axel scoffed to the other three guys, now having to crane his head up at Trevor who just smirked while laugh lines etched themselves into his cheeks. He really was shaping up to be quite a colossus of a gentleman. Perhaps the changes weren’t all that bad.

Trevor held his own as the three young men scuttled away, looking down at his large, clenched fists which rested on his fat stomach: the true centerpiece of his burly figure. Although he was sad to see them go, he didn’t regret what he’d said. It was funny how much he’d idolized these boneheads. His heavy breaths made his pecs heave up and down. If only he could have his youth back without the misdirected angst. But Trevor had a feeling those days were over. 

Now alone and forlorn, Trevor decided to slink around the festive market that sprawled around the town square - at least, as discreetly as a man of his hefty stature could slink through a crowd. Fairy lights and large torches filled the area with a warm glow. He hadn't even noticed how dark the sky had become, as the early night crept in. After some wandering, he came across a stall decorated with tinsel. At the back, a young man toiled away over a cauldron of hot cocoa, ladling the contents into mugs topped with viscous cream, and perfectly shaped marshmallows. Trevor couldn't resist, and before he knew it, he was sitting on a makeshift barrel chair with a cup of his own warming his hands. As he took a sip, he couldn't help but smile. Maybe this Christmas junk wasn't as bad as he'd always made it out to be. 

While he admired the large tree looming over the market, everything went hazy. The steam from his hot cocoa had fogged up his spectacles. Trevor reached up to take them off, and give them a little wipe. To think he had perfect 20/20 vision at the start of the day. Now, as he looked around, he came to realize his vision had worsened. He could just about make out the logo on his mug. Everything else was a twinkling blur. He stuck his glasses back on, and his vision was restored to perfection. 

Just as well, he mused. He'd never be able to drive a sleigh without his trusty specs. Not that he was ever going to ride one in the first place, he immediately huffed. Perturbed by his shifting mindset, he frustratedly pushed himself off of the barrel and accidentally knocked his hot cocoa over his pants in the process. With an angry wheeze, he stormed off further into the market. All the while, the cocoa seeped into the fabric, rapidly dispersing across his blue jeans. 

Trevor stopped in place with disbelief when he realized his pants were changing! “Oh dear, oh my goodness,” he cried, still unable to curse as anguish swept through him. Luckily, the liquid wasn’t scalding, but it did begin to spread all around the aging man’s pants. Trevor’s disgruntled pleas quickly turned into pleasurable grunts as the cocoa began to alter the denim of the jeans. It felt…softer now, like a sacred mixture of silk and velvet. The fabric wasn’t the only thing to change. Trevor’s bulky legs squirmed as the indigo coloration converted to a popping scarlet. He wanted to be mad, but the sensation was rather comfortable. It was as if each fiber of Trevor’s new bright red pants was massaging his larger legs. Unlike the jeans, the new pants provided much more space for Trevor’s crotch to swell larger. 

Red stitching materialized around Trevor’s colossal rump, causing his asscheeks to also plump up in roundness, becoming two mountainous spheres. To complement the red fabric, white lines of fluff as flocculant as clouds appeared at the bottom hems of his pants. The same white cotton then spread to the bottom of his black hoodie, which quickly dyed itself the same fierce shade of red as his pants. Underneath, his red and green plaid shirt turned into a larger and comfier undershirt for the gargantuan old man. His new, snug coat also stretched itself out, causing Trevor’s barrel belly to expand with it! The fibers provided him with a pleasurable warmth that was addicting, making him fall in love with his brand new coat. “Ahhh, that’s nice,” the aging man purred, now completely inebriated from the warm, soft sensation. 

Trevor couldn’t help but be hypnotized by his enormous stomach. Its broad circumference defied the human body’s capabilities. It was so perfectly round and expertly concealed by his new cushiony red jacket. A string of bright white buttons spread up the center of his two-hundred pound stomach followed by a thick black leather belt coiling itself around it. The pleasure was immeasurable. 

“OH NO-HO HO HO” Trevor bellowed uncontrollably, now unable to resist the urge to pat his gigantic belly as he did. It was surprisingly sturdy. Although it did shake slightly, Trevor was surprised to feel that it was a mixture of fat and muscle. As he reopened his eyes, he watched as the same white trim formed around his wrists, accentuating the ends of his warm, wooly red coat followed by a signature pair of white velvet gloves forming around his oversized hands. He wiggled his sausage-sized fingers, savoring his beautiful breadth. 

Curious murmurs all around him caused him to perk back up. People were staring and talking about him. An icy feeling of fear returned to his veins - the same he’d felt when he’d first received that letter at the mall yesterday afternoon. Fighting the growing desire to look people in the eye, Trevor heeded his teenage instincts and darted out of the storefront, or rather…he hobbled out. Every part of his glorious body seemed to gloriously bounce and rub together perfectly as he slowly walked. Even more distracting was the feeling of his fat pecs and large nipples grazing the new undershirt he was wearing beneath the coat. It was becoming quite hard to hate his gargantuan frame. The falling snow twinkled magnificently, juxtaposed perfectly with the darkening evening sky. Unknown to him, his long beard promptly dyed itself to the same white shade. 

After a few solemn minutes spent enjoying the mirthful ambiance, he stopped in front of a warm fire that kept the snow from settling. Half a dozen children and their parents held marshmallows over the open flame. Trevor watched, mesmerized as their cheer sparkled brighter than the flames itself. Eventually, one of the kids noticed him, their gaze piercing into him. There was a flurry of whispers.

"Momma, is that..."

"It has to be him!"

"It's really Santa!"

Trevor reflexively puffed his chest out, the act of being recognized giving him a sense of pride - a sense that was quickly deflated by his lingering cynicism as he heel-turned and stomped off with a frown. Just because he was a jolly old man with a long, white beard, and a rotund belly, that didn't mean he was Santa! As he gazed out into the sparse gathering of people, he made out one face that looked very familiar. It took him only a moment to realize it was Rusty - the jerk who’d done this to him! 

“Wow,” Rusty exclaimed before Trevor could be a bewildered word out. “You’re looking great, man, or should I say Santa.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was listening. “I bet you’re likin’ that big belly, aye?”

“I…I suppose,” Trevor acquiesced. He wanted to be furious and scornful the same way he’d been to this old man before, but found that he couldn’t do it. There were other people around and he couldn’t just go around badgering this poor guy. It would ruin everyone else’s Christmas! He just sighed and accepted defeat.

Rusty beamed. “Ah, look at you mate! You really are the jolly old man I knew ya could be!” 

“I don’t…” Trevor moaned petulantly. “I don’t want to have responsibility. And you…you did this to me. I…j-just don’t l-like…” He tried to say he didn’t like Christmas, but the words were never to be uttered by him again. 

“You are a beacon of love and a beefcake of a man,” Rusty said, flashing him a tender smile. Trevor balled his fists, but he knew there was nothing he could do. “You have nothing to be afraid of, Santa Claus. Merry Christmas,” Rusty said before promptly turning around and vanishing into the adjacent crowd. 

Trevor wanted to follow the old joker out, but he was frozen in place. Being called that caused Trevor’s spine to tingle with adulation. His displeased frown turned into a smile before an archetypal “ho ho ho” escaped his lips. With a twinge of rebellion still buried deep within him, Trevor followed suit and left the groups of families around the campfire, but not without a genial wave and cheery smile. 

As the fat old man walked, he was treated once again to the intense pleasure of his husky body bouncing with his steps. Everything about him was enormous. To solidify it, Trevor’s bulge inflated beneath his wooly pants, followed by the feeling of his balls swelling to the size of cumquats. It was a wondrous feeling, but the ambassador of Christmas wasn’t even thinking about that. After all, he was in public. Instead, he began humming Christmas tunes to himself as he walked down the market square and his anxiety gradually melted into confidence. This really was the greatest gift he’d ever received and he couldn’t stop his joy from rising and rising. 

After a while of wandering and smiling at the kind townsfolk, a shrill voice brought Trevor back to reality. "Excuse me!" The man rushed over to Trevor to stop him. He cringed, expecting the usual discipline he heard upon those words. Instead, the man was smiling and said, "Hi, sorry to bother you. But we're in a bit of a pickle over here. You see, we usually have a little procession leading up to the town square, culminating in the lighting of the tree. A bit of a tradition. Except, our leading man has failed to show up. He told us he couldn't make it due to all this snow."

"Oh my, that is quite a pickle," Trevor agreed with a curt nod. He didn't like where this was heading...

"So I was wondering," the man continued, "if you would be so kind as to lead the procession yourself?"

"Me!?" Trevor gaped at the man and his youthful anxiety resurfaced. "No, you're asking the wrong guy. You don't want me." Why would anyone want him leading a parade? For all intents and purposes, he was a big-bellied, wild-bearded, rugged old man. Of course, he knew what the man meant was that they needed someone to play Santa. Besides, wasn’t Rusty supposed to be playing the big guy for one last hurrah? The realization hit Trevor like a brick. He’d been set up! It was bad enough being stopped every few minutes for a selfie, but to put himself on display in front of the whole town? He wasn't ready to be so vulnerable.

Unfortunately, the guy wasn't taking no for an answer. "Are you kidding? I've been watching as you've walked around the market, and all these kids are gazing at you like you're a celebrity! You have the look down to a T, you simply must lead!"

With a drawn-out sigh, and a pinch of his temples, Trevor growled, "How many times do I have to tell you folks... I ain't Santa!" 

"Sorry," the man mumbled with a blush. "You just already look the part. It's like you were born to be Santa. I don't even think we need a costume, you look ready to go!"

Trevor frowned. While he had reluctantly accepted the ongoing changes to his body, even if he was going to end up an old duffer anyway; even if his mind had been toyed with to enjoy the holiday season, he still drew the line at embodying Santa Claus. Besides, wasn't that other guy supposed to be here? Rusty or something. Surely they'd have better luck asking him.

"Please. If not for us, then the kids."

Trevor hummed and thought. He ran a hand through his incredibly thick beard, tugging an extra couple inches into its already lengthy mane until it bunched up against the curve of his mighty belly. With a sigh, Trevor nodded his head. "I feel like I can't say no..." He said with a heavy sigh. "Let's just get it over with..."

He followed the eager man over to an unassuming tent. Inside was a hokey-looking parade float with a few illuminated Christmas trees, and a wooden sleigh. A few women dressed as elves were gathered in a corner doing stretches, presumably the dancers leading the procession. Trevor placed a hand on the sleigh, and gazed at it sadly. Everything was moving too fast for his liking. Yesterday he’d been joking around with his friends at the mall. And now he was a senior citizen pretending to be Ol' Saint Nick for an adoring crowd. He wished he could go back to his old life as a ne'er-do-well, but he knew he wasn't that person any longer. Literally, he was about fifty years older, and ten times heavier. But this experience had changed him, made him kinder, and warmer, and far more jollier. Maybe it really was meant to be... He climbed into the sleigh and the parade went off without a hitch. 

The next half-hour was spent by Trevor waving and smiling to the large crowds of people from his sleigh parade-float. As they continued the march around the square, all Trevor could hear was the adoring crowd. He couldn't believe it. He'd spent much of his life being a troublemaker. The only adulation he had was from his like-minded crew. Yet here he was, being thrown praise and love by complete strangers! They were all cheering. Cheering for him! He'd never been congratulated or adored by anyone. Yet here he was, surrounded by Christmas cheer. He could feel his heart swell at the praise. He sat up straighter, his broad shoulders spread further, his wide chest puffed out in pride. Even his belly gurgled and bulged out a bit further within his lap, accepting all of that praise.

He hopped out of his sleigh, still waving to his adoring crowd with a massive grin that even his bushy beard couldn't hide. He joined the rest of the procession on the stage, right next to the massive Christmas tree that adorned the town square. The mayor stood at the center, hushing the crowd so he could give a little speech. Yet amidst the sparkle and glamor, Trevor couldn't help but notice something off. And for once that day, it wasn't his changing body.

The crowd cheered once more as Trevor came to the middle of the stage. He joined the others around a large button. The countdown happened. They pressed the button, and the entire square lit up with a warm glow. The Christmas tree sparkled brilliantly, its many baubles and tinsel shimmered under the glow. Trevor was momentarily dumbstruck. The town looked so beautiful. He could almost cry. To think this was what he used to hate. The glow and camaraderie always brought a hopeful warmth during the coldest and darkest times of the year. He felt his heart melt, and grow three sizes. The warmth spread ever further, his belly buckling out ever further, stretching his new coat to its absolute limit. His back widened as he spread his stance further, giving him a powerful stance to account for his added weight. He leaned back, took a deep breath, and shouted at the top of his lungs. "HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!" His deep, commanding voice broke through the excited chatter, reaching even the furthest corners of the town square. The cheer that followed was deafening.

The festivities went just as planned and Trevor felt just like a celebrity. The man bore little resemblance to the scrawny blue-haired punk he’d once been. No, now he was someone different - someone so much better. He truly was magical! Now he wanted nothing more than to share his magic with the world. Soon enough, he noticed he had a prime opportunity. 

There, right by the stage. There was a young boy who wasn't joining in with the crowd. He crouched down, and caught the boy's eye, who only glanced away in a mix of surprise and fear. Trevor chuckled. "Hello there, why so blue?"

The boy shied away from Trevor, who frowned. The boy's mom sighed. She leaned closer, and said softly. "Sorry, he's been a little touchy since some horrid boys screeched about Santa not existing at the mall yesterday..."

Trevor felt his stomach turn. He really was a different person yesterday... He got the boy's attention. "What's your name?"

"Timmy..."

"Okay, Timmy. Why would you listen to such nasty kids?"

"Cause all the adults got upset. And then I thunk about what they said, and it started to make sense... Santa can't be real. He's supposed to be out delivering presents right now, all over the world! It's already Christmas in Australia, and you're here instead. None of it makes sense... How do I know you're not lying?"

Trevor thought for a moment, stroking his wooly beard. That was a toughie. It's not like Rusty briefed him on the dos and don'ts of Santahood. How was he going to deliver all those presents... But if there was anything he had learned over the past day, it was that belief was stronger than any kind of magic. In the softest voice he could muster, he said, "I'm not a phony or a fake. I am Santa Claus."

Those four simple words sparked an avalanche within Trevor's mind. His doubt, his cynicism, his hatred of the holidays. All of it was buried beneath an avalanche of memories. Of cheer, of gift giving, of happiness and joy and love. Decades, maybe even centuries, worth of intimate memories and experiences flooded through his massive body. And it became true. He stood up tall and proud, a warmth in his expression. He was Santa Claus.

Yet poor, little Timmy wasn't convinced. "Just 'cause you say it, doesn't mean it's true."

This little stumbling block was nothing to the reborn Santa. "I can prove I'm Santa, because I know exactly what you want for Christmas." He reached behind his back, then felt something land in his outstretched palm. He was momentarily shocked. Did he actually... He brought his hand back to reveal a small present in his grip.

Timmy's eyes lit up, as he uttered a quiet "Woah..." He meekly took the present with a tiny thank you.

"Ah-ah," Santa grinned, tapping his nose. "Not until Christmas."

Tears welled in Timmy’s eyes: he was so grateful. “Thank you so much!” 

Santa smiled, radiating the same celestial merriment he’d been so graciously endowed with. “Merry Christmas, Timmy! HO HO HO!” he boomed, bidding Timmy and his mother adieu. Seeing the joy he brought people was the most fulfilling thing he could imagine.

Santa rested against the back of the stage. He patted his head, and sighed. He was Santa Claus. He made presents appear from nothing. Presents that he innately knew were what everybody wanted. He was magic, and he was Santa, and he had never felt more alive than at that moment. The adrenaline rush of doing good. He needed more. He had a duty to all those children worldwide. But how was he going to do it? At that moment, a glint of light caught his attention. Buried in the snow ahead of him was a golden envelope. Curious, he picked it up, and examined it before carefully ripping it open.

SANTA CLAUS

MISTLETOE VALLEY TOWN SQUARE

MISTLETOE VALLEY

VERMONT

Dearest Santa Claus

We graciously applaud your humble decision to become this year's Christmas Representative once again. But your mission isn't over yet. We need you to spread your magic around the world. Once you feel ready, follow our furry helper to your work vehicle. Once again, thank you for taking over one of the most fulfilling jobs I could ever imagine.

Most sincerely, Rusty McCoy

Santa chuckled to himself, his belly shaking. Why, he was the representative every year. As he wondered which of his elves could be pulling a prank, he heard the snort of a large creature. He raised his head, and was surprised to see a reindeer had crept up to him. As if on cue, it snatched the letter straight out of his gloved hands, and bolted down the road, the golden envelope clutched between its jaws.

"Get back here!" Santa instinctively took off after it, leaving the festive cheer and joyful singing of the town square behind him. For a fat, old man, he was surprisingly nimble. He managed to keep up with the creature, his feet gliding across the floor as if he were ice skating. He kept up the chase as the reindeer guided them to the outskirts of town, to the forests that surrounded the town.

Further they went into the woods, until they came to a clearing. Santa leaned up against a tree trunk, the wood creaking a little under his massive weight, and mopped his soggy brow. "Comet, you rascal!" He panted, giving the reindeer a calming brush. "You should know better by now. What if anyone saw you?"

Before he could scold his reindeer further, Santa's eyes fell upon the scene. A deep, holly red sleigh sat in the clearing, illuminated by an unknown source of light.  Several other reindeer were harnessed up to it, each of them stomping their hooves impatiently. Comet joined his fellow reindeer, while Santa strode up to the sleigh, and brushed a hand across its glossy exterior. Inside, he could see an old parchment atop the leather-bound seats. In the back was a large, velvet sack filled to the brim with multicolored gifts. He'd seen his magical vehicle many a time, yet for some reason, he felt apprehensive. As if he were viewing it for the very first time.

Gingerly, Santa placed a boot down upon the first step. He worried the whole sleigh might tip over, such was how heavy he had become. Yet it took the full brunt of his weight. He took a second step, adjusting his body as he swung over the threshold, and into the sleigh. He landed on the soft upholstering with a soft "Oof!" Then he assessed the situation. He was glad to see that the sleigh was large enough to accommodate his extra large belly, not to mention his gloriously wide buttocks. Adjusting his spectacles, he reached for the reins that attached the reindeer to the sleigh. All of those fears he had, of not knowing what to do. How to fly. How to be Santa. They all vanished. Santa Claus rubbed his gloved hands together with a soft chuckle. "Alright then," he grumbled in that gravelly bass of his. "Time to take my job seriously." 

In the abandoned clearing, a lone figure stood on the outskirts of the clearing, hidden in the shadows. He watched as the reindeer pranced across the field, kicking into high gear until suddenly, there was a flash of white light. The reindeer, the sleigh, and its occupant had vanished into the night's sky. He stared up into the night, wiping away a stray tear. "That sure was a close one..." Rusty mumbled to himself. Any later, and he would have had to take over the reins once more. Of course, it wouldn't have worked. Although he now had a vague memory of the whole experience, he’d forgotten how to be Santa. The majority of his memories and knowledge were passed onto his heir. And now it was time for him to retire, the Christmas Village as it was so known. Where every Santa Claus could find comfort and bliss in their final years. 

Rusty wiped another tear from his eye as he thought about the Christmas spirit. A figure as influential as Santa Claus had changed his life forever. Just like Santa Claus, his heart was filled with reverence for life, the charismatic approach to the holidays, and sheer gratitude for everyone around him. For him, that chapter had passed, but for the newest ambassador of Christmas, that fervid joy had only just begun. 

[visceral-stories]

Family Man

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The fifteen-minute walk to Elliott Schmidt’s house was just long enough to make Mason Zimmerman question the legitimacy of using a car. But it was a nice summer day and the eighteen-year-old enjoyed taking the extra time to listen to his music. He preferred to make the trip to his best friend’s house by foot - it was an excuse to listen to more music on his AirPods while he strolled through the scenic suburban streets. After two fast-paced rock songs, Mason was relieved to find himself in front of the Schmidt household. The light cinnamon shade of the house provided a rustic feel that the other estates on the block lacked. 

The text message arrived at the very second that Mason Zimmerman rang the doorbell. Mason pulled out his phone and frowned at the text from his friend Elliott. 

“Dude, jazz band practice is running late. I’ll be at my house in 20.”

“So now he decides to text me,” Mason grunted with a roll of his eyes. It was typical behavior though. Elliott had told him all about how strict the new band conductor was at their school. He just wished his friend had let him know before he walked a mile to get here. Putting his hands in his pockets, Mason debated if he should just turn around and go home or wait outside the Schimdt’s house for Elliott to come back. Suddenly, the front door swung open in front of him. 

The booming resonance of the Schmidt family patriarch filled the air. “Oh, hello Mason,” he said, his face not conveying much emotion. Dressed in a white dress shirt and a pair of dark brown khakis, his broad yet pudgy figure filled most of the doorway. His long black tie swung with his movements, bouncing over his round yet flabby pectorals and his potbelly. There were dark circles under his eyes and his shirt was a little crinkled at parts. “How are you?” he asked feigning a smile. 

“Hey, I’m doing good Mr. Schmidt,” Mason replied warmly. “Sorry, Elliott just texted me and said that jazz band practice will be done in a half-hour.” 

“Oh, is that where he’s at today?” Mr. Schmidt said, scratching at his receding widow’s peak. “I can never keep track of what that boy is up to each day.” That was definitely true. Not even Mason could keep up with his best friend’s inconsistent schedule. With jazz band and his computer science club, Elliott always had some event to go to every few days. “You could stay here until he gets back if you want,” Mr. Schmidt offered.

“Oh yeah, that’d be awesome,” Mason replied. This was a fairly normal occurrence considering how often he was over. “Thanks,” he made sure to add after a silent five second pause. Mr. Schmidt was certainly a nice guy after you got to know him, but he still could be a bit of a hardass. Despite knowing him for a few years since he and Elliott met in freshman year, Mason was still a little daunted by his father. There had been a recent situation where Mr. Schmidt had threatened to ban Mason from coming over ever again due to a rowdy night of late-night gaming a few weeks ago. Ever since then, he’d made sure to tread lightly to not provoke the angry giant once more. Although the ice had been broken since then, Mr. Schmidt’s penetrating leer still prompted Mason to focus on being polite. 

Feeling a loud set of vibrations emanating in his pocket, Mr. Schmidt scooped out his phone and grimaced at it. “I’ve gotta take this,” he sighed. “Help yourself to anything you want in the fridge.”

“Okay, awesome. Thank you!” Mason replied courteously. Since he was over all the time, Mr. Schmidt practically treated him like a second son. That was, if Mason didn’t get on his bad side. 

“Don’t mention it, bud. Make yourself at home,” Mr. Schmidt replied, now with that stoic expression back on his face. 

That was a pretty good interaction, Mason thought. He’d even been called “bud.” 

Not breaking eye contact from his phone, the short, disgruntled man walked away and began promptly dialing up a number. Mason couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Schmidt’s body had a noticeable bounce to it when he moved, especially the way his love handles protruded from his shirt and the way his paunchy rump bounced up and down with his footsteps. Mason would never judge his friend’s father for his weight gain, but ever since he’d gotten a promotion to be a manager for his job, it’d become increasingly noticeable. Over the course of a few months, Mr. Schmidt must’ve gained around sixty pounds as a result of working weird hours and eating out, often at fast food and local diners. Mason sympathized, but he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything. It wasn’t like he knew a thing about being a general manager for a bunch of retail stores across the whole metro area anyway. 

Mason migrated over to the granite kitchen island, which separated the kitchen from the living room. The living room also had quite a nice flatscreen television in their living room. If Mason and Elliott weren’t downstairs playing videogames in Elliott’s room till the early morning hours, they were up here. Mason plopped the drawstring bag that held his gaming laptop down on the cushiony couch like he had thousands of times before and made his way to the kitchen, hungry for a quick snack to tide him over while he waited. 

Opening the fridge, Mason noticed that it was stocked full of food! Almost every square inch of it was occupied by some kind of wrapped up meat, vegetable, or tupperware containers with meals inside. That was so odd. He visited the house every other day and usually the fridge was pretty scarce - mostly just filled with leftovers or various snacks. It seemed like an absurd amount of food for only Elliott and his father. Initially daunted by the unusual display, Mason finally landed on a plastic bag that contained what appeared to be a cold turkey and cheese sandwich. Noticing two other identical bags filled with it behind it, Mason figured Mr. Schmidt wouldn’t mind. He ate so much of their food anyway. He was over so often that he was practically Elliott’s twin.

Mason glided over to the living room table, plopping down on their couch in front of the tv, which was playing commercials. Placing the plate with his sandwich down on the ottoman in front of him and looked to either side of him, but the tv remote was nowhere in sight. “Crud,” Mason huffed as he begrudgingly stood back up and began to search through the couch cushions for it. As he did, he was treated to the sound of Mr. Schmidt’s flustered conversation in the other room. 

“Yes, I understand your concerns Mr. Brafford. Well, every store needs quarterly audits and the store in Maple Heights is up next...Why is that? I…uh….I dunno, man, but like…I’m only the messenger ...Uh-huh…Yes….yes I know it’s very umm…in…inopportune. Ah jeez, what were we talking about again?” 

A wave of second-hand embarrassment washed over Mason. It was difficult to hear how stressed and exhausted Mr. Schmidt sounded. Usually, he was a very composed individual, but ever since his new promotion, he’d seemed much more disheveled and fatigued. Mason couldn’t blame him. Having to travel to places across the metro and answer phone calls all day didn’t seem ideal. 

Suddenly, the sonorous bass of a sports announcer’s voice filled the air. Mason spun around and grimaced. “Ugh. Not football,” he grunted as he looked at the pixelated screen, which showcased players of two different teams assembled across the field. Mason checked for the remote, but it was nowhere to be seen. Scouring all of the adjacent tables and reaching into the cracks of the leather cushions turned up nothing. Football, and most sports for that matter, bored him to no end. It just seemed like a legion of huge, spandex-clad men assaulting each other, and millions of people around the country were obsessed with it for some reason. And now he was forced to listen to the rowdy announcer yell about some stupid play that a guy had made. Mason begrudgingly pulled himself from his seat and crouched down to look under the couch, but all he found was dust. In the distance, he could still hear Mr. Schmidt’s weary voice. 

“What’s come over me? Sheesh, I don’t know, man. I just uh…I think I haven’t had lunch is all….Yep….Yep I know…I promise to get back to you in the hour. I apologize for the inconvenience. I’m terribly sorry. Something…like came over me, I swear…man. I mean-thank you so much sir.”

Mason stood back up, fruitless in his search so he decided to check the surrounding tables on either side of the couch, mostly as a distraction from listening to Mr. Schmidt’s verbal struggle. The announcer’s shrill voice filled the room as he revamped his energy to boisterously narrate the next play of the game, making it harder for the young man to zone it out. Glancing back down at the gray sofa, Mason still could not find any trace of the elusive tv remote. However, something else caught his eye. Just below his chin, he noticed a long black thread protruding from the center of his clavicle. That was weird. The long, spindly fiber wasn’t even the same color as his light green-colored shirt. 

“Owch!” Mason cried as he plucked at it, only to find that the thread had actually been a long black chest hair. Puberty was weird, but this was even weirder. He had blonde hair, but maybe mens’ chest hair was darker than their head-hair or something. That seemed right. He’d probably heard that in health class or something. 

“Whatcha lookin’ for, kid?” came Mr. Schmidt’s familiar voice. “Ah, just the tv remote-.” Mason stopped himself as he looked at Mr. Schmidt. The forty-eight-year-old’s look of dishevelment was still there and his shirt was still wrinkled, but for some reason he was wearing….a backward black cap? It seemed so out of place on an older man like Mr. Schmidt, but he didn't seem to care. “What’s with the hat?” Mason asked after a few wordless seconds. 

“I figured I’d wear it to remind me of my high school days,” Mr. Schmidt replied. 

“Oh nice,” Mason answered. In the six years that he’d known him, this was the first time that Mr. Schmidt had even mentioned high school. 

“This job has been so much more than I asked for,” Mr. Schmidt confided as he sidled over to the fridge and swung open the door, revealing his dress shirt was only tucked in a few places on his back. Mr. Schmidt continued, seemingly eager to vent. “I swear, I’m running around town every single day, trying to keep all these stores in line.” He grabbed a half-gallon of milk and without hesitating, he twisted the cap off and brought the bottle to his lips, taking large gulps before pulling it away with a noisy exhale. A few stray drops even dripped from his mouth and trickled onto the floor, nearly falling onto his shirt. 

Mason was aghast. He’d never seen Mr. Schmidt act so casual before. It was so off-putting, like he was about to snap back to his stoic self and pull a “gotcha” moment. Mr. Schmidt always yelled at Elliott and Mason when they left a mess in the kitchen from their late-night snacks. But today he didn’t seem to care. The dark rings around his eyes said it all. 

“Man, that’s heckin’ loud,” Mr. Schmidt said as he glanced over at the tv which was assaulting them with the announcer’s loud voice. He’d always had a habit of not cussing and even through the strenuous day he appeared to be having, he did not break that habit. As he put the container of milk back in the fridge, he wiped a stray droplet from his mouth before spinning back to snatch the remote sitting on the kitchen table and lowered the volume. So that’s where the damn thing was. 

All of a sudden, Mason felt another tickle on his chest. This time when he glanced down, he froze. There was an unmissable black patch of hair. It wasn’t very large, but it was certainly noticeable. The wiry sable follicles dangled over the hem of his green shirt. A brief tug indicated that the patch was very much attached to him. Cautiously, he ran his hand through the individual fibers and watched how they bent like blades of grass. 

“What on earth are you doin’ over there, kid?” Mr. Schmidt asked, now holding a container full of food. 

“My chest. It…it has hair,” was all Mason said as he craned his neck back up and realized Mr. Schmidt seemed taller than him for some reason. That was different. Usually the two of them were around the same height. 

“Yes it does,” Mr. Schmidt replied with an indifferent expression before walking over to the kitchen cabinet. 

“No…I’m not s…supposed to have chest hair,” Mason said before squirming. A wave of itchiness spread across his torso and he swore he could feel more hairs emerge. 

“Sure you are!” Mr. Schmidt loudly assured, the tone of his loud voice carried across the whole kitchen and living room. He grabbed a plate from the cabinet and placed it down. With his back still turned to Mason, he unloaded his food onto the plate with a fork and casually continued. “Getting a hairy chest is just a natural part of life! I’ve always trimmed mine though.”

“No, I’ve never been hairy,” Mason insisted as the itchy feeling was mounting across his slender torso.

Mr. Schmidt didn’t respond. He was too busy scooping the pieces of rice, chicken, and broccoli out of the container and onto his plate. Mr. Schmidt’s black cap taunted Mason - the object looked so out of place on his friend’s imperial father. Even more strange was the fact that his dress shirt seemed a little tight. It certainly didn’t complement his unsightly back fat. As Mason happened to be staring intently at his friend’s dad, he swore he saw the man rise taller by a few inches. Mason shook his head, figuring he must’ve been seeing things. Mr. Schmidt didn’t seem to notice as he plopped his plate in the black microwave and started a timer for his food. The paunchy man spun back around and only confirmed Mason’s suspicions: he had grown a few inches. But that was an absurd thought. People didn’t just get taller, especially not when they were forty-eight years old. 

As Mr. Schmidt walked closer to Mason, the young man was relieved. It had only been an illusion and the two were still the same height. What a relief. But for some reason, Mason noticed that his clothes felt a little…tighter. To his dismay, he noticed that his patch of chest fuzz had not got away. In fact, it seemed even more prominent.

Mr. Schmidt had an uncharacteristically casual swagger as he snatched a water bottle off the table. “So have ya thought about where you're gonna go for college?” he asked before taking a sip. 

“Oh, um, not really,” Mason admitted while he subconsciously scratched his chest as more hairs spread down his skinny torso. He hadn’t even applied for colleges yet. Neither had Elliott. The two knew they were probably gonna end up going to the same university anyway. It wasn’t like they had any strong opinions about any of them.

“Have ya thought about Michigan? The Wolverines are kickin' butt this season!” Mr. Schmidt said. He leaned against the table and Mason swore he shot up another inch taller. Even his typically round potbelly seemed less pronounced - its curvature still remained, but its circumference had undoubtedly dwindled. “Nebraska’s also got a great program. So does Minnesota, Notre Dame, Ohio…”

“Program?” Mason asked. “Like for math or science or-” 

“No, for football ya dunderhead!” Mr. Schmidt exclaimed, punctuating his comment with a roaring guffaw that ended in a goofy-sounding “huh-huh-huh” before he coughed to correct it. His eyes were wide, like he was surprised he’d sounded so silly. “Anyway,” he said, regaining his composure, “I think you should really check out the football programs at any of those places. That’s what I tell Elliott all the time!” 

Mason couldn’t believe his ears. In the six years he’d known him, Elliott’s father had never once conveyed an interest in football. And neither he nor Elliott had ever conveyed any interest in the sport. Before he could interject, the microwave’s timer went off.

DING! DING! DING!

“Freakin’ finally,” Mr. Schmidt said, maintaining his lax attitude as he swiftly glided over to the machine. Mason was just flabbergasted. He’d never seen the man act so…chill. Not to mention that he was looking slimmer by the minute. Mason didn’t know that the kitchen lighting could make someone look that much skinnier…or taller? The microwave released a brief wave of steam as the older man swung the door open and promptly reached inside. “Don’t burn yourself!” Mason impulsively exclaimed. 

It was already too late as Mr. Schmidt carelessly grabbed the plate. “Ow, ow, ow,” he muttered as he picked it up before rapidly setting it down on the kitchen counter, steam still brewing from the ceramic plate and his appetizing lunch. 

“What did I just tell you?” Mason scolded before clamping a hand over his mouth. Why was he talking like this?

“No I’m not, man,” Mr. Schmidt replied casually. His pronunciation of the word “man” sounded extra forced, like he was trying to relate to teenagers, but he didn’t seem to care. “You just gotta be quick with your hands like me,” he gloated before grabbing the plate once more and hustling it over to the granite countertop. “Easy as pie.” “Uh-huh,” Mason replied, unsure how to reply. As he watched the forty-eight-year-old sit down at the stool next to him to eat his lunch, there was no denying that he had gotten taller. And skinnier too. Even the jowls on the sides of his mouth had faded and his neck seemed skinnier than before. 

“Oh word, this is the Patriots-Cowboys game from last night!” Mr. Schmidt erupted before taking his first bite. He snatched the remote and turned the volume back up. Mason just wordlessly watched as the man was instantly glued to the tv, lingering on every word the raucous announcer bellowed. Upon closer inspection, Mr. Schmidt’s shirt was still a ruffled mess, but there was no doubt that his body was not filling his shirt up as much as before. A low rumble in Mason’s belly reminded him that he was also starving, so he decided to dig into the sandwich sitting next to him on the counter. The sense of unease had not left him though, so as he started eating, he took out his phone and texted Elliott: 

Dude, your dad is being super weird. Since when does he like football? He’s literally watching a game right now and talking to me about college football. Are you almost home? 

Noshing away on his sandwich, Mason decided to scroll through social media for the next few minutes until Elliott’s reply finally came through: 

Omg weird. Practice just got out tho, I’ll see ya in like 10 mins dude.

Finally some normality, Mason thought before taking the final bite of his small sandwich. 

RIIIIPPPP!

Mason jumped and nearly threw his phone across the table. His t-shirt had torn somehow and he could feel the faint breeze of air conditioning tickle his newly exposed chest. A black forest of hair greeted him as he glanced down at his upper body. Not only that, but his pectorals had grown…fuller? They had an irrefutable roundness to them, only accentuated by the mass of black hair that was even visible through his tight green t-shirt! As Mason tensely breathed, he was horrified to see his pecs do the same. 

PING! PING!

Confused by the additional noise, Mason perked up to see that the top two buttons to Mr. Schmidt’s dress shirt had popped open. “Ah, that’s better,” Mr. Schmidt sighed. Just like Mason, his pecs were now on display, only his looked more strange. They also had an odd rectangular shape to them, like they were being stretched out, and unlike Mason’s, they were completely devoid of hair. “It’s nice to have the collar open, huh Mason?” Mr. Schmidt said with a smirk on his face.

“I’m not supposed to look like this,” Mason sulked. 

“Like what?” 

“I’m not supposed to be hairy,” Mason muttered weakly. However, just as he finished his sentence, a rapid wave of hair growth radiated across his chest in record speed. The black hairs multiplied into the millions, covering every area of his torso ranging from his shoulders to his back to the bottom of his stomach. Mason’s t-shirt, once light green, had now taken on a darker complexion due to the carpet of hair that now coated his torso. It clung tightly to his hairy, slender chest and its torn collar allowed a fair amount of the spindly hairs to be on full display. 

“Sheesh, you aren’t kidding! You really are a hairy guy, Mason!” Mr. Schmidt said as he stood up from his chair, glancing at the black bush that hung just below Mason’s chin. With his black tie now undone, the forty-eight-year old’s hairless clavicle taunted him with its modesty. Mr. Schmidt’s pecs jiggled when he walked, causing Mason to grow more confused. Mason averted his gaze and looked down at his hairy self. He looked like a hairy freak! And to make matters worse, his stomach even looked a little bloated. It also had an irrefutable fullness to it. “Don’t feel bad about it though,” Mr. Schmidt continued as he placed his plate in the sink. “Getting hair in other places is just a natural part of life.” he said as he turned back around. 

An influx of dark hairs curled out over Mason’s hands and gradually crept up his forearms. “Yeah but I don’t-”

“Ah, shoot, I’ve gotta get back to work,” Mr. Schmidt interrupted as he looked at his phone, holding it out a few inches from his face the way older people did. He then placed it down and rebuttoned his shirt buttons, which rewarded him by constricting his rectangular pecs. Surprisingly enough, they withheld some firmness beneath their flab. Luckily, the buttons held together, allowing Mr. Schmidt to fix his tie. 

As Mason took some more time to scroll through his phone and figure out what was happening to him, he found that it was harder to click on things. A quick Google search on sudden hair growth turned up nothing substantial so he turned to social media, however he found that he had to jam his thumb into the screen to click through snapchats his friends had sent. The new dark hair on the back of Mason’s fingers taunted him, although it was nothing compared to the thick carpets of hair that had covered his skinny forearms. Frustratingly enough, Mason found that his phone was slowing down until eventually, his social media feed wouldn’t even refresh no matter how hard he tried. After a few seconds, Mason gave up with an infuriated huff and powered down his phone to restart. When he glanced back up, he noticed that Mr. Schmidt was still fumbling over his tie.

“You having trouble over there?” Mason asked, trying not to laugh at Mr. Schmidt’s tangled tie. 

“Yeah, a little,” the older man said, changing his flummoxed expression to a feigned grin. He aggressively yanked on the round knot at the top of his tie. No amount of effort would rectify that pitiful Windsor knot. 

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Mason cried out as he stood up and instinctively walked closer. 

Mr. Schmidt’s face turned a crimson red. It was rare to see the stoic man look so embarrassed and vulnerable. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what’s come over me. This used to be so much easier. I just-”

“It’s alright,” Mason comforted, noticing the clear duress on the guy’s face. The poor guy must’ve been really pushed to his limit mentally if he couldn’t even tie his tie correctly. “Let’s just try and redo the whole thing,” he suggested. Luckily, Mason had some unlikely expertise in this field. The junior-scientist conventions he and Elliott had attended ever since middle school had taught him how to seamlessly tie a tie. 

“Yeah, yeah I think that’s best,” Mr. Schmidt agreed, before promptly obeying. He flicked his white collar up further and tried again, crossing the two sides of the tie over his chest to create an X. He did a few more maneuvers successfully before giving up in a huff. “This job’s been really doing a number on me, huh?” he said, trying to compensate for his fatigue. He took the tie off and held it out to a confused Mason. “Could you just show me how you do it? I think I just need to see it done to get it back in my head.”

“Oh umm, yeah, of course,” Mason replied, a little astounded by Mr. Schmidt’s request, but he accepted the offer nonetheless. Positioning the black tie around his neck, Mason failed to notice that a collar had swiftly fluttered into existence around his neck. It promptly flapped down around it, leaving just enough room for him to move the tie. Beginning the process, Mason was surprised at how quick he was in his execution. As he went through the steps with ease, his doubts alleviated by Mr. Schmidt’s rapt nods and encouragement. Through some unseen force, Mason’s shirt also mended itself, unfortunately concealing the swelling hairy spheres that his pecs were becoming.  After a minute-long attempt, Mason ended up with a semi-deflated Windsor knot. “Well, it can be hard to get on the first try. That’s for…SURE!!”

Mason sputtered from a tightening pressure as the black tie coiled tightly around his neck. Pulled by some unseen force, his mediocre Windsor knot rapidly cinched itself into an exemplary one that unfortunately concealed the young man’s shaggy chest. The wave of force wasn’t finished yet though as it continued to ripple through him like a tidal wave. At an impressive rate, Mason’s flat pecs bulged out in unison with his bloated stomach. It wasn’t a drastic change, but it certainly gave him a new fullness all over. His body looked far less scrawny and awkward and far more adult. “What the hell,” Mason gasped as he teetered on his long legs. Sure enough, he’d been endowed with a pudgy belly that hung out from his collared t-shirt, which looked like it was fit to burst due to how tight it was. 

“MMFF!” came a subdued grunt from Mr. Schmidt. Peering over, Mason watched in disbelief as the middle-aged man sprung up even taller in height. His 5’10” figure launched up to a staggering 6’5”. The rapid growth also caused Mr. Schmidt’s pudgy gut to suck in on itself, giving him an extremely lean appearance. However, the weight that Mr. Schmidt lost seemed to dissipate directly into Mason who moaned as his gut developed a brand new roundness. And in an instant, it ceased, leaving the two men breathlessly panting as they stared down at their radically different figures.

“HOLY COW! I’M THIN!!” Mr. Schmidt exclaimed as he stared down at his flattened abdomen. All of his fat had vanished. 

“HOLY CRAP! I’M HUGE!” Mason exclaimed, looking at his new bulbous belly. Somehow, he had absorbed all of Mr. Schmidt’s fat and then some. 

“Are those abs?” Mr. Schmidt cried as he noticed six indentations beneath his baggy polyester shirt. Even his pecs made distinct shapes, but instead of their usual fat, they felt much more…rigid? A quick goose of one of them only proved his point - they had some muscle to them.

Mason, meanwhile, held onto a chair by the kitchen island, nearly toppling over from his new volleyball-sized stomach “What…what is happening?” he mewed breathlessly, giving his rotund orb a poke. Yep, it was real - and there was still a carpet of hair beneath that made his chest feel even hotter beneath the tight shirt. Desperately, he tried to lift it up, but the shirt had other ideas. It danced free from Mason’s fingers, magically generating more fabric as it descended past his waist and tucked itself into his gym shorts. The round young man squirmed as he felt two objects wrap around his upper thighs. As soon as they were fastened, Mason’s new shirt garters locked his silky new shirt in place, eliminating any wrinkles and enhancing the curvature of his belly. “No, no, no,” he cried as he sprung to yank off the garters from his thighs, however his swift action was promptly punished. As Mason feverishly tried to unclench his brand new shirt garters, his already pudgy belly swelled larger and larger until his belly was a firm hemisphere that brazenly protruded out. It looked like he had swallowed a yoga ball! Interestingly, it didn’t sag like Mr. Schmidt’s belly had; instead it stood still in place like a boulder, balanced just above his widening waistline. As one final show of its permanence, a line of white buttons shot up the center of Mason’s new oversized t-shirt, tethering it even tighter to his huge, hairy figure. 

Mr. Schmidt’s chuckled dimly. “Wow Mason, you’re built like a brick shithouse!” 

Mason perked up, forgetting that he now had to glance up at the taller man. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Mr. Schmidt, did you just swear?” he asked, still in disbelief that Elliott’s authoritative father had actually sworn. 

“Hm? Oh yes…it certainly appears I did,” Mr. Schmidt replied, his voice trembling for a moment. Before he could speak further, his pectoral muscles suddenly exploded to the size of party balloons. “WHUH?” Mr. Schmidt choked, his composure ripped from him once again. This change was far from subtle; his flabby pecs swelled larger, first becoming lean like his abdomen before inflating further and further. It wasn’t long before a cacophony of loud pings filled the room, as Mr. Schmidt’s muscular jugs and ripped torso sent all of his shirt buttons flying. Mason could only watch in horrified mesmerism as the pair of enormous pecs swelled so large that they rivaled the size of his head. Finally, Mr. Schmidt’s pecs settled on their final commanding width. The middle-aged man sighed in relief and his porn-star pecs heaved in unison. 

Both men looked at each other with wide-eyed expressions. Mason’s was one of shock, but Mr. Schmidt’s was one of raw excitement. “What is happening to us, Mr. Schmidt?” Mason asked in an attempt to clear the awkward silence. “I think that-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t need to be formal with me,” Mr. Schmidt interrupted, still with that cocky smirk on his face. 

“I…I don’t?”

“Yeah man. Mr. Schmidt sounds waaay too formal,” the middle-aged man replied, his manner of speech was becoming less eloquent. He still had that confident smirk plastered on his face, but it flickered intermittently, as if he was fighting to regain his self-control. “I just go by Doug,” he said before his weak shoulders immediately broadened. “Huh-huh. Doug sounds a little d-dorky, doesn’t it?” the changing man muttered as a bulge started to rise in his pants. His new pair of broad shoulders looked like they belonged to a pro-athlete and they only sent more muscles cascading down Doug’s torso. The muscle radiated downward, making Doug’s abs really pop! As one final reward, his white dress shirt flung itself free from his loose-fitting pants, revealing that his waistline had shrunk! The torn shirt provided a window for all to see that Doug’s love-handles had faded completely, giving way to a pair of show-stopping obliques and a perfectly-tapered waistline befitting of someone far more in-shape than him. 

“This has to be a dream,” Mason muttered to himself. Morbidly curious, he ran a hand down his line of shirt buttons and found that his belly wasn’t a tub of fat - it was all muscle! Hidden beneath a carpet of thick hair was an array of tight abs, just like Mr. Schmidt…or Doug as he’d rather be called. Sitting down on a tall kitchen chair only made Mason’s huge belly look even larger! As he prodded it, he grew distracted by his hands. His palms had grown enormous and his fingers had become far more fat and stubby. Even worse was the fact that his nails were now perfectly manicured! 

“Oh shit, the game’s back on!” Doug said as the announcer’s deep yet calming voice refilled their airwaves. He glided past Mason and plopped down on the sofa. The supposed patriarch of the house had now lost his stoicism completely and had placed his elbows on his knees as he sat on the edge of the couch, leering at the tv with youthful wonder. As a matter of fact, his face seemed a lot more…relaxed. Instead of a permanently gruff frown, Doug had a subtle grin. “So what do you and Elliott have planned for today?” he asked casually without looking away from the screen.

Elliott! What will he think of this whole mess? Mason thought. He wanted to text him again, but he wasn’t even sure how to explain the whole predicament. “Hey dude, your dad’s acting like he had a mid-life crisis and I got really fat out of nowhere” didn’t really sound all that realistic. Hell, if Mason wasn’t feeling the breadth of his hairy tits heaving up and down when he breathed, he would’ve thought he sounded crazy too. 

“Mason!” 

Mason rocked his head back up. “Huh what?” That was weird, he thought, Doug’s shirt looked so tight now that his nipples could be seen pressed against the fabric. Gross. 

“I asked…like…what are you and Elliott gonna be up to?” Doug asked slower than before, allowing the words to linger on his tongue for longer. He’d also thrown his right arm up on the side of the couch.

“Probably just…videogames or something,” Mason mindlessly replied as he gazed at the newest spectacle in front of him. Mr. Schmidt…or…Doug actually had biceps! They weren’t small either. Cradled by the elbow-length vestiges of his tattered dress shirt, they were on full display. 

“Oh word,” Doug replied calmly. There was a brief silence until another splitting “RIIIPPPP” that filled the room. Both men were wrought with bewildered as Doug’s biceps exploded through his shirt sleeves, causing white fabric to spill to the floor. Huge, hulking biceps and triceps took their place, complemented by broad forearms.​​ They extended back to Doug’s circular shoulder muscles. His arms were bigger than any arms Mason had ever seen. After a few more tense seconds, Doug finally exhaled with relief as his huge biceps and triceps finished solidifying. They were enormous - so enormous in fact, that Mason could even see their long, striatic veins from his perch at the kitchen table. 

As Doug flexed one of his new massive arms, Mason espied Doug’s waist as it tapered itself to a smaller width, making Doug’s faded dress pants oversized. They hung loosely below his midriff for a moment before they pulled taut once again while his round thighs swelled a few inches larger. “Oh fuck yea, dude,” Doug purred, his voice sounded different so he cleared his throat. It sounded less like a man in his forties trying to act hip and more like a younger man whose deep voice now had an air of juvenescence to it. 

It was at this moment that his fatty thighs ballooned forth, stretching the black polyester of his fading pants. Cradling his growing erection, Doug’s thighs rapidly stretched tight with muscle, becoming just as robust as his arms and pecs. His pants also seemed eager to show his thighs off as they suddenly crept up his legs until they stopped just above his knee. In those short few seconds, the black color disappeared from them, replaced by a dark brown, then a deep maroon, until finally settling on a scarlet red hue. Doug shook his legs and felt the brawniness radiate through them, aggrandizing his thighs and turning his slender calves into round ovals of muscle. Even his feet swelled larger and his black nylon socks turned to skimpy white athletic ones. Doug gingerly ran a hand over one of his new, muscular thighs, ogling at how spectacular they looked in his new bright red gym shorts. These were the type of legs that belonged to a very athletic individual, something Doug had never considered himself to be before. 

Mason couldn’t help but notice that the back of Doug’s palm and wrist kept bumping into his tenting bulge as he squeezed his thighs, causing his cock to jiggle with each touch. Man, Doug sure was bad at being slick. Mason rolled his eyes - even he knew that trick. 

“Ooh!” Doug said with surprise before that same dopey grin returned to his face. He was raised a few inches in the air as his buttcheeks inflated beneath him. As he placed his new brawny arms behind his head to relax, his torn shirt began to reform, quickly exposing his armpits. The remnants of his tattered sleeves vanished as the remaining fabric grew much skimpier and revealing. The shirt’s white coloration switched into dark black and compressed around his muscular barrel of a chest. Two thin straps appeared around Doug’s shoulders, pulling his new black tank top tight. “Fuck man, I’m so huge,” he gloated, giving one of his huge biceps another self-indulgent flex. 

With the sudden changes seemingly over, Mason snapped out of his flabbergasted daze. It had been impossible to turn away and it was even more impossible to fathom. Somehow, the most stoic man he knew had become this dopey, muscular dude. If it wasn’t for his middle-aged face, Doug could be mistaken for a young athlete, the kind that just commanded attention. “I’m so fucking jacked! Let’s go!” Doug exclaimed, boisterously and lively like a college kid would. 

Mason wanted to respond to Doug’s out of character cursing, but something stopped him. For the first time in years, the middle-aged man seemed so happy, even while wearing a younger man’s clothes. The crow’s feet around his eyes had vanished and his whole face had a new glow to it. Mason felt oddly proud. It felt wrong to stomp on Doug’s joy. 

Then, Mason’s butt expanded beneath him. 

“Whoa!” he cried as he was launched up from his stool. It nearly toppled to the floor over as the massive globes recentered the round young man’s posture. Mason’s new oversized rump was double the size of Doug’s! It was so large that it had propelled him up out of the stool, forcing Mason to instinctively hop out of the teetering chair, a reflex as to not fall over. Standing up also had an adverse effect on his dark gym shorts: they now had a collection of sharp white lines running down them. Even worse was that they couldn’t even be called shorts anymore. As additional fabric quickly unspooled to his ankles, Mason realized he was wearing a pair of black pinstriped pants! To complement them, Mason’s short white athletic socks stretched up his hairy legs and shifted into thin, black nylons: just like Doug’s old ones.

A presence at Mason’s stomach caught his attention. “Whuh?” he muttered, realizing that his stomach had pressed into the granite tabletop. It had grown even bigger? “No, no,” he pleaded. “I’ve gotta be like three hundred pounds! And I look like a f…fatass.”

Doug looked over, clearly noticing Mason’s distress. “What? You’re not a fatass,” he comforted. “You’ve just got the body of an ex-bodybuilder. At least, that’s what you’ve always told me.”

“Ex…body…builder…” Mason mewled. He flexed his arms and suddenly, they exploded with muscle right before his eyes. Thick, sinewy muscle radiated across his biceps and triceps, spreading to his delts and forearms in record speed. In a matter of seconds, his arms had surpassed Doug’s. They were huge and his black hair complemented their mass perfectly. Mason’s frayed shirtsleeves stood no chance against their magnificent mass and they began to immediately lengthen to cover them back up. “Mmm that’s right,” Mason grunted uncontrollably as the sleeves descended past his elbows until their reached his wrists - at which point they terminated into sharp new French cuffs. It was such a confusing, fiery feeling: to be mortified for having a huge belly, but then to be given arms that rivaled Schwarzenegger’s. A fancy new silver wristwatch appeared above the right hairy mitt that his right hand had become. “Errg no! This isn’t right! I don’t d-dress like this,” Mason huffed, his rich, sonorous bass ricocheting around the huge room.

“What are you talking about, Dad?” 

Mason was in his own little world, just as his pastel-colored shirt dyed itself a rich shade of indigo. “I feel so…grown up. I feel…Wait a minute, Doug, what did you call me?” 

“Umm… I called you Dad,” Doug replied peremptorily, as if Mason should’ve known. He glanced at the tv screen and then back ahead. “Why’d you call me Doug?” he retorted. His weak chin squared up and his thin lips became fat and kissable. “I feel like that’s such a dorky name! I’d rather go by Jack or Tristan or something. Yeah Tristan! That’s it!” To reaffirm the newly-minted muscular jock’s new name, the final wrinkles vanished from his face as he readjusted his crooked backward black cap. 

Before Mason could inquire further, a wave of cold air rushed against his head from all directions. He nearly screamed as he brought his hand up to his head only to feel…nothing. There was zero hair remaining, no bristles, no nothing! Somehow, the one spot where Mason wanted his hair to say had been taken from him, while the rest of his body was coated in it. His head of long blonde hair had been taken from him in one moment. “What the hell!” Mason cried, abruptly jumping out of his seat. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Tristan asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Mason replied as he ran away, although it wasn’t very fast. His huge drum of a belly had repositioned his center of gravity and his reduced walking pace was to a lumbering waddle, only encumbered further by his humongous legs and arms. The stout man frantically headed down the adjacent hall toward the nearest bathroom. There was only one room at the end of the hall and that was Mr. Schmidt’s or…Tristan’s old room, but Mason didn’t care. He shuffled inside and darted into the master bathroom. However, his worst fears were confirmed.

“Holy shit!” Mason exclaimed. The reflection that greeted him was a total stranger that shared his face. This man had a huge, commanding, round barrel of a stomach and was dressed up like a businessman. He also must’ve grown a little taller and not even realized it! Reckoning he was almost taller than the mirror, Mason figured he must’ve been around 6 feet tall. His fear began to turn into intrigue. He actually looked…kinda cool! His immense width even eclipsed the width of the mirror, and he had to step back to take in his full breadth. This huge, formally-dressed beefcake of a man was actually him! The grapefruit-sized bulge in his pants indicated that there was certainly something different there too! Maybe, this wasn’t all bad.

The sound of Mason’s ringtone filled the bathroom. It took a few tries for him to jam his square hands into his wide pocket, but he finally found success. And to Mason’s relief, it was Elliott. 

“Hey what’s up?” Elliott asked. “I just saw your text. What’s going on?”

“Dude!” Mason cried, his deep, unfamiliar voice echoed through the bathroom. “You won’t believe what’s happening. I know this sounds crazy, but I changed! I’m huge now and I’m dressed all fancy. And your dad is acting crazy! He looks just like a jock!l And he called me his dad and-”

“Jeez, you’re talking a mile a minute,” Elliott interrupted. “Listen, I just opened the garage. I’ll see ya in a sec."

“Great! Meet me in the master bedroom!” Mason exclaimed before promptly hanging up. It was almost comical to hear his low, sultry voice riddled with anxiety. He returned his attention to his domineering reflection. He shook his huge bulge and gave one of his pecs a squeeze. Fuck, that felt good. Curiosity struck again as Mason couldn’t resist the urge to try to bounce the rectangular slabs that were now his pecs. To his joy, they wiggled with ease and he bounced up and down beneath his silky cerulean dress shirt. He exited the bathroom and reentered the bedroom, observing the football pennants and modern art on the wall. This room seemed super personalized. On one of the dressers, Mason noticed there was a line of trophies: all little golden muscular dudes flexing their disproportionately-huge arms. 

“Mason! What’s up?” Elliott called as he walked through the open bedroom door. 

“Elliott!” the larger-than-life man bellowed as he spun around. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said as he strode a few steps over to give the tall young man a hug. Mason was so hairy now that he could feel his shoulder hair crumple during their embrace.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Elliott asked, confusedly before reciprocating the bear hug. 

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you!” Mason praised as he released his huge arms from his friend and stepped back. “I can’t believe I look like this! I’m dressed like this and I’m like 350 pounds! And your dad changed! He got so much younger and…” Mason trailed off as he looked at his friend. Elliott was wearing a bright red tank top, and skimpy black shorts, but unlike his father, he wasn’t wearing a baseball cap.

“Whoa dude, slow down,” Elliott said, immediately noticing his friend’s duress. “Do you need to sit down or something?”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just sit down and talk this through,” Mason acquiesced. He sat down at the edge of the king-sized bed, trying not to think about his size. His massive pecs heaved up and down as he tried to calm down and his mountainous buttcheeks took up quite a lot of space on the bed.

Luckily, Elliott didn’t notice as he sat down. “Dude, dorky shirt,” he added playfully, with an awkward laugh punctuated by a teenage voice crack. 

“Like you’re one to talk. What’s with the tank?” Mason quipped. 

“What do you mean?” Elliott asked, he seemed genuinely confused. “I wear tank tops all the time. But you’re dressed like you work for Wall Street.”

“God, I know!” Mason grumbled and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m so huge I can’t even see my feet! Not to mention, I’m frickin’ bald now!” 

“That’s not a big deal. You’ve always been…MMFFHH…eh…bald. And huge,” Elliott’s sentiment was interrupted by his torso suddenly swelling with muscle, pulling the loose tank top taut against it. His pecs developed a new fullness. “Whoops, sorry,” Elliott apologized. His back began to stretch out behind him in accordance with his brand new broadening shoulders. The stimulation spread to his thin neck, which promptly began to thicken and sink into his brand new trap muscles.

Mason’s heart plummeted and he could feel sweat forming all around his bald head. “DUDE! You’re changing too!” he cried, his strong voice rife with panic. “You’re dressed like just like my son….I mean…your dad!”

“My dad?” Elliott replied. He stared off into the distance like he didn’t know. 

“Yeah! The man out in the living room!” Mason frantically replied. 

“Oh, you mean Tristan?” Elliott asked right as his abs burst forth, blossoming into eight sharp ridges visible beneath the red tank. Simultaneously, his arms began to balloon with muscle. It took only a few seconds for Elliott to follow the temptation of his former father and succumb to the urge to flex them. Immediately, he was smiling ear to ear as he watched engorged veins embellish his arms as they went from lanky to moderate to brawny. Mason had to admit, it was a little wholesome to watch: the way Elliott’s eyes lit up with unbridled excitement the same way that Tristan’s had. 

“Yes! Um…I mean no.” Mason’s head was swimming. Recollections of the past and present were mixing together, like two timelines were intersecting. “Look. You’re changing too! Just like I did and just like T-Tristan did! We aren’t meant to look like this!” 

“Yes we are,” Elliott calmly refuted, his voice sounded much deeper this time, similar to Tristan’s dopey baritone. “We put the work in the gym to get this big!” Paired with his huge pecs and round stomach, Elliott reminded Mason of a powerlifter. His thin waist had broadened to complement the girth of his growing muscle gut. His bulkier body was engineered for raw power while Tristan’s was engineered for agility. “And I never skip leg day. I take up after you, old man,” Elliott smiled, patting Mason’s muscular thigh. As he did, black strands began to blossom over his exposed chest, coating his muscular pecs with bristles. 

“No, I’m not old!” Mason cried. He was so stressed that he could feel warm sweat start to accumulate under his hairy pecs. He didn’t know that was even possible.

“But you’ve literally got a mustache, dude,” Elliott said, accompanied by the sound of his gym shorts straining from his growth.

“I have a…what!” Running a finger over his upper lip, Mason could feel bristles, like he was touching a brush. Even stranger, he could feel them spreading further to the edges of his lips. Thick black hairs sprouted from oblivion, enhancing the young man’s facial expressions and making him appear far more stern. “Shit, this can’t be happening,” Mason huffed. His wooly mustache bobbed up and down with each word that left his lips. It looked ridiculous on his youthful face as he began to breathe heavier. “I…I can’t be old. I…I can’t be a father.”

“Hey, hey, I think the mustache is a great look,” Elliott comforted as a five o’clock shadow appeared on his face. The red tank top, once loose now was perfectly fitted to the young man’s new frame, showcasing his arms and obliques. He could discern the anguish in Mason’s eyes. “Seriously, are you feeling okay? What’s going on?” Elliott asked, wrapping one of his muscled arms over Mason’s broad pillar of a back. 

The sight of a hulking businessman was on the brink of tears was almost comical. He couldn’t help it though. He didn’t know the first thing about being an adult! To make matters worse, the longer he looked at Elliott, he could see a younger version of himself, especially from the dusting of hair forming across his body. “Dude I’m freaking out. I don’t even remember which house I live at. Or what my parents look like. Or what their names even are! I…I….It must be this house! That must be the reason I’m l-like this,” Mason tried to stand up from the bed, but it took a few extra seconds longer due to his gargantuan size. 

“I don’t really know if I know either,” Elliott admitted. His attempt to be helpful only muddled his brain further. As he stood up after Mason, his nonexistent butt suddenly inflated forth, becoming two thick globes of muscle. Elliott couldn’t resist the urge to gawk at his huge body: his junior powerlifter’s stomach, his brawny arms and hairy, muscular legs. His build almost made him look fat, similar to Mason’s, but the sheer force and power he exuded more than made up for it. “Whoa, look at me dude,” he said, a smug grin appearing on his face. “I’m huge! Nothing like you though!” 

A dwindling part of Mason’s brain wanted to resist the urge to ogle over his size, but the temptation was too much to bear. Just like the younger man in front of him, Mason flexed his arms and was instantly rewarded with a rush of dopamine. His pecs were nearly twice the size of his head and his butt protruded nearly a foot behind him. “I really am huge,” he agreed. A cocky smirk appeared on his face as his doubts began to fade. More rushes of testosterone inundated his system and calmed his anxieties. As he looked at Elliott’s confident smile, he could tell his friend was suspended in equal bliss. His familiar boy-next-door face was changing. His chin was widening like a shovel, his nose was ballooning larger, and his shaggy blonde hair rapidly was darkening to a jet black color, short and slicked back. His eyebrows became the same black color and his eyes grew even fuller and dreamier. When Mason looked at Elliott, he felt a new sense of friendship, one of deep, paternal love. He wanted to see his future son succeed the way he had at that age. 

Although the feelings were surreal, the guilt about becoming a father was too much for Mason to bear. “Elliott, I’m erasing your family though,” he blurted.

“Hm?” The brawny jock asked while his handsome face aged from an eighteen-year-old to a twenty-two-year-old. Aside from his burlier build, he looked extremely similar to his brother Tristan. With his broad chin and short haircut, this guy was a far cry from the geeky high schooler that had walked in minutes earlier. “What do you mean, Dad?” Mason twiddled his fat hands nervously as sweat formed above his bushy eyebrows. “You and your brother…you look like my sons and I…can’t…remember what you used to look-” 

The roar of Tristan’s low voice came from the living room and easily traveled to the bedroom. “Bennett! The game’s back on, bro!” 

The dazed jock had a moment of confusion before that confident smile returned to his face. “Later Dad,” Bennett replied, his voice completely devoid of its adolescent awkwardness. Immediately accepting his new name, the hulking young man headed toward the door at a walking pace so much slower than before. His larger, linebacker stature inhibited his speed and his heavy stomps were far more intense than his dainty footfalls when he was taller and lankier. Elliott turned sideways and flashed a jovial grin at his new father and subconsciously pulled the bedroom door shut as he left. Seeing his reflection in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door only reignited Mason’s fiery self-worship as he was greeted to another sight of his gigantic, tightly-clothed frame. 

Mason wanted to yell out and tell the young man that he wasn’t his father, but that wouldn’t be true. Elliott…or Bennett Holt was his son and a beefcake of a twenty-two-year-old, just like his twin brother Tristan. Mason was so proud of them. They had both blossomed into an inseparable duo of college football players who put in the heart and soul to get to the top. The “Holt Colts,” as they were colloquially known, were a force to be reckoned with, and Mason Holt, their ex-football player turned bodybuilder of a father, was their central impetus. It was all so much to think about. 

“Fuck,” Mason cursed as he looked at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. His cock sprouted in his pinstriped pants so he promptly unzipped it before gently stroking it. The skinny young man who had walked inside the house was a far cry from this beefcake of a dad who was in his place. This man was so huge that his immense figure barely fit in the mirror’s frame. This strong, middle-aged man always had that problem wherever he went. Having to take a few steps back was an everyday practice of his: whether that be in his home or work mirror. Where did he work again?

“I’m a father,” he affirmed to himself. He snarled his teeth in the mirror, enamored by the way his mustache accentuated every emotion. The huge bodybuilder of a man turned to the side and ogled at his endearing new shape: his rigid stomach and colossal butt were nothing less than eye-catching. “I’m just a big ol’ daddy,” he growled. He was too. Not only did he have two sons to show for it, but he could remember a vivid, sex-filled life. He was a sexual beast, having satisfied the likes of many men and women alike. “Mr. Holt” they always called him. “Daddy” was the one that really got him fired up though. 

Mr. Holt ripped his black tie off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dark blue dress shirt to let his saucer-sized pecs breathe. As his strokes grew more intense, he watched his hairy pecs bounce up and down with his movements. The forty-eight-year-old behemoth radiated so much pride. He wasn’t some bumbling, nervous kid anymore. He was Mr. Holt to almost everyone he met. Bennett and Tristan Holt, a linebacker and wide receiver respectively were both entering their final year of university football and were on their way to join the pros. Mr. Holt couldn’t be prouder. Even in middle age, he’d taken up bodybuilding and his calming, sultry voice - it was very recognizable. He loved to ramble on and on about football. He knew practically everything about the sport and was good at it too. He’d played the pros for a few years before retiring and raising his sons, all while transitioning into a bodybuilder on the side. 

Mr. Holt pumped his cock harder, fascinated by the way his bull-sized balls bounced underneath his dress pants. “I’m just a big muscle daddy now,” he moaned with no more hesitation. His new master bedroom changed all around him as he pumped away. The cruddy wood trim of the walls vanished and they became a nice pastel shade of tan. A mounted flatscreen tv appeared on the wall and the queen-sized bed stretched out into a memory foam-filled king. Pennants from a multitude of colleges and framed pictures of him and his sons now adorned the modern walls. In the corner of the room, a moderately-sized glass trophy case appeared, filled with shiny medals and little statues. With his erection fit to burst, the 350-pound man waddled over to it, eager to read the various accolades he’d been rewarded. There were a lot of trophies and medals inside, many from his years in professional football and many from bodybuilding. One trophy bigger than the rest beckoned his attention. It read “IFBB 1st Place” and under it was the name “Stan Holt.” 

“MMMM!” Stan Holt growled as his thick, hot, cum shot through his floodgates. It shot down onto his work desk, narrowly missing his desktop computer. It felt so good: the oozing, glopping testosterone, his rippling muscles, his hairy body - he felt like he’d been given the greatest gift in the world. All memories of the Schmidt family were expunged from existence forever, replaced by the new Holt family with Stan finally becoming the proud, handsome patriarch he was predestined to be. The panting forty-eight-year-old bodybuilder gripped his muscle gut as the vestiges of his orgasm trailed out of his girthy cock. Luckily, he’d gotten none on his fancy clothes - it was a skill that he’d mastered over the years. After putting his thick member back in his pants, Stan promptly reached under his work desk and snatched a vial of colgine. He kept a his full of wipes and sprays under there so he could purify the room after his bouts of raunchy self-expression. 

“You dirty perv,” Stan whispered to himself as he spritzed himself and the ventilated room with tropical cologne. That always did the trick to rid the smell of his spunk. With his head now cleared, he sat his big ass down on his new office chair and breathed another sigh of relief. Now settled into his new life, Stan Holt opened up his computer and fired away a few emails. Many of them were about the company he worked for. They called him their star media personality because he was. Looking at his silver wristwatch, Stan realized he only had a few more minutes before he had to leave. 

As a sports announcer, Stan Holt had mastered the art of projecting his voice. Being an ex-football player turned sports announcer wasn’t all fun and games, especially being a bodybuilder on the side. Responsibility came naturally to Stan though. After all, it was far easier than his past challenge of raising a pair of twin sons with a divorced wife. With that thought, Stan stood back up, giving his black leather office chair some much-needed respite from carrying his weight. The hulking man grabbed a suit jacket from the chair and black tie he’d thrown on the bed and threw them over his shoulder. He’d wear them later once he was at work, but he always let his hairy pecs breathe during the convertible ride to the stadium. As Stan exited his room, his shoulders and colossal butt nearly filled the doorframe - both just further indications of his massive size. 

Walking down the hallway, Stan paused for a moment and looked at his favorite picture on the wall. It was one of him and his two sons taken at a banquet all donned up in dress clothes. It had been a few years ago, back when Stan had had hair and hadn’t yet decided to grow out his mustache. He was in the middle with one massive arm over each of his sons. Bennett was in the middle of saying something, most likely a jokey remark, and Tristan was laughing, while Stan was the only one beaming for the camera. The picture always made him smile and he always glanced at it every day.

As Stan entered the living room, which he was surprised to find it vacant. Although he didn’t think anything of it, the whole house had lost its old character. A more modern and uniquely stylish decor had overtaken the tacky, old wooden walls, turned them a light gray color, and adorned them with a plethora of colorful pictures and art pieces. More interestingly, Stan could hear a familiar sound filled the air: his own voice. Sure enough, the television was playing a rerun of one of his old games. Stan just smirked and turned the tv off. It was always a pleasant surprise to hear his own deep, macho voice was broadcast to millions of homes worldwide. Recording it in the studio was never the same as hearing it on tv. 

It didn’t take very long for Stan to find his twin sons predictably tossing a football in the backyard. Both heads turned at the recognizable timbre of his deep bass. “Guys, I’m headed to the stadium. Bennett, you’re in charge of your brother.” This was a common joke between them and their dad since they always had debates over who was the more-trustworthy sibling. 

“Like he could even take care of himself,” Tristan chuckled, slugging Bennett on the shoulder. 

“Shut up man,” Bennett laughed, giving his brother a playful shove back, nearly causing Tristan to drop the pigskin. 

Even twenty-two years after they were born, it was still surreal for Stan to think of his sons as strong, young men, but there was no denying it. For the moment, he still had them beat in mass, but the boys were definitely on their way to rivaling and possibly surpassing his size and he couldn’t be prouder. “And if one of you eats that prime rib I got in the freezer, it’ll be your ass.” Stan commanded, although his light-hearted tone made it obvious that he wasn’t being serious. 

“He’s talking about you, dude,” Bennett said. 

“Yeah, I know, you hairy ape,” Tristan joked. 

“This is why we label things in the freezer boys,” Stan interrupted. “Take care of each other now,” he said, his black and silver mustache contrasting perfectly with his pearly veneers, and headed back in the house. His boys were always mischievous to each other. Despite the fact they’d matured into astute athletes, they still bickered with each other like schoolchildren. Stan always loved when they came over, as any parent does. Tristan and Bennett both had their own places across town but were over all the time. Dad’s house had the best food after all. 

Putting on the pair of shiny, black Oxfords that Stan kept by the door was always a laborious task. Stan’s huge belly stifled his flexibility severely, but he was used to it. The fact it took a few tries for him to get down to tie his shoes was a small price to pay for being a giant among men. Standing back up, the colossal man marveled at his impressive side-view in the mirror by the doorway. His posture was perfect, his face was handsome, and his husky stomach, prominent bulge, and tight, firm glutes were impossible to miss. 

Stan Holt opened up his garage and stepped inside his chic maroon convertible. He tossed his suit jacket and black tie on the passenger seat - he always used the drive there as a way to air out his hairy chest. Firing up the car, he threw on a pair of black sunglasses and reversed into the street. The warm wind caressed Stan Holt’s hairy chest as he turned on the radio. The content smile remained on his face. He was eager to narrate another game. The exodus from being a pro football player into a sports announcer and pro bodybuilder had been more than fulfilling. Placing one of his muscular arms on the car door, Stan Holt cranked up the radio and sped down the road, excited to spend another day doing what he loved.

Didja like it? 👀 Thank you for reading and here’s a reminder that I work for tips! 😘  

[visceral-stories]

Another excellent TF by @soul-controller! Support him if you haven't already if you want to see more sexy lil' writings like this!

College Is Transformative: The Lecture Hall (Part II)

Click Here to Read Part I

For several minutes, Samil patiently sat there in his seat hoping that his friend would make a quick recovery and return to his seat before class started. But as the minutes continued to tick by, his mind was growing extremely worried as he tried to comprehend what was going on with his friend. Was it some kind of allergic reaction, he thought to himself, or did I just not notice his weight gain until now? Should I take him to a hospital?

Taking a moment to stare at the wall clock in the room though, Samil’s inner dialogue began to shift momentarily in regards to his annoyance about the class. He was so chipper and eager to start class yet apparently the professor didn’t feel the same. It had been 5 minutes since class was scheduled to start and there was still no professor in sight. Where the hell are they? Do they really think that the world revolves around them? 

While Samil hadn’t undergone as severe of a transformation as Nathal had at first, this quickly began to change as the man felt a sudden tightness emerging deep within his chest. With his emotional state being a mix of worry for his friend and annoyance towards the tardy professor, Samil’s eyes immediately widened in fear that he was somehow having a heart attack at the ripe age of 22. 

After a few tense seconds, Samil suddenly gasped as the tight pressure in his chest finally reached a breaking point. Rather than causing his heart to give out and causing him to collapse onto the ground though, the man watched in bewilderment as his chest suddenly surged forward with a newfound size. Unlike Nathal though, the increase in size came in the form of firmness and muscle rather than intense levels of flab. Even from beneath the baggier fabric of his sweatshirt, Samil’s eyes immediately picked up on how his heaving chest was pushing forth from his body, swelling larger and larger until his chest was straining against the sides and front of his size medium sweatshirt. 

Despite how dazzling his muscular pecs were to watch on his still-petite and slim body as they continued to slowly inflate with each deep breath he took, Samil’s mind was instantly sounding alarms to the bizarre muscle growth occurring to him. With what was happening before his eyes in mind, the man quickly began to realize that something had befallen both himself and his best friend. Although given his intense drunkenness from the night prior, Samil had no way of recalling the duo’s little trip toward the university’s wishing fountain and casting their own individual wishes. Instead, Samil could only imagine that they had somehow been forced to endure these transformations. While Nathal was surely going through his own version of a curse though, the strength he felt caused Samil to believe that he was experiencing a blessing on the levels of divine intervention. He had always wanted to become muscular, so this was a dream come true for him!

Still, with a bit of worry in the front of his mind for his best friend, Samil knew that he had to find Nathal: to both check on his condition and to also brainstorm how this was happening to them. As such, the changing man slowly pushed himself up from his seat and to his feet and made his way towards the wide aisle of the lecture hall steps. Given his haste, Samil forgot about both his and Nathal’s bookbags as there were more dire matters that he was worried about with his intense concern for his friend.

Yet as he began to quickly make his way down the steps of the lecture hall aisle, Samil was completely unaware of more changes that were affecting his body. Despite his already impressive height of 6’0”, the force responsible for Samil and Nathal’s transformations decided that this wasn’t tall enough. So as he continued to make his way down the steps, his spine and legs expanded like taffy being pulled until the man had unknowingly added 5 inches of height to himself. 

While this wasn’t noticeable to Samil at the current moment, it would be crystal clear due to just how ill-fitting his clothing was appearing now. Instead of a sweatshirt that perfectly concealed his torso, the increased height had caused the man to gain an exposed midriff as a few inches of his pale torso revealed itself. As if it was responding to the complexion revealed by his taller stature, Samil’s sweatshirt began to slowly change color with each step he took - the light blue color draining until it became a stark white hue. As for his black running shorts though, the height changed the already short shorts into something far more scandalous as they revealed much more of the man’s upper thighs and thus resembled briefs more than a pair of running shorts. 

Yet as he finally made his way down to the last step, one final change finally occurred that finally caused Samil to become aware of what was going on. For the next 30 seconds where he had traversed down the stairs, he had felt his brand new and hefty pair of pectoral muscles violently heaving and bouncing with each step he took. However as he finally made his way down to the bottom of the stairs, the motion of his chest grew more and more restrained until his pecs bounced firmly in place as if the shirt had become vacuum-sealed to his body.

The reason behind this was due to his sweatshirt both losing its thick consistency along with beginning to tighten around his body. To make up for the loss of the coarse yet snuggly comfort provided by the baggy sweatshirt though, the fabric changed into something that was innately of a finer quality. While a visible texture quickly manifested onto the outer layer of the shirt, a sheen quickly emerged on the fabric as it finished its completion into a Royal Oxford shirt that fully showcased the thick pectoral shelf that Samil now possessed. 

Due to this newfound tightness he felt constricting around his chest, Samil suddenly found himself feeling quite self-conscious as he stopped himself right next to the door leading towards the main entrance way of the building and gingerly moved his hands towards the two hefty pecs he now had. As soon as his fingers grazed the soft and expensive fabric that was now wrapped around his bulging chest, the sensation of the delicate fabric instantly calmed the man down and caused something deep in his mind to suddenly click. Why would I ever be upset about what was happening to me when it makes me look and feel this great, he thought to himself, a light grin emerging onto his face as he fully submitted to the comfort of the shirt.

Unfortunately for Samil though, his attempt to fondle his chest was quickly foiled as he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Feeling somewhat bashful about what he was doing, the man’s cheeks began to slightly redden as he found himself staring face-to-face with a young woman. Taking a moment to observe the woman, Samil’s eyes examined her soft visage with a cute button nose that struggled to hold up the thick black-rimmed glasses she was wearing. Given the glasses, the woman already looked quite nerdy, but the thick binder that she was holding was the real final straw in confirming that assumption. Although he had no attraction towards the frizzy-haired brunette, he could surely recognize her attractiveness. Not wanting to give the girl the wrong impression with his prolonged staring though, the man finally cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Uh hi there, is there something I can help you with?”

“Hello sir, I’m Rachel, one of the TAs for this course,” she began, extending her hand out in hopes of gaining a handshake. 

Feeling compelled to be professional and courteous, Samil took a moment to extend his own hand out and give the much desired handshake that the girl was looking for. Upon doing so, the girl continued to speak.

“So, I was just taking a look at the clock and I was wondering if you were wanting to get class started? We’re a bit behind already, so I just wanted to check in and see if there was anything I needed to do to get us started!”

“Wait, what are you saying? That I’m the professor for this course?” Samil inquired, his eyebrows raising while his eyes grew wide like saucers.

To his surprise, Rachel responded to his questions with a deep chuckle. “Oh sir, you’re so funny,” she began, quickly tilting her head downwards as she grabbed the binder tucked snuggly between her arm and pulled it out. Flipping the binder open, the girl immediately gripped onto a thick packet in the front sleeve and pulled it out. Upon tilting her head back up, Rachel smiled as she handed the document over to the man. “I’m pretty sure that’s your name right sir,” she inquired, extending a finger out to point to the name on the top of the class syllabus.

As his eyes followed Rachel’s finger to where it was pointing, the man was blown away to find that the name Sahilip Pearson was listed as the instructor. He truly was the teacher of this class somehow! Allowing a light chuckle to escape from his lips, Sahilip tried his best to try and downplay his confusion about the class.

“Oh yes of course, my mistake. First day jitters I suppose,” he exclaimed, smiling as the girl smirked at what he was saying. With the man accepting the new profession he now had, a few final changes began to emerge on the upper half of his body. Firstly, a simple yet soft shirt was not appropriate for a college professor, so the fabric suddenly split along his treasure trail until he had a soft dress shirt around his body. Luckily though, the brand new teacher wasn’t accidentally stripping for his students as one-by-one, tiny buttons began to emerge along the ends of the fabric and pull the shirt back together until the shirt was fully buttoned. As the man finally made his way over to the podium in the middle of the lecture area, a crisp collar pushed out and folded over to complete the look of an impeccable dress shirt.

Before Sahilip could even try to wrap his head around what was still occurring to him, he was thrown into the deep end as the lights immediately dimmed and a projector suddenly roared to life and temporarily blinded his eyes as it projected something onto the blank wall behind him. Craning his neck back to see what was going on, the former college student found himself staring at a screen that displayed a title slide of a PowerPoint presentation. While he was slightly stressed about having to do some public speaking, the man felt some relief knowing that first day lectures were fairly relaxed and mostly focused on the professor introducing themselves to their student. So with his curiosity piqued in terms of what his new life was, the man finally began to clear his throat and gain the attention of his pupils.

“Hello class, let’s all take our seats so we can get started,” he began, his words attempting to sound professional despite the nerves causing his voice to crack a few times. Turning his head back to the screen, the man took a moment to read the screen further before continuing to speak. “As you can see, this is ENG 250, a course focused towards teaching the essential skills of professional writing. My name is uh, Professor Sahilip Pearson and I’ll be in charge of the course this semester.”

Upon finishing the sentence, a small momentary grin emerged on his face due to his new title - professor. It felt so highly esteemed and professional, the man didn’t even pay attention to just how awkward his new name sounded as his cock couldn’t help but throb beneath the tight confines of his shorts. However, just because Sahilip was comfortable with his new name didn’t mean that his young and childish students were, as evident by the snickering that he quickly picked up as he finished stating his bizarre first name.

Before the man could get too upset by his judgmental students though, a sudden tightness around his feet and calves immediately caught Sahilip’s attention. As he looked down beneath the podium to see what was going on, the man found that more changes had seemingly occurred. Instead of the white and well-used pair of tennis shoes that he had entered the room wearing, a pair of shiny black dress shoes were now in their place along with a long pair of black dress socks that went up to just below the knee. Taking a moment to tilt and turn his feet to see his new style, the man couldn’t help but feel impressed by how great they looked. Although he had no idea how much they cost since he hadn’t purchased them himself, it was abundantly clear that these shoes were expensive! 

Despite his awe towards his new shoes, Sahilip knew that the show needed to continue and thus looked up and called for the next slide to be shown. The projectionist was quick to obey, pressing the button and causing the first of several “about me” slides to emerge. As he began to read the first few sentences discussing his love of English and hobby of writing, the man’s lips pulled into a smile as he could feel more changes beginning to occur to him. While his chest was incredibly beefy, it was quite ill-fitting on his slender body. Luckily though, the next set of changes began to make his upper half look more bulky as his arms began to undergo a severe change. 

Beneath the fabric of the shirt, Sahilip could feel his biceps begin to slowly inflate. While this was occurring, the man was oblivious to the fact that his fingerprints were slowly altering and his hands were growing callused from a mix of obvious gym visitation and calluses from physically writing nonstop. As the man continued to improv and discuss his love for writing and the “worlds” that he could create as a result, Sahilip continued to peer down towards his arms and smile as his biceps, triceps, and shoulders grew increasingly large. In fact, they had finally reached the point of constriction against his shirt sleeves that a simple flex of these meaty muscles would cause the shirt to tear! 

While this was surely a confidence boost for the perpetually weak Sahilip, it was the encouraging smile from Rachel that motivated him the most. Although he was still a gay man despite these changes so far, the man found the girl’s obvious admiration of him to be the perfect encouragement to push him through the shock of what was happening to him. Clearly based on her smile and encouraging head nod, the girl was content with his lecture thus far!

So as he moved onto the next slide, this motivation suddenly manifested itself via his neck as it suddenly thickened and a much more obvious and prominent Adam’s apple suddenly pushed from his throat. The end result of this change quickly became apparent as he began to discuss the contents of his next slide (his favorite pastimes) with a deep and booming voice that immediately commanded the attention of anyone within earshot. Amused by the several students who suddenly perked up upon hearing his new voice, the man discreetly reached a hand down beneath the podium to adjust his crotch as his boner was jutting out from his shorts and pressing against the hardwood of the podium. He didn’t feel shame though, he was right to feel turned on by how hunky and masculine he was becoming!

When he first read that his favorite pastimes now were reading a good book or watching a documentary or historical drama, the man finally had his first instance of resistance. No, that’s not right at all, Sahilip thought to himself, thinking about how much he loathed those types of films and would much rather watch reality television or easy-viewing movies that didn’t require him to think too much. Yet although he knew this to be the truth, another voice in his mind began to say otherwise. No, you don’t adore content like that. You’d much rather watch something that makes you think than some lazy nonsense. Reality TV is for imbeciles, not intellectuals like you, it said, reverberating through Sahilip’s mind and quickly overpowering his quiet denials. 

With the dual impact of the overpowering voice and Sahilip’s inner desire to be recognized and respected permeating through his head, it wasn’t much of a shock that the foreign voice ultimately won out and took prominence in his head. Despite the fact that he now had a mindset that most would view as pretentious or elitist, Sahilip didn’t view it that way. Although he now recalled memories of various heated exchanges between his friends and family where they referred to him as such, the man just believed that they were unwilling to accept the true observation that he had made. No intelligent person would willingly watch something low-brow!

As if the changes were linked to his increased acceptance of his new life, the man’s face began to alter and warp while he began to speak about various films that he loved. In order to better fit the pretentious and professional identity he was accepting for himself, the man’s messy hair was the first thing to undergo a severe alteration. The countless strands of hair found themselves seemingly undergoing a flat iron treatment that was flattening it. Once this was complete, a deep sheen began to emerge as styling gel soon found itself mixing in with the flat hair. An unintended side effect emerged from this styling though as the hair slicked back and gained a more professional appearance and the shade deepened into a rich hue of black.  

With his haircut now tight and tidy, the man’s face was the next area to undergo some severe alterations. As he went into a tangent about his favorite Werner Herzog documentaries, the man was unaware of his nose growing sharper and prominent to become a standout on his new face. While he continued to speak, the man shifted his jaw momentarily in discomfort as a prominent and angled jawline emerged and helped him gain a visage fitting of a world-famous sculpture. Finally as a dusting of facial hair emerged to give him a deep permanent stubble, the man’s lips grew a bit fuller as if they were being rewarded for committing so fully to the words he was speaking. 

Moving onto the next slide, Sahilip grew quite alarmed when he suddenly heard a few audible gasps. Turning behind him to hopefully see why people were reacting that way to the PowerPoint, the man found himself quickly understanding why. The slide was discussing his love for the gym, complete with a few shirtless selfies that showed off the hefty pecs, boulder shoulders, and bowling ball sized biceps that he now possessed. 

“Alright everyone, let’s settle down,” Sahilip cockily said, his lips pulling back into a smile that revealed a perfect row of pearly white teeth. “As you can see, I’m a big fan of physical fitness. You know that saying of “healthy body, healthy mind”? That’s quite literally my life motto,” he continued, chuckling as he found countless men and women now looking at him different. Although it was quite bizarre to look at his students and see their lustful stares, he could totally understand it. He was a total heartthrob after all!  Despite knowing that his ethics would never allow himself to hook up with a student, the man couldn’t help but savor the attention and how horny it made him.

As he continued to discuss his love for the gym and the fitness journey listed in the bullet points of the slide, his body continued to bulk up with muscle to help emphasize the end results of this apparent journey the new Sahilip had gone through. One-by-one, two abdominals popped into place and pressed against the fabric of his dress shirt until every student could see the prominent and chiseled six pack that he now had. 

Chuckling as he continued to take in the attention he was receiving, those deep exhales gave way to more strain as his lats suddenly flared out and caused his back to grow much wider. Now with his upper half completely transformed into that of a physically fit professor with thick biceps, hefty pecs, and a triangle-shaped back, it was a shock that his dress shirt was able to withstand his newfound bulk given just how wide he was in all regards!

Once this transformation finished though, Sahilip soon found that his twig-like legs were barely able to allow him to stand upright due to just how beefy and top-heavy he now was. Not wanting to embarrass himself and collapse in front of a room full of adoring students, the now-anxious Sahilip sauntered back over to the podium as he leaned on it for support. Upon doing so, the lack of pressure caused the man’s legs to quickly bulk up and complete his transformation into a gym rat of a professor. 

While the long dress socks that he was wearing were straining due to the diamond-shaped calves that were growing before him, that barely compared to how his shorts were feeling. Given how tight and short they already were, they soon resembled a poser, which was fitting given his bodybuilder size! As his thighs inflated to enormous proportions, it quickly became clear that the new Sahilip was a committed worker in the gym because there was no muscle group of his that was less than perfect. 

Now complete with a pair of muscular legs that could withstand his hefty size, the man’s momentary anxiousness quickly faded away as his pretentiousness returned in full force. Unfortunately though, just like how his body had inflated to severe proportions, his ego had also done the same. The cocky man basked in the obvious thirsting that his students had for him, he was a god amongst men when it came to his physique and good looks! In fact, it was quite amusing to also pick up on the few jealous stares that he was receiving from some of the male students of the class. He could understand their jealousy, although he felt no real sympathy for them because they could get a physique like his if they wanted to actually be productive and head to the gym rather than those weekend frat parties!

With his cock returning to a rock hard status due to the mixed expressions of jealousy and lust, Sahilip opted to remain behind the podium. Although he felt no shame about his size or bulge, the man’s inner dialogue suddenly began to emphasize how off-track the class was becoming due to their thirst for the professor and the side conversations they were having with each other as a result.

In hopes of stopping that dead in its tracks, the man’s booming voice began to ring out and startle countless students. “Alright folks, settle down. We need to get back to a normal sense of decorum. This is a classroom not a lunch hall, so let’s put an end to these little side conversations,” he said, his expression quickly turning serious to showcase his seriousness. With his lips pulling back from a grin into a slight scowl, this expression soon became locked in as the man’s normal resting face. He was an intimidating fellow after all, so it was only appropriate for him to get an equally menacing expression that would never allow anyone to know what he was truly thinking.

Upon adopting this new persona of a gruff and dominant individual, a few last physical changes emerged to help secure himself into this new identity as an English professor. The average-sized bulge that he was sporting (which only looked obscene due to the short black shorts he was wearing) suddenly began to increase. While it extended itself from a simple 5” manhood to an impressive monster of 9” inches, the man’s cock also grew wider until it was incredibly girthy as well. 

On the opposite side of his body, Sahilip’s ass was inflating with incredible speed. The formerly flat ass was filling out quite well, gaining two mountainous globes that left his shorts on the verge of tearing. Much like his pecs, Sahilip’s ass would also undergo a severe amount of jiggling and bouncing without being holstered by a pair of tight pants due to just how broad and beefy it was with a mixed composition of muscle and flab.  

Now a stuff-shirt professor who took his courses and the concept of learning very seriously, the man’s deep voice called for the next slide to appear so they could get into the real meat of the course. While the PowerPoint was once fairly lax and sparse with details, the next slide fully changed that as it was jam-packed with a list of course policies. While explaining how serious he took cheating along with his rigid attendance policy, the man couldn’t help but smirk at the several groans and grimaces from his students about the latter option. Although he knew that they thought he was a prick for being so stern, the man was only doing it to better prepare them for the real world once they were out of the safe space of college and in the real working world!

Upon explaining them and stating the consequences that could occur from not following these policies, Sahilip moved onto the next slide that began to explain the course breakdown in terms of the several projects that he was going to assign. Although he took a moment to ask the students if they had any questions about the course breakdown, it was clear from the looks on the students’ faces that they were still attempting to comprehend all of the information thrown at them. As such, Sahilip reminded his students that they could email him or ask any of his TAs if they had any pressing questions whenever they arose.

Taking a moment to look around the room, Sahilip wondered how much time was left before the course was over. Instinctively, the man lifted his arm and pushed the sleeve of his dress shirt to get a better look at the gold watch that was now wrapped around his right wrist. Although it had truly just appeared out of nowhere, the brand new Philip believed that nothing was amiss as memories informed him of the day he purchased it several years prior. 

Seeing as there was a good 30 minutes before class finished up, the professor found himself with only one slide left before his presentation was complete. As such, Philip needed something to pad the remaining time and thus quickly opted to do a small Q&A with his students. “Alright folks, so since we have a little bit of time left, feel free to raise a hand and ask any questions that you have,” he said, although it came off as more of a command due to the tone and deep boom of his voice.

Before long, a hand in the balcony of the lecture hall quickly rose. Making his way from the podium and closer to the inquiring student, Philip sauntered over with a swagger in his step as he acknowledged the person and asked for their question. While the girl asked a rather asinine question about his clear-cut attendance policy, the professor was unaware of his shorts suddenly altering. With haste, the fabric suddenly expanded and unfurled around him, wrapping itself tightly around his muscular legs until they turned into a pair of black dress pants that fell perfectly right in line with the top of his dress shoes. Although he didn’t need a belt given how form-fitting the pants were on him, a fine leather one still manifested itself through the belt loops and fastened itself around Philip’s trim waist.

Once he completed answering a question, another hand quickly rose up from a male student. Upon directing his attention towards the student and walking closer to him, Philip called on the man.

“Hello sir, I was just curious. How long have you been teaching?” 

Upon hearing the question, Philip found himself instantly racking his brain for the correct answer. Although he felt like a brand new professor, the number 17 kept popping up in Philip’s mind. While he was trying to wonder why that number was so prominent, the man’s pants began to alter their color as well, changing into a deep blue hue that worked well with his stark white dress shirt. With the student still waiting on an answer and Philip unable to think of anything other than 17, the professor stated the number with a rare moment of being diffident.

In response, the student couldn’t help but ask a follow-up question. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you then sir?”

Despite being rather unsure of the original number of 17, Philip’s body instantly began to gain more confidence as he puffed his chest out and smirked. Before the man could even ponder the correct answer (he felt like he was possibly in his mid to late 20s), he suddenly found himself proudly stating that he was 43 years old.

In response to the declaration of his age, the students in the lecture hall immediately began to gasp from the shocking reveal. Most of the older staff at Oak Point University tended to be on the overweight or flat-out obese side, so the students were quite shocked to find such an enigma standing in front of them. Although the tiny voice in Philip’s mind tried to believe that his age of 43 was incorrect, it was unable to fight the influence of his words as his body began to grow older. As a few light wrinkles began to emerge on the man’s face and body while his hairline rose a few inches, another prominent wrinkle manifested on his forehead as the man couldn’t help but smirk at their response. The man’s memories of being a 22-year-old college student were completely erased and replaced with those of a pretentious man who was born in 1979 and went through several key moments in American history as a result.

Viewing this question as the perfect segway into the final slide of his presentation, Philip abruptly ended the Q&A session and asked the projectionist to do something once again. Upon doing so, the man turned to his students and began to read off the last few remaining morsels of information about himself on the slides. 

“So yes, I’m 43 years old and have been teaching here at Oak Point for 17 years,” he began, the voice showcasing just how confident and sure of himself Philip now was. “In fact, I went to undergrad here and graduated summa cum laude,” he continued, taking a moment to smile to himself as he recalled the pride he felt getting his diploma and that distinct honor. “After writing several pieces that have gone on to receive worldwide recognition, I was appointed five years ago to become the head of the English department. Under my direction, Oak Point has created countless English graduates who have gone on to have their works published professionally in countless mediums. So if you’re wanting to break into the industry and make a name for yourself after college, I’m the guy you want to suck up to,” Philip proudly stated, his voice dripping in pure narcissism as he bragged about his achievements. 

Upon finishing up his narcissistic comments, the man took a moment to reintroduce himself to his students as he finished up class. “Alright everyone, I suppose that we can end it for today. In case you’ve forgotten, my name is Philip Reynolds. I look forward to working with all of you this semester and helping turn you into the best possible writers you can be. I’ll see you guys on Wednesday,” he said, unaware of the fact that he had fully transformed from Sam Pearson into Philip Reynolds. Watching as the students frantically rustled their papers and shoved them into their bookbags, the professor gave a light smile and nod to several of his pupils as they thanked him and made their exit. 

Before long, all of the students had finally exited out of the room and Philip took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief that the first lecture of the day was a roaring success. It was always quite amusing to watch people react to both his physique and age, so the first day was always a great way to boost the older man’s ego. 

Yet while he would have loved to take more time to stroke his own ego, a quick look at his watch revealed that he only had a small bit of time before his next lecture (an upper-level American Literature course) began. Making his way over to the small desk in the corner, Philip quickly gathered up his things and shoved them into his satchel. Grabbing onto the blue suit jacket that matched the color of his pants, the man quickly pulled it on and buttoned the lower buttons to complete the look of a highly distinguished professor. With this complete, the man quickly grabbed onto his thermos of coffee and a lone manilla folder before making his way towards the door.

As soon as he pushed the door open though, Philip gasped in shock as his bulky body suddenly made an impact with something. “Oh my goodness,” he exclaimed, unsure of what exactly had occurred. Looking down though, the man instantly grew enraged as he found a short and incredibly round man face first in his hefty cleavage. Taking a step back, the professor’s eyes narrowed as he found himself staring at an overweight slob of a janitor staring in front of him. 

Despite having a fairly large janitor’s suit on, the janitor’s obese body left the fabric straining from his weight in an inverse way to Philip’s own bulk with his clothing. Luckily for Philip though, the muscle on his body made the straining hot on his body instead of disgusting on the janitor’s wide and flabby body. Instantly, the man’s mind began to formulate countless choice phrases for the middle-aged man who was clearly too stupid to both pay attention to what he was doing and get a profession that was something beyond entry-level! 

With his eyes continuing up the idiot janitor’s body, Philip’s eyes quickly picked up on a small plastic tag that revealed the man’s name - Donald. Immediately, the man began to recall the several complaints that he recalled from other staff about the janitor. Although they said that he was great at leaving an area spotless, several of the staff talked about how the janitor made both them and their students uncomfortable with his longing stares towards them. While they assumed this was due to the fact that he was jealous that he never got to apply himself like the staff or their students did, it was still enough to warrant filing some complaints with the janitor department. According to what Phillip recalled, the portly janitor was on thin ice and only needed one more complaint before he would be terminated.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going, you almost made me spill my coffee,” he shrewly stated, taking a moment to lift his arms up and verify that no leakage had actually occurred onto his expensive custom suit. As he looked angrily into the man’s beady eyes, Philip found great pleasure in watching the man instantly recoil and shrink down even further than his already short stature. “This is custom you know,” he continued, using one hand to tug at the lower half of his suit jacket to make sure he was presentable once more. 

Before the janitor could even get the opportunity to apologize, Philip immediately began to speak once more, feeling no remorse as he decided to put the fear of God in the easily intimidated janitor. “That room had better be spotless for my 1PM class,” he stated, although he knew that the deep and monotonous tone of his voice would only make it seem like a threat rather than a simple statement. To punctuate his sentence, Philip narrowed his eyes to give the man a sharp glare before using his bulky body to push right past him and out into the hallways of the building. Making his way past the janitor, the man muttered a “what a fucking oaf” before starting to saunter over towards the exit of the building.

However, as he tried his best to forget about the infuriating experience and mentally prepare for his next lecture, the older man immediately began to feel some eyes staring into the back of his skull. Willing to investigate that feeling, Philip suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Upon doing so, the man was able to see the janitor staring at him before frantically turning his head away. Although he had a feeling that the man was enamored by him based on Donald stammering upon slamming into Philip’s pecs, the secret glaring and obvious blushing was the final nail in the coffin where he realized that the man was attracted to him. 

Unfortunately for Donald, even though Philip was gay, he was only attracted in guys who took fitness as serious as him. Yet despite the clear disgust of being thirsted after by such a creep, it was an unintended stroke of Philip’s ego that left him smirking before making his grand exit out of the lecture hall and into his new life… unaware that he was actually shit-talking his former best friend!

[visceral-stories]

A Walk in the Park

Ko-Fi | Follow me on Twitter 

Doing their morning runs at Appleton Park had become a common ritual for Adam Wirth and Connor Heath. Situated on the fringe between the teens’ suburb and a much wealthier neighborhood, the park always provided magnificent views. The grass was always dripping with fresh dew, the assortment of trees was always spectacular, and the air was always filled with the chirping of birds. The two high schoolers took their cross country and track careers very seriously, even during summertime when it was their off-season. Depending on the day, they would either do a hill-based workout or run laps around the mile-wide path that surrounded the suburban park. This morning they had chosen the latter option. 

Exerting a final burst of energy, Adam sidled up alongside his friend who perked up when he saw him. “What’s your mile pace?” he asked.

Connor checked his running watch. “6:38,” he panted as he looked over at his friend. Their hair undulated in unison with the rhythmically loud thumps of their bright-colored running shoes against the pavement. “You?” 

Adam looked at his own watch. “6:42,” he replied. “Whoa, have we really gone three miles?” 

“I guess so,” Connor puffed with a grin as the two rounded a sharp bend. In the distance, they saw the familiar sight of the green bench they had placed their water bottles. “I need a drink,” he panted.

“Yeah, same.” 

The boys slowed down their pace to a light jog until they reached the wooden bench. Both wasted no time in snatching their respective water bottle and quenching their burning thirst. Adam was the first to set down his drink while Connor kept chugging until it was almost empty. He was still breathing quite heavily, much heavier than his friend. It was a sign that he’d really pushed himself this run. 

Adam placed his hands on his head and began walking in a short circle - a common cool-down method for after a run. Connor also felt fatigued and chose to bend over and place his hands on his knees. 

After a minute of the two trying to catch their breaths, Adam spoke up. “I think we’ve got a shot at making varsity this year,” he mused as he looked up at the light azure sky.

“For real?”

“Yeah, I think we really do. We’ve like…really been improving over the last month,” Adam said while analyzing the metrics of his running on his watch. “Our average mile pace is so much higher than it was a month ago.” 

Connor just exhaled in response. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been pushing himself today. 

“I’m serious, dude. We could really make it!” Adam continued. “We need to, especially now that we’ll be seniors!” 

“That would be…so….dope. I can’t wait…to be a senior,” Connor wheezed. “I just don’t know if we could knock Colton and Michael from the bottom two spots.”

“Do you think Michael Garrison is pushing himself to this level?”

Connor let out a light chuckle, thinking about their goofy teammate. “Absolutely not,” he smirked. “I don’t know how on earth that long-haired stoner runs so fast. Especially when he vapes right after every cool-down run.” Adam laughed before confidently replying. “Yeah true, we’re shoe-ins for varsity. If we work hard for it, that is,” He turned to his left just in time to see Connor plop his skinny and sweaty body onto a park bench. “Umm, what are you doing?” Adam asked, very confused. Every runner knew that you shouldn’t sit down directly after a workout. Even Michael Garrison would know that.

“Hmm?” Oh, I’m just taking a load off,” Connor answered casually, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He placed his hands behind his head and stretched his long legs forward. “Man, that tempo run was brutal!”

Adam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Connor Heath took the sport of running very seriously. He was always striving to improve his racing pace, his YouTube search history was filled with track and field races, and he’d even taken the drastic measure to cut his hair super short to enhance his speed, Now the stringent and rule-abiding student-athlete, who treated running like a lifestyle rather than a hobby, was breaking one of the sport’s golden rules: never sit down immediately after a workout. “Dude, why are you sitting down?” Adam asked. 

“Cause it feels good,” Connor matter-of-factly replied between two stinted breaths. “My legs are killin’ me!”

Adam was speechless for a moment. “Connor, you were the one that told me that sitting down after running could give you a cramp.” “Did I?”

“Yea, you did,” Adam emphatically replied before taking a big sip from his water bottle, an action which his friend immediately parroted. He stared at Connor in bewilderment as the other young man shifted forward on the green bench and began gingerly rubbing his upper thighs through his scarlet red gym shorts. Still unnerved by his friend’s behavior, Adam inquired further. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah I feel fine,” Connor replied, his breathing was now far more controlled than it was a minute ago. He continued to massage his tender leg muscles, oblivious to his friend’s worrisome questioning. “So did you get your classes for fall yet?” he asked casually.

Adam looked up toward the cloudless sky and placed his arms behind his sweaty head as he remembered his new teachers. “I got McGovern for physics, Kloster for history, Jensen for English, and Harrison…for…geometry…” The eighteen-year-old trailed off as he noticed that his friend was looking rather different. Connor’s cheeks, once flushed red from exhaustion, were gradually draining of color. A ripple of movement by his head caught Adam’s eye. Even though it was initially a faint change, Adam watched the tiny droplets that hung from the thin strands of Connor’s buzzcut evaporate. The invisible force continued to vacuum up the perspiration from his scalp, quickly leaving the young man’s hair looking clean and untouched. The sweat continued to dissipate, vanishing from Connor’s nose, his forehead, and the sides of his temples. 

Connor brought a hand to his chin and leaned forward on the bench. “Hmm, I don’t think I have any of those teachers.” His movement had caused the pools of sweat under his armpits to fade. 

“Dude, your shirt!” Adam blurted out. “Look at your shirt!”

“Huh, what?” Connor glanced down only to narrowly miss the last remnants of his workout sweat vanish from his light blue t-shirt. He turned his head back up at Adam as the final drops of perspiration faded from his chin, leaving the young man looking like he had just cleaned himself up. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked cluelessly. 

Adam was tremendously confused. When Connor had sat down on the bench, he’d been drenched in sweat, now he looked like he hadn’t even been working out. He wasn’t even breathing heavily anymore! “You were dripping with sweat just a moment ago. Now, you’re dry!” Adam realized he sounded hysterical, but he couldn’t deny what he was seeing.

“That’s just my cool-down method. You know that I overheat like a car’s radiator on these sunny mornings,” Connor replied as he stretched out his long legs and arms. He didn’t seem at all bothered by what had happened to him. 

Adam was about to respond when a pungent, citrusy odor entered his nose. “Phew! What is that?” he cried. 

“Eau D’Orange Verte,” Connor sharply answered, making sure to sound as fancy as possible when he did. “I always dab a little on my wrists before I go out.”

Adam smirked for a moment at how dorky his friend sounded, however the pervasive odor of the cologne quickly took away his smile. It was so potent that it made Adam’s eyes water. “That smells awful!” he exclaimed, bringing his hand to cover his nose. Connor’s carefree smile flickered. “You don’t like it?” he asked, almost seeming offended by Adam’s comment. “It’s one of my favorite colognes. It always reminds me of summer.” Connor looked up at his friend and the movement caused his running shorts to crawl higher up on his thighs. “I always thought you loved cologne from Hermés?”

“How do you have the money to shop at a bougie place like that? And since when do you wear cologne?” Adam exclaimed. It was like his best friend was pretending to be someone else. “

“Like, since always, dude,” Connor replied, his voice regaining that familiar boyish charm. “At least…I think so. I always wear…cologne on our runs?”

Adam shook his head in an effort to dislodge the confusion that appeared to affect him and Connor. “Whatever dude,” he shrugged. “Let’s just finish our cool-down, alright?”

“For sure,” Connor agreed. He was about to stand up before a question crossed his mind. “Say, what time is it?” 

“It’s-” Adam stopped himself and his eyes widened with bewilderment. Where he’d expected to see his typical black running watch, he instead came face to face with an expensive-looking one with a brown leather strap. The square digital screen had morphed into an analog ellipse with a pristine glass clockface that was impossible to miss. The flimsy rubber strap had converted to a thick, metallic one that felt very authentic. Adam stared speechlessly at the resplendent new watch as he made out the word Breitling on it. It sure seemed real, but what was an sophisticated-looking watch doing on a guy like him? “D-dude,” Adam stuttered, lifting up his right arm. “Look at this!”

“Oh shit, mine’s different too!” Connor replied, revealing a chunky watch of his own around his wrist. Unlike Adam’s, his was silver with a vermillion clockface. It even had two little dials inside of it, a feature which Adam had never even seen before. Connor leaned back on the bench, satisfied with his friend’s bemusement. The movement caused his t-shirt to rest slightly above his belly-button, rewarding his partially exposed midriff with a cooling crossbreeze. “These things are like expensive!” he said excitedly.

“What?” “T…these watches,” Connor said, stammering with excitement. “They’re like thousands of dollars! My dad always said that Breitling is one of the nicest for antique watches!” Connot studied the watch for a few additional moments before erupting into more excitement. “Dude! Why are these on our wrists?”

“Beats me,” Adam said, now fixated on the shimmer of his luxurious new watch. 

The object caused a rift in Connor’s mind: one that excited him. He stretched out his arms on the back of the bench and looked up at the sky. “Wouldn’t it be like, awesome to be wealthy?” he proposed, his face rife with elation. 

Just like his friend, Adam’s perspiration began to evaporate as the idea bounced around through his confused head. The sweat droplets on his forehead began to rapidly dry up, as did the sweat on his head. As the eighteen-year-old continued to breathe in more of his friend’s old-man-cologne, he failed to realize that the stickiness that coated his armpits and loins was rapidly vanishing, taking with it any acrid odor that had materialized during his workout. “Dude, cut the shit,” he said with a playful punch on the shoulder. “You couldn’t even hold down your job at Burger King!”

Connor stretched out his slender legs and grinned. His running shoes - a pair of dark blue Hokas with white bottoms complimented by green neon stripes - looked darker than usual, like he had ran through a mud puddle. “That may be true,” he said. “But I was definitely a hard worker!” Adam was baffled. “No, dude. You got fired for being on your phone too much. Remember?” 

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Connor pensively acquiesced. “I just didn’t wanna work there anymore. Too much grease and mess to clean up.” A deeper shadow seemed to form across his shoes followed by the ends of them growing pointier. Connor turned to his friend with an earnest look on his face. “Could you imagine it, though?”

“Imagine what?”

“Not having to work anymore.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be cool,” Adam agreed, unsure about where this tangent was leading. If Connor hadn’t sounded so genuine, Adam would’ve shrugged the random comment off.  Absent-mindedly, he flicked away the residual sweat on his forehead as he felt the proposition burrow into his thoughts. 

Connor pointed toward Adam’s watch. “Imagine if you could be able to afford as many watches as nice as that one! And you could wear a different one each day of the week. Hell, every day of the month!”

Adam rested his wrist in his other hand. “That would be kind of cool. I do love how this one looks on me,” he concurred, now running his fingers over the gold plating. He couldn’t tell if it was authentic or not, but it definitely felt high-quality. 

There was a moment of silence so Adam decided to humor Connor. Their conversations often veered into strange territories, especially when they were on their runs and needed something to distract them from the exercise. “So what would we do if we were retired?” he asked, Maybe it was the fumes from the cologne getting to him, but he felt like playing along. “I mean, I couldn’t just sit inside and play video games. Being retired would mean we gotta have something to do all day.”

“Oh for sure,” Connor agreed. He plopped his shoes back down on the concrete, only for them to make a much more distinct thud than before. His shoes had taken on a new leathery composition with the neon coloration now gone completely. “But like, if you’re retired, that must mean you’ve got some wealth waiting for you!” As his Hokas were drained of their opulent colors, the dark blue laces tightened until they were neatly centralized. The cushiony bottom of the running shoes also compressed in on itself, leaving behind a thin brown strip. A final gloss of polish materialized over his new, formal footwear, leaving it as shiny as freshly-lacquered wood. 

“Yeah, it’d be so cool to have money,” Adam said, finally taking a seat on the bench. In the back of his head, he knew it was wrong to do after a run, but he didn’t care. His friend’s rumination was stirring some exciting thoughts in his head. “I could get the newest console instead of having to work two weeks for it. I could finally get some new….shoes?” Adam froze. Where he expected to see bright running shoes, he instead saw a pair of light brown loafers - the kind that the preppy kids at school would wear. “Whoa! Are you seeing this?” he asked.

“Seeing what?” Connor griped, sounding slightly grouchier for some reason. 

“Seeing my new shoes! I don’t think-”

“You always wear penny loafers all the time dude, that’s like your thing,” Connor interjected. 

Adam was put-off by his friend’s bluntness. “Yeah, well. At least I don’t wear sock garters with gym shorts. You look like you got dressed in your sleep!”

“At least I dress to impress!” Connor retorted. He leaned back on the bench and chuckled. Although he did have a brand new pair of tall brown socks held up to the middle of his calves, Adam’s attention was drawn to his friend’s bloated gut - mostly because he actually had one! It now dangled over the top of his red shorts, which now had a tangerine coloration. 

“Good morning gentlemen!” came a woman’s calm voice. 

Both boys glanced up to see two older ladies standing in front of their green bench. With their pearl necklaces and pastel-colored floral knee-length dresses, they looked very prim and proper. They were both rather tall and plain-looking with their main difference being that one was wearing a light pink hat. The two boys turned to each other with an equal level of confusion. The women seemed welcoming, but very unfamiliar. 

“I knew I heard bickering somewhere!” the other lady chimed in and they both laughed. “And what are you boys up to?”

“Just relaxing after our run, ma’am,” Adam answered kindly. He’d meant to sound sarcastic towards these two nosy old ladies, but instead he sounded very cordial. His shirt then slid up his slender stomach, but promptly tugged it back down, figuring it was a trick of the wind. 

“You two went running?” the lady asked incredulously. “Dressed like that?”

“Of course we did, Mrs. O'Leary,” Connor said, although he sounded snarky once again. And how did he know the woman's name? “We come here all the time.” 

“It just seems a bit uncomfortable is all,” the lady in the pink hat remarked. 

With this comment, Adam took the chance to examine himself, but what he saw only made him numb with disbelief. Somehow while he’d been distracted, his black gym shorts were taking on a lighter hue, similar to the brown shade of his loafers. More strikingly, they had sharp creases in the center of them and had somehow crept down to his knees. Adam kicked his legs back and forth to assess the tangibility of the strange clothing change, however the action only caused additional fabric to drape down his legs. The breathable polyester quickly finished its conversion into a thicker, dark brown khaki fabric, leaving the young man aghast with uncertainty. 

The woman Adam now knew as Mrs. O'Leary continued the conversation. “Well, it is nice to see you two young men donating to our community park. We certainly do appreciate the funding.”

“It’s been my greatest pleasure,” Connor said. His sentiment sounded genuine but a harsh gruffness hung in his voice, like he was trying to sound tougher or something. “Appleton Park is where we grew up and we want the best for it.” 

Adam was baffled by the duplicitous lies Connor was churning out. God forbid, they would donate a single cent to this ritzy park. They didn’t even grow up like four miles from here! 

“Oh isn’t that sweet Geraldine,” one of the ladies said, looking over at her friend as they turned to walk away. “Well, we’d best be going. But we do appreciate all that you two have done for our community.”

“It’s our pleasure ma’am,” Connor politely replied, wrapping his arm around Adam. “We want to be Appleton Park’s biggest donors.” 

Adam tensed up as he felt pressure against his slender abdomen. Looking down, he nearly screamed. Connor’s stomach…had inflated somehow? And it still was! In a few gradual seconds, the teen’s nonexistent gut swelled to the size of a soccer ball. Adam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Bellies this large didn’t just appear out of nowhere - they were formed through years of eating. Not only that, but Connor’s large belly was already taking up a lot of space. It was so mystifying. 

A sudden elbow to the ribs snapped Adam out of his flummoxed trance. He wanted to cuss Connor out, but instead he made eye contact with the two expectant ladies. Bashfully, he looked back down for a moment, only to catch another glance of his friend’s round midsection. It was so surreal to see. Just a minute ago, they had been relaxing on a bench, now the world felt like it was spinning so fast. Taking a deep breath, Adam decided to follow his friend’s lead, mostly out of curiosity. “Yes, um… I’m happy to be a big donor,” Adam said, curious to see if something would happen to him as well.

“We certainly appreciate both of your contributions very much,” the lady in the pink hat said, putting her hand over her heart and smiling warmly. After a few seconds, she turned to her friend. “Well, we’d best be leaving to the gazebo. Our husbands are waiting there.”

Adam wasn’t listening at all. “Holy shit,” he mouthed as he looked down at his upper body, aghast at what had happened. His once featureless upper body had changed. His formerly flat stomach now had quite a sizeable bump to it and it hung over the loops of his khaki pants. Even his pecs had grown more plump. Adam couldn’t look away, now transfixed on the ample fat that had abruptly appeared on his body. More interestingly, he could distinguish a trail of buttons running down the center of his light gray shirt. “Have a lovely day you two,” Connor called out with a warm smile. Adam perked back up. He wanted to gag over how fake his friend was acting. It was like he was trying to sound more adult. 

“You do the same, gentlemen,” the lady in the pink hat said before the two walked away. 

Connor sustained his plastic smile until the women were out of earshot, a process which was only exacerbated due to their leisurely pace. Meanwhile, Adam was poking and prodding at the volleyball-sized lump in his shirt. The faint ripples of his pecs and nipples through his shirt certainly felt real. They must’ve been agitated by his bloated stomach. 

“Dude, can you believe that?” Connor said. his gruff voice now saturated with youthful exuberance. “They really bought it! They totally thought we were rich guys! I can’t believe it!”

Adam sneered, still frustrated by his friend’s atypical behavior. “Yeah, cause they’re like 80.” 

The broad smile on Connor’s face indicated his pure enjoyment. “That doesn’t matter. They respected us. They totally thought we were some young entrepreneurs or something. They looked at us like real hot-shots. Do you know what we could do with that power?” Nearly out of breath from how excited he was, Connor grabbed his water bottle from the bench and took a long, victorious sip. 

“I don’t know about all that, dude,” Adam said skeptically. He leaned back on the bench, however his desire for respite was quickly dashed when he felt the weight of his belly on his legs. Leering down with vexation, he realized his belly was so round that it concealed his crotch completely. The sight of his tapered khakis and dorky shoes only strengthened his frustration. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him and his friend. It defied logic. And what was worse was that Connor seemed totally oblivious to it. Sitting on this bench must’ve been doing something to their minds Adam rationalized as he held out his hands in befuddlement, fixated on the unsightly blob of exposed stomach hanging above the fly of his pants. “What did we just do?” he asked aloud. It was a pragmatic yet baffling question. His excitement was mixing with his nervousness. 

“Hmm?” “When I said we were big donors, I didn’t think we would really be big!” Adam said, his spiel punctuated by a pubescent voice crack.

“Yea, but being big means being powerful,” Connor said, bouncing his water bottle in his hand. He could tell Adam wasn’t convinced so he continued. “Imagine if we really were wealthy,” Connor brooded, clenching his school-licensed water bottle in his hand. “Nobody to tell us what to do and nobody to boss us around.” With a wider smile, he took another sip. 

“I don’t wanna be big,” Adam pouted, distraughtly clenching his doughy stomach in his hands. There was definitely some muscle heft to it, but it looked just like an unsightly blob attached to him. Sure, it was nice to stand out from a crowd, but it wasn’t ideal to be a humongous high school senior. The two of them always garnered attention wherever they went. 

“I love being big,” Connor said, his mind overrun with memories of being a huge guy who didn’t take crap from anyone. To affirm his joy, his water bottle shrunk in his hands. The dark blue color and school logo darkened and the plastic composition seemed to give away to something softer. Connor readjusted the new, skinnier cylinder to fit between his index and middle finger. He enjoyed crushing the object down to size: to feel it inconsequentially dwindle between his forceful fingers. “I’d love to command attention wherever I go,” he declared. “People would be forced to look at my massive body because it takes up so much space. And they would have to respect me, as if I was some wealthy hotshot.” 

“Well, that’s easy for you to say,” Adam pouted. “Your stomach is like the size of a cannonball!”

“Thank you, young man,” Connor said before erupting into a barrage of low-pitched laughter. His subsequent belly-laugh sounded far lower than his usual boyish laugh, as if Connor’s voice had plummeted five octaves. His spherical belly also shook to the rhythm of his boisterous chortle and the jostling generated only more growth. Already enormous, the young man’s gut rapidly accumulated an additional fifty pounds to its impressive mass, making it even larger than a yoga ball. Thankfully, his tight white workout shirt stretched in unison to contain its shaking, corpulent mass. 

Adam balled up his fists. His friend was being so phony and he couldn’t stand it. “We’re the same age!” he hissed, his higher voice drowned out by his friend’s laugh-attack. 

Connor wiped the small tears that had formed in his eyes from not only his Saint Nick impression, but how goofy his new, contralto laughter sounded. He placed his large hand on Adam’s flabby stomach - an action that made him flinch with surprise. “You’re on your way there yourself, big man,” he said, giving Adam’s tummy a playful pat. 

As Connor pulled his hand away, Adam’s cheeks flushed red with both embarrassment and rage. He knew that his stomach was big, but Connor didn’t need to make him self-conscious about it. Sure, he enjoyed the way his snow white workout shirt cradled it as tight as a drum, but it was still an insecurity of his. 

“You’ve gotta work on your dress though, dude,” Connor said, oblivious to his friend’s distress. 

“My dress?” Adam sputtered. 

“Yeah, y’know, like your attire.” 

“Oh,” Adam sighed, feeling silly he didn’t understand his friend. He looked down at his body and momentarily questioned why a line of vertical buttons had formed down the center of his shirt. His belly, probably half the size of Connor’s, was also delicately concealed and was looked quite resplendent. “I’m dressed up as nice as you,” he said, glancing back up at his plump friend. 

Connor jiggled a long, tan object in his hand. It was longer than all five of his stubby, perfectly-manicured fingers. The red sticker at the top of it only made its existence more puzzling. “Yeah, but your collar’s undone,” Connor chirped. 

“Oh shoot,” Adam said, instinctively reaching behind his nape to uncrumple the fabric touching it. He promptly tucked it back down before doing the same all around his slender neck. The rigid slab of polyester flattened beneath his force, leaving him with a proper shirt collar to compliment his brand new dress shirt. “There, happy?”

“Yes, very,” Connor snidely answered. 

Adam crinkled his nose. He could smell wood mixed with spices followed by a deluge of thick, potent tobacco. Turning to his friend, Adam winced as he saw a long, thick appendage dangling from his friend’s lips! “Is that a cigar?” he asked after a few speechless seconds. 

“Sure is,” Connor said, exhaling a massive cloud of white smoke into the air before placing his lips right back on his huge Cuban. 

Some of the residue drifted toward Adam’s face and he unintentionally breathed it in through his nose. He could detect hints of leather, wood, and spices. At least until he started coughing as the smoke tickled his throat. The coughing was not subtle either. It started as a light rumble that morphed into a loud, aggressive croaking. 

“Oh dear. I’m terribly sorry,” Connor apologized although his empathetic plea only allowed for more smoke to escape from his maw.

As Adam’s gasps for air grew more and more guttural, he felt the scents materialize on his tongue. That potent wood-scented musk seemed to cling to his tastebuds and tickle his uvula, only making his coughing more raspy. Swiftly, he reached for the water bottle sitting on his left side. The royal blue, school-licensed bottle rewarded him with the effusion he so desperately needed. 

After a few sips, the water started to develop a smoky, wooden taste. Adam could also feel the plastic bottle compress in on itself, taking up less space in the palm of his hand. Weirder still, Adam felt the bottle stick to the insides of his lips and lessening his grip on the changing cylinder only proved that. Even the outside of it felt more authentic, less like factory-made plastic and more like smooth, conic paper. Adam flinched as the bottle shrunk even further in one dramatic motion, becoming half the width it once was. His eyes widened with disbelief as the water had heated up in temperature somehow. More strikingly, the royal blue color of the former water bottle had all but faded by now. The warm water - it tasted like wood…and spices…and leather. 

“How’s your cigar there, guy?”

A thick deluge of smoke pouted into Adam’s esophagus, eliminating any remnants of water and rewarding him with stifling tobacco-laden fumes. It gave him full-body tingles and an insane head rush. The dazed young man clenched the tiny barrel tighter between his thumb and index finger and firmly yanked it out from his lips, smoke still pouring out of the tip. The portly young man finally exhaled, releasing a thick, white cloud into the atmosphere. Adam felt his pecs enlargen with his deep blow, like his lungs were inflating. Two distinct mesas rose below his clavicle making ovate outlines beneath his dress shirt. Their blossoming existence also seemed to force open the top of Adam’s collar, allowing a stream of airflow to relieve the new mounds of fat and muscle. It felt a little scandalous to have the front button of his shirt open, but Adam didn’t mind. The new stream of airflow was a reward enough. Did his shirt have a button before? That didn’t matter. All that mattered was the tingling sensation until he finally registered Connor’s question. “Oh, it’s…so good,” he said before a tickle in his throat caused him to cough once more. His pectorals jiggled with his rasping, inflating further and further until Adam’s nipples were smooshed against the luxury fabric. 

Connor just laughed. Everything Adam did seemed so funny to him. 

Adam took another drag, furrowing his brow as he did. He realized his bigger pecs and gut were generating generated much more heat than before. The thick cloud of cigar smoke he exhaled reminded him of this fact - it drifted low like fog and levitated below his chin for a few moments before dispersing. He felt the fumes irritated his skin - more specifically his chest. It felt like a million tiny pinpricks were materializing all across his pecs. After momentary resistance, Adam finally surrendered to the urge to scratch his chest. It felt so great and he found that his rough itching only produced more chest hair. His new sausage-sized fingers did quite the trick at massaging the millions of light-colored hairs that had appeared across his pecs. The excessive scratching also reaffirmed that Adam’s pecs had some real heft and muscle beneath their jiggly and pendulous exterior.

“You’re lookin’ good with that stogie, kid,” complimented Connor who had been wordlessly watching Adam’s bodily exploration.

“Shut up, you’re only a little older than me,” Adam said - this time sounding much more sullen and reserved. The urge to take another drag was insatiable so he did, forgetting that the cigar was ever a water bottle and in return, he felt every nerve-ending sensate. 

Connor smiled. “At least we dress the same,” he said and his smoky exhale mixed with Adam’s respiratory release. 

“Damn straight,” Adam replied, making eye contact with his slightly older friend. He looked so funny, like a young guy trying to be an adult. His figure radiated maturity, but his face still had that youthful glow. Or at least Adam thought he did. The closer he looked at Connor’s face, the more signs of aging he detected. There were faint rings around Connor’s eyes, thin crow’s feet, and specks of grey hair at his temples. Even his slender neck and pointy chin had changed, now enveloped by a sea of fat. If it wasn’t for his jovial, boyish expression, he looked like a stranger. 

A stirring in Adam’s pants caught his attention. His huge belly - still only half the size as his friend’s - blocked his view. With the added heft of his meaty pecs, Adam’s dress shirt looked fit to burst. Any attempt to peer down at his erection was thwarted by his own husky body. His belly and pecs were so round and protruded so far. His exposed chest hair also had a faint tint to it as well. The curly and dark spindles of hair had unraveled over top two undone buttons of his dress shirt, allowing it to shape his chest even better.

“It’s kinda like wearing a uniform, isn’t it?” Connor commented, noticing Adam’s self-indulged gawking.

“Definitely,” Adam replied happily, kicking out his legs. They filled out the wideset khakis much more than before. Being a runner his whole life, Adam had muscular definition in his legs, but they’d never been this big. His thighs and calves seemed to inflate the more he thought about them, growing bigger and bigger until they pressed up against his formal pants as tight as vacuum-sealed meat. These new, muscled legs were robust walls, far wider than Adam had ever seen on any other man. That thought was exciting. He and Connor weren’t like most men. “People have to respect us in these clothes,” Adam said proudly while his cock bobbed in agreement. 

Connor took another long drag. “I never even realized I wanted this,” he said. “But now I want nothing more.”

Before Adam could respond, he flinched as two straps appeared above his shoulders. They yanked up his khaki pants with strenuous force. The dark brown khakis were immediately hiked up so high Adam’s balls were visible through them, causing a meaty moose knuckle to be seen. The force against them only agitated them more too and they swelled to the size of tennis balls full of fresh new seed, lewdly on display beneath his fat stomach.

The heightened pleasure caused Adam to shift in his seat, eager to sit in a more comfortable way of sitting. As he did, his attention was drawn to the new pair of brown leather suspenders that framed his barrel of a chest. Their distinct curvature enhanced his globular midsection. He reached down and impulsively cradled the doughy fat in his hands, obsessed with how round and dapper he looked. The combination of wealth and vanity was doing a number on him. “There’s no way we would pass as high schoolers now,” he said proudly. 

“Of course not,” Connor said, giving his own erection a rub. “Our bodies are far too large and cumbersome to fit in, let alone go running. Maybe this is who we’re meant to be.”

Both of the men’s erections shot up in agreement. 

That sentence sparked adrenaline in Adam. He loved being huge - enjoying the looks on people’s faces when they saw his huge muffin-top build. At one point, he and Connor had been student athletes, but that time was rapidly fading. Just the thought of him going for a jog made him chuckle. “I haven’t ran since 1976!” he blurted aloud. Although it sounded erroneous, distinct memories of that year came to mind. It was such a long time ago and he wondered how he could even recollect that year. More layers of hair multiplied across his body to reaffirm his increasing age. First, Adam’s legs grew hairy, then it was his arms, then his back, then his loins. The warm, sweaty feeling returned to him, only this time the brown and gray-colored fur that had appeared on him was the culprit. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam noticed that the fur pelt of chest hair he had took on a deep silver tint. 

“HHRGGH” Connor exclaimed as he hoisted himself up from the bench unexpectedly  a lethargic process that tested the strength of his slender legs. The stogie still hanging from his maw, he gazed down at Adam, the sunlight seemed to enhance all of his new wrinkles. “I haven’t ran since ‘69 Think about that!” he said, releasing more cigar smoke. “Yep. Once I started doing wrestling, I bulked up so fast. All that speed and endurance converted to raw strength. To putting my opponents in a headlock. To becoming the mountain of a man I was meant to be.” With that boost of self-assurance, Connor’s cocky smile grew even wider. 

“Yeah, yeah, we were both wrestlers! Definitely not cross country athletes. We’re both much too large to do any of that!” Adam said excitedly. As he did, his palm accidentally caressed his huge ball of a belly. The sentence provoked more memories within the two young men. Not only were they forgetting their old lives, they both knew that they must be far older than high schoolers. Holding his cigar between his lips, Adam hoisted himself off the bench. His legs wobbled as they endured his two-hundred-and-fifty-pound mass, but they didn’t buckle. 

Connor just nodded in agreement, spewing cigar smoke into the open air. Just like Adam, he also had a prominent moose knuckle beneath his pressed khakis. Adam tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. For a few wordless moments of splendor, the two stared at each other until Connor reached one of his arms out to move Adam’s suspender. The rectification eliminated any wrinkles from Adam’s pure white dress shirt, tapering it perfectly to his sphere of a belly. “It’s crooked,” was all Connor said with a solemn expression followed by another burst of smoke. “Come on son, let’s get a drink of water. I’m parched,” he said, with that same gruff expression. 

Adam’s glee now mirrored his friend’s. “Me too,” he agreed, unsure of much else in his life but the fact that he was loving his changes. “I could go for a nice walk as well. People deserve to see us as the men we are meant to be.” 

“That’s right,” Connor agreed as the two men began walking. Instantly, they felt so much powerful than before. Their bellies and bulges bounced side by side, both cradled tightly by their unwrinkled white dress shirts. The smiles on both of their faces said it all. “I love being old,” Connor said impulsively, turning to Adam as they walked.

“Me too,” Adam repeated, immediately accepting the idea. His cock did too and it even got stuck in his compression shorts for a moment, but he promptly jiggled it free with one of his hands - his Breitling watch shimmering immaculately once more. “And sophisticated too,” he added.

“Yes, wealthy socialites must always dress with prep.”

At the utterance of this sentence, Adam and Connor suddenly heaved in unison: a reaction generated by an intense tightening at their loins. The two hefty men could feel their cocks press tightly against their nylon compression shorts. The spandex textile was ideal for exercise, but not for being worn by soon-to-be affluent gentlemen, so they rapidly began to change. First, they broadened in accordance with the gents’ widening waistlines and mercifully provided space for their cocks and balls to occupy. Secondly, the dark material bleached itself and rapidly converted into a white cotton blend. 

After a few seconds, the two men wordlessly looked at each other with excited grins. They knew they were changing and they weren’t afraid. After all, if they were to be distinguished socialites, they couldn’t be wearing nylon underwear. As the men began to walk once more, the stretched-out nylon gradually crept up their upper thighs, becoming extremely silky against their inflating thighs. It was like a gentle caress with every step they took. After a few strides, the two men grew accustomed to the delicate press of their luxurious silky underwear and thought nothing more of the matter. 

“Finally! There’s a fountain!” Connor boomed, pointing to a moderately-sized building with a red roof. Surrounded by two lacquered picnic benches, he could see a silver fountain in front of a brick wall. As Connor advanced toward the silver fountain, the tingling of his loins felt like fireworks, only arousing him further. Next to the fountain, he noticed a bright, golden ashtray. It even had a matching golden bulb to place his smoldering cigar on! So he did just that.

Bending over to drink quickly proved to be a difficult challenge that took many, many attempts. Connor looked like such a numbskull as he tried to delicately bend over and not have his yoga ball-sized stomach press against the metal fountain. Adam, meanwhile, stood next to the golden ashtray, and continued smoking his stogie, crudely chuckling at Connor’s struggle. 

“Can it back there, you rascal!” Connor snipped as he stifled back a laugh of his own. Although his deep, lower voice radiated authority, it was clear that Connor held no hostility toward his friend. After a few more seconds of trying, he soon found that he had to crouch down to get his huge mouth close enough to the faucet. Finally this method was successful and he was rewarded with a deluge of fresh water. Positioning his heavyset body on his muscular legs quickly proved to be uncomfortable, but he was successful nonetheless. 

With each sip Connor took, Adam was treated to a show. His best friend’s flat butt began to swell larger and larger. The back pockets of his khakis soon became compressed around the two inflating spheres that Connor’s buttcheeks were becoming. It protruded out so far that it touched the gravel pavement, causing the man reposition his crouched-over body. Connor’s butt had grown so mountainous that Adam could clearly detect the lines from his designer white briefs through his pants. 

His thirst now fully quenched, Connor slowly hoisted himself back up until he stood back up at his 6’5” stature. The one squat he’d done made not only his butt swell larger, but his thighs as well. Once thin and lean, his thighs now were enormous mounds of muscle that strained the tight khakis against their mass. He still looked impeccable though. His colossal boulder shoulders and broad hips were on full display beneath the tight veneer of his formal clothing - that was the power of having a private tailor. After all, custom-made clothing was all that the two men of immense size could wear. Connor calmly grabbed his lit cigar from its luxurious perch and looked up at the tall, red ceiling as he began smoking again. 

Hot from bewilderment, Adam wanted to cool down too, however one quick glance at his belly told it all. He couldn’t even see his feet so there was no way he could pull off a swift sip. Instead, Adam decided to run some water over his meaty hand and transfer it to his forehead to help cool his body down. The water droplets felt immaculate on Adam’s skin and it immediately cooled his scalp, but he figured it must’ve been the wind picking up. 

The sound of a kid’s high-pitched voice echoed through the small building. “Whoa! You guys are really big!” he exclaimed.

Connor and Adam spun around to see a young kid who looked like he couldn’t have been older than eight. Even he was dressed up nicely, wearing a small blue polo and white board shorts. The two towered over the little ankle-biter who began coughing from their smoke cloud - the poor thing. 

“Are you smoking?” the kid asked innocently. “Smoking is bad.”

Connor scoffed. “Why don’t you run along, ya little ankle biter,” he said with a wave of his big hand. 

Before the kid could reply, a man and a woman trotted inside. Their casual facial expressions quickly turned into concerned ones as they made eye contact with the two enormous men. “Oh my! We’re terribly sorry gentlemen,” the woman said as the pair hurried closer. They were also dressed up rather nice just like their son. The man was tall and adorned in a blue waistcoat and dress pants while the woman was dressed in a light yellow sundress. That was weird. Formalwear seemed to be a part of the dress code for this place. 

“Look! Their bellies are enormous!” the kid said to his parents, stretching his tiny arms apart for extra emphasis. 

“Alright. That’s enough, Landon,” the father said, gently scooping up his son. “Let’s leave these two gentlemen alone now, ok?” 

“Why?” the kid asked.

The woman began speaking as the husband handed her their child. “Because Mr. Martin and Mr. Emerson here helped pay for this nice park and we need to be respectful to them,” she said, pointing to a plaque on the wall before walking out of sight, leaving Adam and Connor alone with the other man. The two friends looked at each other speechlessly.

“My sincerest apologies gentlemen,” the man said as he gestured with his hand and dipped his head slightly at Adam and Connor similar to the way a butler would. It was so surreal. This guy had the build of a linebacker and yet he was almost genuflecting toward them. “You know how it is. Kids always speaking what’s on their mind and all.” The guy punctuated his spiel with a nervous chuckle. 

“It’s quite alright,” Connor replied, his face looking much more nonplussed than a few seconds ago. However he was still solemn and his tone conveyed far less emotion than usual. It was like he was playing a serious bit and once the man left, his familiar youthful character would resurface. But he didn’t. “Just don’t let it happen again?” Connor sneered.

The guy’s face flushed red with embarrassment. “Of course sir. My deepest apologies Mr. Martin,” he said. Adam realized he must’ve been glaring at him rudely too because the man did the same to him. “You as well Mr. Emerson,” he added curtly before dashing away. 

Adam couldn’t believe that his friend had made a grown man act like that: to walk away like a dog with its tail between its legs. That power was awe-inspiring. “Those aren’t even our last names,” he said, almost in a whisper once the man had left. 

Connor’s stoic expression didn’t waver as he took another drag from his cigar. “Of course they are,” he said. “What else would they be?”

“I…uh…I don’t know,” Adam admitted. His old surname seemed to escape his memory at the most inopportune time. “It just feels wrong, dude.”

A tinge of gray appeared in Connor’s buzzcut as he exhaled sharply. “Do not refer to me as dude, Mr. Emerson,” he reprimanded. The sound of his commanding baritone voice made the new name sound all the more natural. “We are professionals after all and we have reputations to uphold in this community.” 

“Right, of course,” Adam Emerson replied, immediately accepting his new surname. It wasn’t like he remembered his old one anyway. Hearing the sound of his low voice - he sounded far more serious than before. Further enforcing his more mature look, Adam’s hairline crept higher and higher until it stopped in the middle of his head. 

The huge, burly man in front of him didn’t crack any sort of smile. He just nodded curtly to Adam and began walking out of the building. 

Unintentionally, Adam mirrored his friend’s stoic expression. However, it only took him a few steps before getting sidetracked. “Whoa! That’s….that’s our last names!” he exclaimed, pointing to the same plaque that the woman had shown her curious son minutes earlier. MARTIN-EMERSON PARK was all it read. “No, that can’t be right,” he said weakly. “It used to be called…oh dear, what was it called before?” 

“It’s always been our park,” Connor asserted as he continued waddling forward. “Don’t you go senile on me now,” he gibed.

“Oh hush! You’re only seven years older than me after all,” Adam asserted as he caught up with his slightly shorter and rounder constituent. The momentum caused a jostling in Adam’s rear. Like Connor, his buttcheeks and bulge began to plumpen up. His glutes were slightly smaller than his fatter friend’s, but they were still incredibly round nonetheless. 

Out of curiosity, Adam stole a brief glance at Connor’s face who promptly reciprocated the gesture. The old man next to Adam looked ancient! His buzzcut had receded into a faint white horseshoe of hair, sharp wrinkles decorated his rectangular-shaped face, and even the skin on his neck had wrinkled significantly. It reminded Adam of a turkey’s gullet. There was no getting around it. Connor looked like an elderly man.

“You’re so old!” Adam blurted before clamping his mouth shut with his hand. However, that action only forced him to take another look at his French cuffs and Breitling watch. Taking his hand off his mouth revealed a pair of laugh lines had formed around Adam’s lips. 

Luckily, Connor didn’t seem mad at all. “Yep,” he said as the two strolled onto the asphalt path. “Years of working at a law firm will do that to ya. You would know after all.”

Adam began to panic. “No, when…when I wanted to be retired. I didn’t w…want to get old.” He looked down at his hands and was shocked to see that they had taken on a far more wrinkled appearance. Additionally, the Breitling watch taunted Adam with its maturity. 

The young man slowed down his already lethargic gait. Everything was a blur right now. Adam could see two timelines strung out before him: a hazy one where he and Connor were scrawny teenagers and this stronger one where the two of them were fat cats who led a life of pompous luxury. “I never thought that getting wealthy meant we had to get older as well,” Adam trembled. 

“Well, of course it does,” Connor agreed, reducing his cumbersome speed to match his friend’s. “We couldn’t have paid for this park if we weren’t super wealthy and had such prominent family names in the community.” He took a drag from his cigar and that prompted Adam to do the same, following his slightly older constituent. “That’s the joy of being retired, you know.”

“Retired,” Adam coldly repeated.

“Mmmhmm,” Connor nodded. “After all, don’t we deserve to relax all the time?”

“Absolutely,” Adam Emerson agreed, releasing a puff of smoke into the air, feeling his new persona to seep through him once more. His brown hair whitened to a hue of silver, just like Connor’s as more wisdom and experience entered his consciousness. “At my age, I love to relax. Being retired is so…very….splendid,” he said as his sultry voice made the sentence sound even more sensuous. More wrinkles appeared on his face and his neck disappeared into a chunk of fat, just like Connor’s had. Adam’s cock began to rise in his pants once more. He could feel bodily movement so deeply now: the way his cock jostled in his trousers, the way his blubbery butt had tightened up, and the way his millions of chest hairs danced through his open dress shirt.

A momentary whirlwind surrounded the two men as they felt slight pressure on their shoulders. Glancing down, the two men watched as an assemblage of brown twill unraveled across their dress shirts. Both looked at each other with thin smiles beneath their aging faces. Materializing in only a few moments, the old-fashioned suit jackets fit Adam and Connor’s new figures perfectly. The retro fashion did an excellent job at both concealing and framing the two elderly men’s new curves. 

“I love being dressed like this,” Adam stated, his voice now had the same gruffness as Connor’s but slightly more detectable emotion to it. And just like his friend, sharp wrinkles formed all across Adam’s face, swiftly eradicating his youth in a dash. The identical color combination of the two men’s jackets, pants, and shoes made them look extremely proper. 

“As do I,” Connor replied as a pair of silver eyeglasses materialized on his face. “You know, at seventy years old, I never tire of wearing formalwear. It is practically our uniform after all.”

Adam stopped in place for a moment as a bewitching thought befell him. Connor stopped and turned back around to see his friend standing in the middle of the sidewalk with his throbbing boner pressing against his trousers. “Say,” Adam coyly started. “What is your first name, Mr. Martin?”

Connor stopped for a moment. Only one name came to mind. “Tom Martin,” the seventy-year-old man answered with a huge, broad grin, revealing a brand new set of shiny top and bottom veneers. “And what is your name, guy?” Tom asked his sixty-three-year old partner.

The last word shot through Adam’s mind like a bullet, tearing away any traces of his former name. “Guy Emerson,” he proudly stated, looking over at his lifelong business partner Tom Martin who also had a boner at full-mast. Two of the most wealthiest men in the district shared an earnest smile as they embraced their new lives of retirement. 

“Ha ha!” Tom Martin chortled proudly, his boner tenting in his pants, fit to explode. In one final bout of self-awareness, he declared. “Our names may be dull, but we are quite rich!” 

It was at this moment that the two elderly men felt a presence on each of their heads. Unbeknownst to them, it was a pair of pork pie hats rapidly appearing into existence. Tom’s was white with a black band and Guy’s was taupe with a red band. Both mens’ nervous systems were electrified with pleasure as their memories were wiped clean. Birth records were rewritten, bank accounts materialized with millions of dollars, old documents were altered, and two new families were established for each of the men’s new lives. In the place of two scrawny teenagers was now a pair of mountainous grandfathers.

Simultaneously, both men were so numb they couldn’t even feel their erections ejaculate, both spraying huge amounts of semen: the kind that younger men would produce. Once their brief sensation reached its terminus, the two men’s cocks immediately deflated, filling their custom-sized briefs with a pool of testosterone. The smell of their spunk gradually agitated the two newly-christened grandfathers out of their self-indulgent hypnosis and back into reality, their outfits now expertly completed with their new pork pie hats. Both men instinctively glanced down at their bull balls. Their moose knuckles were still lewdly on display through their khakis, but no semen remained. 

That seemed like a great thing. Tom Martin and Guy Emerson had way too great of reputations to be tarnished. And everyone in the neighborhood knew it too, especially whenever they made their rounds at the park every few days. Their presence was always a statement, with their resplendent attire and pungent odor of cigar smoke that followed them wherever they went. Everybody in the community treated the two ex-lawyers with the utmost respect. 

As the two old men scanned their surroundings, they felt their commanding erections shrink back down, taking their recollections of their passionate orgasms with them. They were far too old and regal to even think of such a thing. Guy Emerson readjusted the leather belt around his waist and checked the time on his expensive wristwatch. “It looks like we’ve got ten minutes till that community meeting.”

Tom waved his wrinkled hand casually. “Ah, we’ll make it,” he answered calmly. After retiring, he had become less high-strung and relaxed compared to his business partner. 

“Just cause we’re retired doesn’t mean we don’t have appearances to keep,” Guy reminded. “After all, I’m sure the Martin family is not famous for stalling.” 

“Sheesh,” Tom huffed gruffly before breaking into a warm smile that revealed he was joking. “Hurrying is for young people. You know this, don’t you?” he remarked.

“Tell that to the Windom’s and O’Leary’s. They won’t let us hear the end of it if we miss their community meeting!” 

“Yeah. To talk about how we choose to spend our money,” Tom quipped, revealing his familiar gruff charm.

Guy rolled his eyes and grinned, revealing his set of straight white teeth. “It may be tedious, but it’s just like managing a law firm, ain’t it? Just sending the accountants over and approving their decisions.”

“That’s for sure,” Tom Martin agreed as his gut bounced with his movement. He took one final drag of his cigar and placed the butt on an ashtray adjacent to a nearby bench. Retired life was so simple. All they really did was walk around a park, smoke cigars, and meet new people to keep up their appearances. 

Guy Emerson looked out into the lush, green estate that he owned. A perfectly timed gust of wind sent a wave of coolness through his exposed shirt collar, preventing any sweat from his pecs and gut. Tom had the same problem due to his size, but a few quick dabs of his luxurious citrus cologne always remedied any potential unsavory odors. “I suppose it’s okay if we’re a little late. We don’t even have to be there till the very end anyway,” Guy admitted as he looked up at the clear blue sky, the harsh sunlight blocked by the brim of his fancy hat. He turned to his lifelong friend whose dark brown eyes glimmered in the sunshine. “After all, hurrying is for young people.” 

[visceral-stories]

College is Transformative: The Lecture Hall, Part 2

This is the final half of my collab with @soul-controller whose second part will be uploaded in the future. You can also read Part 1 here.

If you like what you read, don't hesitate to support me on Ko-fi! And follow me on Twitter!

Nathan could feel all the students’ eyes on him as he trudged down the steps to the front door. The young man’s belly, partially free from the confines of his shirt, jiggled with each step he took. His tight shorts fared not much better and they clung to his sweaty thighs, generating a strong feeling of discomfort. To make matters worse, he began to hear the faint murmurs and giggles of the students around him, which only fanned the flames of his mortification. As a result, Nathan felt a wave of full-body warmth and droplets of sweat formed all around his body. To make matters worse, any prior agility he’d once had was entirely depleted. Now he waddled at a much slower pace tremendously unbecoming for a student-athlete. By the time he finally reached the front door, he forced it open so hard that he nearly lost his balance. 

Nathan was panting by the time he reached the open hallway, which to his relief, was completely barren. The silence was breathtaking and he took a moment to exhale and revel in the solitude. There were no students or teachers bustling about. It was just him. And his confused thoughts. Just a few feet away from him, he noticed a sign with the mens’ restroom logo on it with an arrow pointing down the corner. As he began to hobble toward it, he quickly became aware that the movement had agitated his gut and it began to swell even larger. 

“No, no, no,” Nathan cried as he helplessly watched his gut balloon forth, becoming much more rounder than it once was. It immediately stretched against his t-shirt and its circumference had more than doubled. The young man’s semi-muscular figure had been forever tarnished, leaving him looking like a rotund freak with a disproportionately massive stomach.

A loosening pressure in his waist made Nathan’s hair stand on end. With a lightning-fast reflex, he caught his brown cargo shorts with his hand, preventing them from falling to the floor and exposing himself. The worst part was that he couldn’t even crane his neck over his ball-shaped stomach to even see his lower body. He was so large now that he almost took up the entire width of the narrow hallway. “I look like a freak,” he sulked, gripping his doughy stomach in one hand and shut his eyes tightly. Still in denial, he refused to believe this was actually happening. 

“This isn’t real,” he huffed to himself. “P…pretty s…soon I’ll wake up and I’ll be right next to Samuel in class.” He reopened his eyes only to see his beach ball-sized belly once more. In an act of frustration, he grasped it tightly with both hands until he suddenly froze for a moment. The pressure felt so…oddly familiar and placating, as if he had done it a thousand times before. Nathan gave it another squeeze before a woman’s shrill voice made his blood run cold.

“Mr. Fuller! What on earth do you think you’re doing?” 

Accidentally releasing both his grip on his belly and his shorts, Nathan spun around to see an indignant-looking older woman walking toward him. Luckily, his expanding waist prevented his cargo shorts from falling to the floor, but they were now extremely tight around his loins. He couldn’t even think about that though, instead he was focused on the woman’s intimidating presence. She was very tall with the legs of a stork and the disgruntled leer of a hawk. Her hair was done up in a tight bun and her stern expression sent a shiver down Nathan’s spine. Quickly, he looked behind him to make sure she was talking to him, only to find that he was still the only one in the hallway. Was he in trouble or something? Nathan started to speak, but his nervousness was rather apparent. “Oh…hello…ma’am…umm…I-”

“Why aren’t you in uniform?” she interjected coldly.

“My…huh, what?” the young man sputtered, confused about what she meant. 

“The staff needs to be wearing uniforms at all times,” she answered. “And I must say, I noticed a bit of a mess in the lobby when I walked into the building this morning. What do you have to say about that Mr. Fuller?”

Nathan stuttered, daunted by this woman’s visible rage.  “F…Fuller is not my last-”

“And where on earth are your supplies?” the woman interrupted rudely while crossing her arms. She began tapping one of her black stilettos against the floor while she waited for a response.

“Supplies?” Nathan asked nervously. It felt like the woman’s eyes were boring holes through him. He had no clue what she was talking about. 

The woman rolled her eyes and gestured for him to follow her. “Come with me please.”

She began walking towards a door only a few feet away. Nathan debated his options. It wasn’t like he could swiftly run away from the situation so he reluctantly chose to follow behind her. In his peripheral vision, Nathan realized his pecs looked drastically different. Any muscular composition they’d once had was tarnished, replaced by two huge ellipses of fat that jiggled with his footsteps. To make matters worse, he could feel his body warm up. In a few short seconds, his entire body was coated in a layer of thick brown hair, ranging from his legs to his groin to the top of his round pecs. The extra hair made Nathan feel a lot warmer and older. As perplexed as he was, he couldn't deny that he was starting to feel more mature, and that was an oddly exciting thought.

Finally, the two reached a side door and the woman produced a key from her pocket, opening a door to a storage closet. She then stepped inside and Nathan decided to cautiously step closer, still unsure what was happening. While she had her back turned, Nathan took the chance to hastily readjust his bunched-up cock. The action provided some momentary relief, however his waistline subsequently widened it unison. Its new girth tested the elastic waistbands of his underwear and shorts.

A few seconds later, the woman pulled out a bright yellow cart with a mop sticking out from it. Lightly clenching the mop-handle between her fingers, she glared at Nathan up and down once more before grimacing. “It’s a shame we have no spare uniforms in your size, Nathal. I suggest if you want to keep your job, you never show up here without wearing your uniform again.”

“My uniform?” Nathal asked. 

“Yes, your uniform,” the woman snarled. To reinforce her vexation, she pushed the cart toward the perplexed young man. 

Not wanting it to hit him, Nathal bent over slightly to stop the cart from rolling into him. He promptly caught it with both hands before it could collide into him. The action made his hands feel really numb for some reason. “I think you’re confused,” he said, glancing back up at her before he felt an intense wave of intimidation. “I don’t even work here. I-”

“I think you’d better get straight to work,” the woman interrupted, her eyes shredded any remaining self-assurance Nathal had. “Am I clear, Mr. Fuller?”

“Yes ma’am,” Nathal replied before widening his eyes in confusion. Why had he even answered this rude woman?

“Excellent,” she said. “And if you want to keep your job Mr. Fuller, then I expect that I’ll never see you here without your uniform again. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” Nathal replied again, instinctively glancing away to avoid her penetrating gaze. The trivial act caused a spark to tingle down his spinal column and hunch his body forward slightly, as if his enormous, round belly was buoying him forward. He tried to straighten his spine back up, but it was much harder than it had been moments ago. Nathal grunted, perturbed at how silly he felt hunched forward. 

The tapping of the women’s shoes was slowly fading away. Nathal looked back up and watched the woman walk away. “What a fuckin’ nag,” he said with a sigh of relief. Mrs. Wheelock was a ruthless perfectionist and always took her job as a hall advisor way too seriously. Wait, how had he known her name?

Nathal’s repose was short-lived as he suddenly he felt something brush against his upper lip. He brought his hand up to his face and felt the presence of a bushy mustache! “What the…” he said in disbelief. Sure enough, he could feel thousands of long strands beneath his fingers. It felt oddly placating. Nathal had never been able to grow any facial hair, so this was unheard of. Imagining himself with a mustache seemed exciting. He was sure it made him look older and more mature. If only, he hadn’t lost his athletic physique in the process. 

A faint twinge in Nathal’s back caught his attention, so he promptly straightened his posture - a gesture that lasted for a few brief moments before he slunk forward once again. “What is happening to me?” the college student croaked feebly. His faint back ache indicated he had tenured joints, but that couldn’t be true. For some reason, he thought he was a college athlete. But there was no way he could possibly be a swift runner. Not only that, his stamina was nonexistent and he was type to get winded if he went up the stairs too fast.

“What is happening to me?” the young man croaked feebly. His memories felt like they belonged to someone older than him, someone far removed from a youthful undergrad. That troubling thought reactivated a switch in Nathal’s mind. With that rude wench gone, he could finally escape to the bathroom around the corner and get his head on straight. He had just rounded the corner when he felt something wet splash across his exposed legs. “Agh! What the hell?” he exclaimed before glancing up at a small group of guys and girls walking past. One of them had dropped their drink! Glancing back up, Nathal made eye contact with a college jock, who looked just as surprised as him. 

“Oh shit, my bad bro,” the jock said, looking just as surprised as Nathal. The two were the same height and both had a broad width, only the jock’s was made up of thick muscle and Nathal’s was of incongruous fat. The guy readjusted his backward baseball cap and trotted past Nathal with a cocky smirk on his face. 

“Hey!” Nathal called out, his voice saturated with uncharacteristic fury. The guy didn’t even bother to look back. He just swaggered into an adjacent classroom. He knew he wasn’t the loudest individual but the guy must’ve heard him. He hated arrogant jerks like that who just expected someone else to pick up their trash as if they owned the place. 

The paunchy man took a lumbering step towards him before feeling his tennis shoe cling to the ground. Gross, it must’ve been that sticky drink. He tried to peer down at his shoes, but his plump gut prevented him. Taking the extra effort to crane his neck, Nathal noticed that the brown cola had completely tarnished his light gray sneakers. They also looked much larger than before, almost like clown shoes. A thick rubber material appeared across the bottom of his shoes, making them much more stick-resistant. The dark color spread across Nathal’s shoes, dyeing his shoelaces black and thinning them. Simultaneously, the polyester material of his sneakers converted into a thick black leather that was far less absorbent than before. As he took a few more steps, various scuff marks appeared across the morphing shoes, indicating years of wear and tear. If Nathal’s pudgy upper body hadn’t obstructed his view, he would’ve seen the brand new pair of size 14 work shoes that encircled his feet. 

He was about to head towards the bathroom to clean up when he heard the sound of heels clopping through the hall again. “Shit,” he muttered, fearing that cranky old woman was back. Instinctually, he reached for the mop and began scrubbing away at the mess. The distinct footsteps past by him, but Nathal found himself too nervous to even look up, fearing more vitriol. He instead chose to center his attention on scrubbing the floor. Something strange happened as he did though. For some reason, the tiled floor felt like it was getting closer and closer to him. Simultaneously, Nathal’s handling on the mop grew tighter and he found he didn’t have to make such big circles with it anymore since he was closer to the ground. As he finished cleaning up the spill, the formerly six foot tall man had shrunk down to a stout 5’5”. The reduced height had only enhanced Nathal’s paunchiness and his breadth took up even more space in the tight hallway. 

“That looks shiny,” Nathal said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He felt oddly proud of his meager accomplishment and how quickly he’d cleaned up the mess. Mopping was a cinch and he hadn’t realized how efficient at it he was. Maybe this would be a chill part-time job to work during school. After all, Nathal was a simple man and wanted a job after college that didn’t involve too much stress. 

But no, that couldn’t be right. Nathal was studying film, wasn’t he? No, he much preferred to watch movies casually, not analyze them. That didn’t seem like much fun. Besides, he’d started to find school less and less exciting. Sitting in a classroom for hours at a time seemed so boring. He much preferred to keep his hands busy and do something active. 

CLUMP!

Nathald peered to his right and immediately saw the culprit. A girl had been walking with a group of her friends. She’d attempted to throw away a water bottle yet had missed the trash completely. But she hadn’t even realized since she was too engrossed in the conversation with her friends. Honest mistake, ge thought, giving the girl the benefit of the doubt.

There was something within Nathald that compelled him to clean it up: an altruistic one that he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t until he had bent over and grabbed the plastic bottle that he heard a sharp ripping sound that roused him from his methodical mindset. 

RIIIIIIP!

The loud tear echoed throughout the hallway. A breezy feeling on Nathald’s rump left no discretion that he’d ripped his shorts in the worst possible place. With the chip bag already in his hand, he quickly stood back up and spun around - a gesture that reminded him of the aches in his knees. Unfortunately, Nathald hadn’t gotten away completely unscathed. A burst of giddy laughter confirmed his worst fears as a group of students walked past, although when Nathald turned to face them, they quickly avoided eye contact.

Nathald’s cheeks were bright red with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe what was happening to him. First the encounter with the rude woman and now this. One thing was for certain: he needed to get out of this cramped hallway. With his hideous yellow cart in front of him, he begrudgingly decided to push it around the corner and out into the much more spacious commons area of the building. 

His first few steps reminded him of how cumbersome he’d become. They also seemed to spark a new wave of change all across his clothing. The sliver of Nathald’s round gut was promptly covered by his black t-shirt while it descended to his waistline and began interlocking with the loops of his cargo shorts. The shorts unrolled with impressive speed and by the time they reached his ankles, they had completely lost their khaki composition, instead they were replaced by a much thinner blend of cotton and polyester. The shirt and cargo shorts continued to gel together, coagulating like liquid while the space between then receded and receded until nothing remained. The colors of the black shirt and jeans mixed, becoming a rich brown that diffused from his crotch all the way up to his shoulders and all the way down to his legs. A shirt collar bloomed around his stubby neck. It was only when the fabric of Nathald’s shirtsleeves rolled down his arms and touched his wrists that he began to realize what had happened.

Stumbling out in the atrium, the sight of his tan clothing caught his eye. “What am I wearing?” he stuttered aloud. “I look like a fucking Ghostbuster,” he said. His new uniform expertly enhanced his burly figure and clung tightly to his sizable man-boobs and stomach. Man, this day would just not quit! With the adrenaline recirculating in his veins, Nathald scanned the commons area for an open table. Luckily, there was one only a few feet away from him.

It took more effort than Nathald remembered to heave his body in the tan jumpsuit. With each step he took, his thighs began to swell wider and wider until they were pressed taut against the uniform. They grew so round that they actually began to press against each other, their maladroit flab bouncing when he walked. Nathald’s new meaty thighs also propped up his loins. In the front, his bulge was delicately propped up and in the back, his small butt was now poised upward with excess fabric hanging around it. The sensation was more than unpleasant, but the paunchy young man finally reached the table after a few more agonizing seconds. 

“Oooofffff,” Nathald victoriously bellowed as he sat down on the small chair. His massive and wide breadth eclipsed the piece of furniture, but he didn’t care. He was just relieved to sit down for a second. As he laid his arms down on the table, they touched something sticky. Immediately, he lifted them back up, repulsed by whatever he had just touched. 

Without thinking, Nathald snatched a white rag that had suddenly materialized in the pocket of his new jumpsuit. He scrubbed profusely, eliminating the stickiness in only a few short seconds. During that time, Nathald’s buttcheeks inflated beneath him, causing him to rise higher in the chair. His formerly bony ass had now become one of his most pronounced features. It had grown so large in fact, that parts of both cheeks now hung off the sides of the chair. Nathald tried to reposition himself to get comfortable, but it soon became evidently clear that being comfortable on this chair was an impossibility with his enormous, round butt. He didn’t feel super put-off by it. Instead, he treated it like a minor inconvenience as he stood back up in a huff. His belly jiggled once again and descended even further over his crotch, but this time he was unfazed by it.

“Cheap ass chair,” Nathald griped. His bushy mustache only accentuated his frown. As he repositioned himself back on the ground, he felt the mass of his spherical stomach sway around. His calves also expanded beneath him, swelling into slabs of muscle that could elevate his rotund figure. He’d adjusted rather quickly and was accepting his new cumbersome movements over his old nimble ones. 

A surge of movement caught Nathald’s attention and he turned to watch a group of students at the table next to him gather their things. Many of them side-eyed the colossal young man as they walked past and Nathald meekly avoided their judging leers. At one point, he’d felt like one of them, but that feeling was being taken away from him. The feeling was enough to cause Nathald’s mustache to begin twitching on its own. The facial hair rapidly multiplied and descended down his face, framing his lips beneath his new, bushy goatee. To compliment it, his lips thinned and his teeth lost some of their former whiteness. Nathald was never the type to sport a goatee, or any facial hair at all, so the action only added a new level of distance between him and his past-self.

“Fuckin’ animals,” he grunted to himself as soon as the students were gone, leaving behind a mess of candy wrappers on the floor and residue from their drinks on the table. Furrowing his more-pronounced eyebrows, he trudged over to the now empty table - once again he was powerless to his desire to make the hall look tidy.

Nathald didn’t stop at cleaning just one table as there were many others in the lobby that were also unkempt. The motions became second nature to him as he effortlessly polished the tables with his rag. Even the way his fat pecs jiggled became second nature to him as he quickly whipped every empty table into shape. Cleaning was a perfect distraction to avoid the glares of the students. Nathald didn’t care much for them anyway. It wasn’t like they made his job easier. 

As he cleaned, Nathald didn’t even notice his hands inflating. They quickly swelled to be larger than the rags he used. His meaty hands, now the size of dumbbells, made the process of cleaning the tables much faster. After a few strenuous minutes, Nathald rubbed with his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, brushing away the sweat and flicking his long bangs out of his face. It was at this moment that he finally snapped out of his laborious hypnosis. 

“Why did I do that?” he gasped to himself as he looked across the lobby at all his hard work. He looked over his immense frame on full display beneath his unstylish uniform. “I’m…n…not a janitor,” he added shakily, mostly as an affirmation to himself.

Faint wrinkles appeared on Nathald’s face as he sunk deeper into his rumination. His cheeks lost their youthful sheen and his chin began to broaden. The change spread to his neck, which promptly lost its slender build and became swallowed by fat. As Nathald head sunk slightly closer to his meaty pecs, his vision began to fade. It was as if someone had turned his eyesight out of focus. Outlines of things became fuzzier as objects in the distance became impossible to discern. Nathald frustratedly rubbed his eyes to try to remedy his dilemma. 

“What the hell,” he grunted. His attempts to rectify his vision only caused it to deteriorate further. Now he was having trouble seeing things right in front of him. Nathald soon realized something else was amiss too: his voice. It now sounded far lower and gruffer-sounding. “Is that….my voice?” he asked, sounding far more panicked this time. The two different variables were doing a number on Nathald’s weary brain. His voice and his vision were stripped from him in one fell swoop. “I…I need my glasses,” he griped as he looked around the lobby in hopes to improve his eyesight.

“What?” asked a man to the side of him, taking out an earbud.

Nathald winced. His vision was so blurry now that he didn’t even realize someone had been walking right by him. “Oh my,” he said, feeling tremendously discombobulated. He could faintly make out a guy who was much taller than him wearing a backwards hat and a tank top. “I’m sorry young man, I wasn’t talking to you. I was-”

“What kind of a name is Dathald?” the guy said with a crude laugh as he pointed his finger at Nathald’s chest. 

“Excuse me?” Nathald replied, his low baritone once again taunting him with its dissonance. 

“Your nametag, dude” the jock smirked. It was at that moment when a pair of round-lensed glasses materialized in front of Dathald’s eyes, allowing him to get a good look at the muscular jock that towered over him. His new glasses had thin rims and a light brown coloration. “What a weird name,” the guy said as he turned away, still laughing to himself.

The stout man was so confused. “My name isn’t….Dathald?” To his dismay, there was a nametag clipped into his jumpsuit above his left pec. With the assistance of his new glasses, he could clearly see his new name. That seemed incorrect, but memories about the aging man’s old life seemed so distant. If he was supposed to be a college student, why would he have a nametag?

Dathald knew he spent quite a lot of time at the college, but it wasn’t like he attended the classes. His IQ wasn’t the best and he knew he couldn’t compete with the other kids here. His friend Samuel was smart though, top of his class and all. Dathald wondered how on earth his friend had managed that. Looking at his portly body, he had never felt more different than his friend before. In fact, as he tried to recollect Samuel’s face further, he found his memory to be hazy. Memories of a slender young man as restless as he used to be were disappearing, erased from his mind as if they’d never happened. In Samuel’s place, Dathald recalled a hunky man. The kind who liked to flounce around campus in his finest suits that revealed his massive muscles.

Before Dathald could inquire further, he felt an explosion of sharp aches across his body. “AGGH!” he cried, feeling a soreness in his back once more. This time it felt permanent, like the kind of lingering ache that took decades to produce. Immediately, he grew accustomed to the tender aches as if he’d had them his whole life. 

Dathald could sense something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his meaty finger on it. Now out of things to clean, he pushed his cart out of the expansive lobby and departed into a nearby hall. With a sullen look on his face, Dathald slowly trudged across the polished floor. He casually glanced up and noticed a men’s bathroom sign and in a flash, he hurried inside, leaving his cart behind. He felt his wide hips brush against the doorframe - yet another reminder of his immense size. With a sense of sudden familiarity, Dathald remembered that he’d been trying to look at his reflection in the mirror. As he hurled his body inside, he was relieved to see no other men in the bathroom. 

“Whoa. Is that…me?” he mouthed quietly, gazing at his familiar yet foreign body. His broad figure spanned wider than the small mirror. His sagging pecs and bulge jiggled as he waddled closer to the sink. He didn’t make it too far since his belly prevented him from getting too close. 

“I look so old now,” Dathald said in disbelief, a little bit louder this time. There were so many little things about his face that had changed. His eyes had much darker circles under them, his hairline had receded a few inches upward, and his goatee made him unrecognizable. There was no way he could fool anyone into thinking he was a college student.

Further affirming that though, Dathald’s face began to grow numb and many little facets of it began to change, giving him one final show. Firstly, the remaining hair on his head crept higher and higher, endowing him a striking case of male pattern baldness. His long hair then shrunk in on itself, losing its youthful texture and volume for a few seconds until only a thin horseshoe of it remained. Next, the few wrinkles he had multiplied tenfold. Horizontal lines etched themselves across his prominent forehead followed by noticeable crow’s feet around his eyes. Dathald’s cheeks lost their youthful sheen as sharp wrinkles made themselves extremely pronounced across them. Finally, his nose grew much more bulbous and his ears grew slightly larger. Once youthful, Dathald’s new face looked like it belonged to a man in his mid-fifties rather than a 24 year old. To reinforce this, his remaining hair dyed itself an ashy color of silver. Dathald continued to look at his reflection, speechless how it had only taken a few seconds for his face to become that of a stranger’s.

RING! RING! RING! RING!

Dothald begrudgingly pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. He froze for a moment afterward. Gone was his newest iPhone and in its place was an old flip phone that looked to be from the 2000s. He could’ve sworn that he was savvy with technology, but that couldn’t be right. After all, he was 57 years old and didn’t care for the newest technological gizmos. Hesitantly, Dothald answered the call - an act which took a few tries due to his cumbersome, sausage-like fingers.  

“Hello?” he asked.

A woman’s snarky voice came through the line. “You’re coming to Leo’s basketball game tomorrow, right?” 

Dothald immediately pulled the phone away from his ear. The nag on the other end almost blew his eardrum out. A perturbed frown appeared on his face. “Who is this?” he asked, this time not thinking twice about his low baritone. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” the woman squawked again. “It’s Sherry.”

“Oh right,” Dothald replied. Sherry Connors was his ex-wife and a tremendous nag at that. She had the same nonexistent level of politeness that his supervisor had. 

“Your son’s game,” Sherry repeated with an annoyed tone. “It’s tomorrow night. You remember, right?” 

“It is?” Dothald asked, a twinge of dopiness present in his low voice. He shut his eyes and could envision a high school kid much taller and skinnier than him. Leo was a good kid and had shaped up to be a really good basketball player. 

“Yes Donald, you said you’d be there.”

As Donald Fuller reopened his eyes, he was just in time to catch the “t” and the “h” on his nametag meld together, transforming into an “n.” Seeing his new name locked the final piece into place. And in that moment, the final contents of his old life were lost in an instant, replaced by a divorced father who had been working as a janitor for the last fifteen years. “Yes Sherry,  I’ll be there,” Donald gruffly replied. 

“Great,” Sherry said before she launched into a tirade. “I always feel like it costs an arm and a leg to get you to do something, Donald. It’s important to be there for your son and tell him to not be lazy. He gets that from you, you know.”

“Uh-huh,” Donald answered before zoning out as Sherry continue to ramble on, giving him a list of her complaints. Tired of looking at his own dull expression, he decided to exit the bathroom and return to the empty hall. This time he remembered to turn slightly as to allow his enormous body to fit through the door. As he waddled back to his cart of cleaning supplies, he savored the familiar bounce of his sagging belly and his two basketball-sized buttcheeks. Donald heard Sherry say something about him being over 300 pounds, but he didn’t care. He casually placed one of his hairy arms on the cart’s handle, relieved that Sherry’s rant had died down. However, the next sentence she said shook him.

“So…how is Wayne?” 

“Oh….Wayne is….good,” Donald replied. Speaking that name sent a flurry of memories spiraling through his subconscious. Wayne Powell was the guy Donald had been seeing. As a brawny construction worker with a heart of gold, Wayne was someone who made Donald’s heart flutter. Donald could remember so clearly now that he was the reason why he’d left his marriage with Sherry. It had been a messy situation, but in the end, both divorcees ended up happier separated. 

“We’re going out for beers tonight,” Donald said, almost slurring his words with how excited he was getting. The idea of that sounded perfect. Just the two men drinking at their regular bar. Any dwindling vestiges that Donald Fuller was once a college student named Nate were gone completely as he envisioned the handsome man’s face and how much he loved to submit to that broad-shouldered stud. 

“Ok,” Sherry said with very little reaction to Donald’s statement. “Just be there for Leo tomorrow.” 

“Of course,” Donald replied, as if he hadn’t forgot his son had a game tomorrow a few minutes ago. 

It had been tough to be there for Leo since he’d been rather preoccupied over the last few years. First it was the divorce and now the man he’d been seeing. Deep down, Donald knew he could show up more, but the thrill of a new chapter of his life kept pulling him back. Oh well. At least he bought the young man nice gifts for Christmas and his birthday. 

“See you there,” Sherry said before hanging up the phone abruptly. Not much of a talker, that woman, Donald thought as he closed his flip phone. He reflected for a moment, taking in the silent ambiance of the empty hall. He then promptly picked up a broom from his cart and began to sweep. 

The familiar chatter of students exiting the lecture hall penetrated Donald’s eardrums. He continued sweeping in the corner, not wanting to make any more contact with the dreadful hooligans. Out of his peripheral, he could see the student navigate around his enormous frame which took up half of the hallway. Once the stampede seized, Donald spun back around, ready to fulfill his afternoon cleaning of the lecture hall, only he could’ve never calculated for what happened next.

The first thing Donald saw was the muscular shelf-like pectorals of a man wearing a dark blue suit before the two collided.  

“Oh my goodness!” the tall man exclaimed as he jolted in place. With a disgruntled look on his face, he was holding a folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Instantly, the name came to Donald. It was professor Phillip Reynolds: head of the English department and perhaps one of the hunkiest men he had ever seen. 

The sexy firebrand professor had enough of a reputation that even the lowly janitor knew his name. Donald had only caught one or two passing glimpses of the middle-aged hunk from afar and he’d never even seen him up close before. With his square jaw, bulging muscles, and perfectly-quaffed black hair, he looked like a man pulled from some mens’ fashion magazine or even a bodybuilding one for that matter. 

Phillip waved his arms up and examined his suave luxury suit. “You almost spilled my coffee,” he shrewdly said before glaring at the disorderly custodian. The irritation in his face was impossible to miss and being reprimanded by the hunk instantly made Donald shrink into himself a little bit. “That room had better be spotless for my 1PM class,” he added, punctuating his command with a sharp glare at Donald before walking away in a huff. Donald could hear the beefcake mutter the words “big oaf” under his breath. 

A dizzying combination of intimidation and infatuation danced through Donald’s head. For a man in his mid-40s, Phillip took great care of himself. Even when he was pissed off, he still looked incredibly sexy. Hearing his snide comment shook Donald for a second, but he quickly brushed it off.

Cautiously and deviously, Donald turned around as he watched the muscular man walk away. That azure-colored suit jacket was perfectly tailored to the brawny professor’s torso and enhanced his broad back. Just below it, Phillip’s dark blue dress pants revealed the two mountainous globes that he called his glutes. The taut muscles bounced in such a hypnotizing manner that Donald couldn’t bring himself to turn away. His cock rose in his jumpsuit as he imagined how commanding and powerful a man like that was. 

Suddenly, Phillip turned his head to peer over his shoulder. In that moment, the two men made eye contact. Donald averted his gaze, but he knew that he’d been caught red-handed. In the distance, he noticed that the professor’s stern expression gave way to something unexpected: a light smile. Donald almost missed it due ot how sudden and subtle it was. 

Both men broke eye contact in unison. This time, Donald’s cheeks were as red as cherries and he felt warm with both excitement and embarrassment. He hoped that the professor hadn’t seen the erection in his jumpsuit. As Phillip disappeared around a corner, the middle-aged janitor finally snapped out of his horny fog. Grabbing his trusty yellow cart, he opened up the door to the lecture hall and waddled inside, his thighs brushing together as they always did. Donald Fuller's mind was still ablaze with thoughts of submission toward the swanky, hot beefcake of a professor. He had a lot to fantasize about for the rest of his shift.

[visceral-stories]

College is Transformative: The Lecture Hall, Part 1 

This two-part story is a collab with my friend and wonderful TF writer @soul-controller (whose Tumblr stories and Patreon you should certainly check out) You can find his part here. Part two will be coming toward the end of the month!

The faint murmur of traffic in the distance was the only sound that filled Nate and Sam’s ears as they walked across their college campus in silence. As two friends walked, they absorbed the serenity of the warm night to reflect on the possibilities of what would happen next semester. The last one had been one of many to instill a sense of dread in Nate about his future. The 24-year-old man was smart, but also indecisive. While this was clear from just talking to him, the biggest example to showcase this was the fact that he’d been attending college classes since he was 14, proving that he was nothing short of prestigious. Since then, he’d gotten an Associate’s degree in biology and a Bachelor’s in psychology. Upon graduation, he’d been unfulfilled, and with his life for that matter, so he returned back to college in hopes of getting a degree. 

That was why he and Sam had become such good friends over the last semester. The duo first met in English class and quickly struck up a friendship over their shared angst and desire to find personal fulfillment. Nate found it extremely validating to find someone with similar interests. After all, he had endured more college than his 22 year old friend. Over the last semester, the two became closer and closer, confiding more of their plights with each other. Their bond had grown so tight that they had decided to become roommates.

It seemed only natural that the two take a voyage to a nearby gay bar and drown their trepidation in tequila. After slamming shots, both men had been reminded of their tolerances and had drank much more than they had planned. After clearing five city blocks, the duo begun their trek through campus to return to their apartment 

had to pass through campus to get to their apartment. The undisturbed silence of the night was breathtaking. 

“Hhheyy…where’d my shoe go?” Sam drunkenly slurred, his languid voice instantly a rift in the serenity.

Nate slowly turned around. “I think it’s…right there,” he said, pointing at a black sneaker right behind them.

“Thankssss, I didn’t even notice I lost it,” Sam replied as he swung around to put it back on his foot, which proved to be a laborious process. At one point, Sam tripped again and Nate, who was 230 pounds, quickly hoisted his 140 pound friend back up, using his large arms to pull the young man back on his feet. Nate chuckled, he was glad his friend knew how to party. 

The two continued walking until they came across a magnificent-looking fountain. Sam stopped again and didn’t say anything for a brief second and Nate remembered how drunk they really were. “Wha- how have I never seen this before?”

“The *hic!* fountain?” Nate asked while adjusting the rectangular glasses on his face. 

“Yeah. I’ve never seen it before. I s...swear I walk by here all the time.”

“Oh yeah, the Wishing Fountain,” Nate said, swaying on his larger legs while he stood in place. “D…did you know that people think it’s magical? Apparently, it grants wishes.”

“Pffft. No way.”

Nate stumbled towards a gray plaque at the base of the fountain. “W..why dontcha just read it here thennn?” he stammered. Sure enough, the plaque read “Wishing Fountain.” “It says that here that it is common legend that the fountain can fulfill any wish,” Nate said as he read the description on the plaque. 

“If only,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Do you think it’s real?” 

Nate couldn’t tell if he was being earnest or not. “I mean, maybe. I dunno, anything’s possible.” An excited look appeared in his eyes. “There’s only one way to find out.” He dug into his jeans pocket. “You got any quarters?”

“Nah. I gave away all my cash at the bar to the queens,” Sam replied with a drunken chuckle. He then looked over to his friend. “Well…why don’t we just grab a quarter from the well?” 

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell does that? Isn’t that bad luck or something?”

“Eh, I doubt it,” Sam replied as he bent over and grabbed a shiny quarter from the well. Nate promptly did the same. 

The two looked at each other for a brief moment before Sam spoke with a much more serious tone than before. “I want to be recognized for all my hard work in college.” He threw the quarter back in the fountain. “Your turn.”

Nate too decided to act serious for a moment. “Alright. I wish that I could stay in college forever so I could always learn.” He threw the quarter in and the two chuckled at how superstitious the activity was. 

“I hope that well really is magical,” Nate said before chuckling at that crazy that statement sounded. 

“You and me both,” Sam replied as the two headed toward home. 

The sound of a blaring alarm woke Nate from his sleep. He turned it off and noticed that the time read 9 AM. Oh shit! That was right. He and Sam had an English class together in a lecture hall at 10. Nate drowsily sat upright in bed for an additional minute. There was a pounding in his head and he knew it was from last night. Nate itched his shaggy brunette hair and sluggishly hopped out of bed before moving his 230 pound frame towards his bathroom. He felt heavier than usual for some reason. As he glanced down at his stomach, it almost looked like it stuck out a little bit farther than usual. Maybe the 10 shots of tequila was the culprit. “Man, I feel bloated,” he muttered groggily to himself as he stepped into the bathroom. 

Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, Nate noticed how unflattering the dark circles around his eyes looked. It even looked like his face was drooping a bit, almost like he had jowls. Glancing further down at his midsection, he noticed that his black t-shirt looked rather tight around his gut. Must be a trick of the light, Nate thought. Thinking nothing more of it, the hungover young man started the shower and began undressing. As he did, he happened to catch a sight of his body in the mirror and subsequently froze with confusion. 

“What the…” he said as he glanced down at his exposed chest. For some reason, there were a few long black strands extending from it. They looked long enough to be fake. Nate plucked one and winced in pain. Yep, they were definitely real. Opening up the bathroom cabinet, he grabbed an electric razor and promptly buzzed off the unsightly hairs. Much better, he thought, although he wondered how chest hair that thick could appear that quickly on his body. It wasn’t like he was a hairy guy. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

Still half-asleep, Nate stripped and hopped in the shower, feeling the warm sensate his awakening nerves. As he began cleaning himself, he marveled at his slightly larger gut and how he swore it distended further than before. The muscles in his stomach, usually tight and sturdy, felt much looser and weaker this morning. Nate rolled his shoulders in an effort to rouse his muscles to try and feel more energized Unfortunately, the motion seemed to strengthen that sluggish feeling, giving him an uncomfortable heaviness that radiated across his whole body, not just his stomach. The joints in his arms and legs also felt oddly sore and he had a faint pain emanating from his spine. Nate had played soccer and tennis for years, but he had never experienced a pain as sharp as this. “MMFF!” he grunted in discomfort. Even bending over to grab a shampoo bottle from the tub’s ledge caused a sharp tingle to run through his bones. 

During the rest of his shwoer, the ache didn’t disintegrate. By the time, Nate had turned off the water and grabbed a towel, he felt a stinging sensation coming from his arms. “ACK!” he exclaimed, wondering what on earth was wrong with him. Maybe he had slept funny? 

Brushing his teeth proved to be much less painful, however he was forced to look at his weary reflection. He had to learn not to drink like that. He’d been hungover before, but this was ridiculous. The subtle gastrointestinal anarchy he was feeling in his gut was enough to make him want to put down the bottle forever. An irritable frown hung on his face as he walked back to his bedroom and promptly grabbed some brown cargo shorts and socks. As he got dressed, his clothing felt rather tight around his figure, like it had shrunk in the wash. Or as if Nate had grown a size larger somehow. 

Not wanting to be late, Nate tried not to think about that as he grabbed the first black t-shirt he saw. Like his shorts, it too felt tight around his frame. It was so tight in fact, that the faint outline of his nipples could be seen through it. Nate grunted, frustrated by how ridiculous he looked. He’d never thought that one night of drinking could make someone feel this bloated. As if to reaffirm his vexation, Nate’s stomach growled, filling the young man with and a hunger more intense than he’d ever felt in his whole life. Quickly, he darted downstairs and hoped that Sam was as hungry as he was. 

To his surprise, Sam was already down there drinking a cup of coffee and eating breakfast. “Hey Nate, how’d you sleep last night?” he called out, sounding rather chipper.

“Not great,” Nate yawned and squinted his eyes. “I feel hungover and bloated. You?” 

“I feel great,” Sam replied as he took a bite of his cereal. “I don’t feel hungover at all. I feel like I’m ready to take on the day, boring classes and all!” He was smiling very broadly now, however it quickly morphed into a more serious expression when he looked at Nate. “Whoa, not to be rude or anything, but you do kinda look bloated.”

“I do?” Nate asked. “I was hoping it was only me who thought that,” he said with an awkward laugh. He looked at his friend closer and noticed something different. It almost looked like he took up more of the chair than usual. “Whoa,” Nate said as he glided closer to the kitchen table, although it was closer to a lethargic waddle. “You look…kinda buff.”

“Nahhh,” Sam scoffed with a wave of his hand. “You think?”

“Yeah, I swear your arms look larger,” Nate said with a twinge of jealousy. He could've sworn that Sam’s arms filled out his shirt more than before. Nate suddenly coughed loudly and he realized how dry his throat felt. “You sure you haven’t been working out?”

Sam laughed. “I’m positive, Nathan.”

Nate wondered why Sam had used his full name, but his strong thirst quickly distracted himself from that thought. He spun around and noticed he had left his empty water bottle sitting by the sink last night. Turning on the faucet, he promptly filled the large bottle halfway and downed half of its contents in record speed. With the dryness in his throat alleviated, he started making himself a bowl of cereal. As he did, he felt his round stomach bounce slightly as he walked. It felt very unusual to his more firm, somewhat beefy build. “Samuel, I don’t wanna drink ever again,” he confessed as he placed his full bowl on the table. Why had he said his full name?

“Samuel, I like that,” his friend grinned. “It makes me sound more…professional.”

Nate laughed in response. “You always want to be professional, huh?” he asked while wondering what he even meant.

Samuel didn’t care though. “Of course Nathan. I think school is very important.” 

Nathan blinked. He was confused by both the excessive usage of his full name, but also his friend’s vocal affinity for school. Weren’t the two of them both tired of college? Well, Nathan certainly was, but the longer he thought about it, the more he could recall Samuel’s scholarly habits. He was always up early and always full of pep by the time he had to start his day. Something about the memories felt spurious, but Nathan couldn’t quite place his finger on why. 

In an attempt to distract himself, Nathan pulled out his phone and opened up his social media. That was odd. His phone looked different. He swore his gray-colored phone case looked like it had a darker shade than usual. Even the screen looked a little dimmer. Maybe his eyes were still readjusting to the natural light in the kitchen. After all, he still felt more tired than usual. Luckily, Samuel had been nice enough to prepare him a cup of hot coffee, which he began lightly sipping.

The two ate in silence for a few moments before Sam stood up and placed his empty bowl in the sink. “Hopefully the first day of this semester isn't as boring as all the other first days. You know, hearing about the syllabus and junk.”

“You know it will be,” Nathan said pessimistically as he took one last spoonful of his cereal. Wow, he had eaten that kind of fast. “Hey, could you grab me the cereal box?” 

“Yeah,” Samuel replied. He sat down and he placed the box in front of Nathan who filled his bowl with more cereal. Samuel took another sip of his coffee and continued his thoughts. “I feel like the English classes try to spice it up instead of repeating the same old stuff.”

“I suppose,” Nathan replied after taking a massive bite. It took him a second to realize that Samuel was talking about the English class they would be starting soon. After that, Nathan was too preoccupied by his hunger as he ravenously devoted his extra serving. As he stood up, the sharp ache returned to his legs. He hissed through his teeth and wondered why this soreness was so persistent. If this kept up all day, he might need to see a doctor. Oh well, he thought, trying not to agonize about it. At least his stomach was full now and hopefully, getting to class would snap him out of this funk. 

Samuel noticed his friend put his dishes in the sink and his bubbly demeanor resurfaced. A quick check on his phone revealed that the two had fifteen minutes until class started. “Alright, let’s head out in 5, alright?” he said excitedly.

“Ok,” Nathan replied, still plagued with a persistent sense of fatigue. He wished he felt as eager as his friend. 

-------------

“Finally, we’re here,” Samuel said happily as the two arrived at the door to the lecture hall. 

As the two stepped inside, Samuel held the door open for Nathan, who still walked at a snail’s pace. As they entered the enormous room filled with students, he started to feel self-conscious. Even during their brief walk to class, Samuel had slowed his pace to make sure he didn’t leave his friend behind. 

There had to be more than 100 students in this room. In fact, some of the only remaining were in the back rows, which were positioned much higher than the other rows. Samuel effortlessly scaled up the many steps, while Nathan trailed behind. Hauling his lumbering frame up each step was an increasingly laborious task. He was so tired that he held onto the railing with each step. Meanwhile, Samuel had chosen two open seats in the aisle and had just glided over to secure them. He sat down and started getting ready, oblivious to far behind his friend was. 

A drop of sweat slipped from Nathan’s forehead as he finally reached the level where Samuel was. At this point, his cheeks were flushed pink and a layer of sweat formed across his back. Any remnants of Nathan’s natural stride were eliminated as he trudged over to his chair next to Sam, who was already unzipping his bag.

CRREEEAAKK…

Nathan’s face went a darker shade of red as his chair let out a wail that filled the quiet room. A few students turned their heads at him turn and Nathan averted their gaze. Great. As if I don’t feel like enough of a fatass, he thought as he wiped some beads of sweat from his forehead. Nathan also could tell he was breathing heavier now. Even from that short walk, he felt a little winded. 

The bloated feeling in his stomach had not gone away either. It felt like it was made of jelly. His stomach had also never pressed into the table like it was currently. It had also never looked this round before. As he glanced down at his body, he noticed a long black hair sticking out of his t-shirt. Crap, he must’ve missed that one while shaving. Nathan squirmed around in his chair, wondering how he would even sit through this lecture while feeling this uncomfortable. His belly felt like a lead weight, its heavy girth crushing his thighs. 

However as he bent over to unzip his bag, he learned that he did not have the same flexibility that he once had. “Urrghh,” Nathan moaned, feeling his stomach shift with his abrupt movement. 

Having just finished placing his notebook on the table, Samuel noticed his friend’s discomfort. “Whoa, are you okay?” he asked. 

“Y..yeah…I think,” Nathan replied as he sat back up in an effort to alleviate the discomfort. That seemed to do the trick. As he did, his stomach gurgled which did little to help his case.

“Are you sure?” Samuel asked, unconvinced. 

Before Nathan could respond, there was a loud “PING!” that echoed through the classroom. A lightness around Nathan’s groin indicated the change. The button to his cargo shorts had flown off and collided withe the chair in front of him. In its wake, it exposed not only his black boxer shorts, but also a section of his stomach.“Ooof,” he exhaled as he felt his stomach escape its confines. That felt so much better. His brief reprieve was quickly tarnished by a heavy feeling from his gut. “URRRGH!” he grunted, much louder than he had meant to. He must’ve been hallucinating because he swore his stomach bulged out even further than before. He had to get out of there.

With a sense of urgency, Nathan hoisted himself up. His face was as red as a cherry and he was only getting sweatier. “I…I think I need to leave…” was all he could say to Samuel.

“Whoa, whoa,” Samuel interjected, noticing his friend’s distress. He stood up and placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Although Nathan appreciated his friend’s sympathy, he knew he had to leave and figure out what was happening to him. “I’m just gonna…use the restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said without turning around and headed back down the stairs. Unfortunately, any hope of quietly leaving the lecture hall was dashed as Nathan could only walk with a pace more sluggish than when he had entered the room. Clambering down each step, his gut started to feel like it was getting even wider since it was stretching the waistband of his already strained cargo shorts. Nathan had to awkwardly hold them up with one hand in an attempt to keep them around his changing frame. Luckily, his legs hurt a little bit less going down the stairs than climbing up them. This had to be the weirdest day of his life. And it seemed like it was getting stranger and stranger...

[visceral-stories]

Knowledge is Power

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Blake Ingalls ran a hand through his thin, scraggly facial hair as he waited for the older woman sitting across from him to finish scrolling through a document on her computer. This job interview, which was also his first one ever, felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life. Blake hadn't needed a job throughout high school because his parents gave him a monthly allowance - which they'd lowered upon his arrival to college, a betrayal he hadn't seen coming. Now that he was on his own, wouldn't he need MORE money, not less? What on earth were they thinking?! They could pay for his college, but not for him to SURVIVE? 

After this devastating blow to his sense of entitlement, he’d been sulking in his own frustration during the fall semester. Continuously, he begged his parents to reinstate his allowance, but they would not be swayed. Over the first few weeks of freshman year, he’d depleted most of his saved money until he found that he had no other choice but to finally get a job. Swallowing his pride, Blake had reluctantly applied for the position of a library assistant at the campus library. He resented the process the entire way, but he wanted money of his own and he wanted it now. 

“Sorry dear, I’m just making sure I’ve told you all of the policies,” his interviewer, a slender, older woman said while she squinted her eyes at the old desktop computer.

Blake just nodded in response, not wanting to be rude. He just wanted this to be over so he could start day-drinking with his frat brothers. After a few more painstaking seconds, the lady spoke again.

“Alright, Mr. Ingalls, I do believe you would be a great fit for this position.”

Blake triumphantly released a deep breath. “Thank you Mrs. Hoffman!” he said, making sure to firmly shake this lady’s hand. 

“It’s Mrs. Hurston actually,” the woman said and her warm smile flickered.

“Oh right! My bad,” Blake said, unsure of what else to say.

Luckily, Mrs. Hurston recovered quickly. “Also, we do have another candidate applying for the same position that seems like a worthy choice as well. So in hopes of preventing any bias, we’d like to run a special trial run for the two of you to see who is the most deserving candidate. After that then, the person who impressed us the most will be the one chosen for the position.” 

“Oh, um…alright,” Blake said, confused. 

“Great, does tomorrow work for you?” 

Blake sighed. Tomorrow was Friday and he had specifically designed his schedule to have Fridays off so he could drink more with the boys. However, the few dollars he had left in his bank account beckoned him to say yes. “Yeah, that works I suppose,” he responded, somewhat downtrodden.

“Excellent!” Mrs. Hurston said, now with some newfound vigor. “The trial will begin tomorrow at 9 o’clock sharp!”

“Sounds awesome,” Blake insincerely replied. He politely stuck out his hand, just like the frat had taught him, and shook hands with Mrs. Hurston before walking out the door. As soon as he walked out the front door of the library, he pulled out his phone and dialed up his frat bro Trevor Thompson to complain. Although Trevor wasn’t Blake’s biological brother, Blake practically treated him like one. As a super-chill football player, heavy partier, and college senior, Trevor represented everything that Blake idolized.

“What’s up Ingalls?” came the monotone response after a few rings. 

“Dude, the interview was soooo boring! This lady talked to me for an hour about fuckin’ policies of the library. Can you believe that? Oh! And what’s worse bro, is that they’re making me do a fucking trial to get the position tomorrow! How stupid!” 

“Oh word,” Trevor replied supinely. 

“I can’t believe they’re putting me through all of this just to work in a goddamn library!”

Trevor laughed. “Sounds like the worst man, but I gotta get going to class. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at the frat, right?”

“Nah, I got that job thing tomorrow.”

“Oh right,” Trevor dopily chuckled. “Well maybe me and the bros can come around tomorrow and mess around with you then,” he said, this time sounding fully invested. 

Blake laughed. “You’d fuckin’ better! I’m gonna be bored outta my mind!”

“Alright. Talk soon bro.” Blake put his phone back in his pocket and wondered how much fun his frat brothers would be having tomorrow without him. 

Blake was half-asleep as he walked up the steps of the campus library the next morning, the cold Mountain Dew can in his hand was practically all he could feel. Instead of his typical cocky smile, he instead had a plain grimace on his face, bitter to be up this early and hungover from the night before. Still, he’d managed to spruce himself up for the day. He’d thrown on a white polo with his frat’s Greek logo on it accompanied by pastel board shorts that were a bright salmon hue. He’d even taken the trouble to hastily gel up his blonde hair back. The nineteen-year-old was exhausted to be awake this early, especially since he had chosen to spend the previous night drinking heavily with his frat brothers. 

“Shit.” He looked at his watch and realized he was a few minutes late. “Why is the library even open on a Friday?” he grumbled to himself as he pulled open the heavy front door. Fridays were practically the weekend. And if this practice-shift went all day, he’d surely miss out on the pre-game to the frat’s weekly kegger party. Maybe if he played his cards right though, he could convince that interview lady to let him leave early, even if it was only his first day. 

Stepping through the RFID detectors, Blake was greeted to an expansive yet desolate library filled with an array of abandoned computers resting on mostly empty desks, aside from a small group of students in the back studying together. Walking toward the front desk to his left, he noticed the familiar face of his interviewer: Mrs. Hurston. She was immersed in a conversation with what looked to be another college-aged guy, but stopped as soon as she made eye contact with Blake. 

“Ah, Mr. Ingalls, very nice of you to finally join us,” she said in an unimpressed tone, causing the young man she’d been talking to also turn around. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Blake said, not doing a great job at feigning concern. “I…uh…came from class,” he added, although the lie came far too late to sound believable. 

Mrs. Hurston didn’t seem too convinced by his statement as she gave him a stern look. “Just remember that punctuality is important, Blake. Derek and I have been waiting here for you for several minutes now.”

“Ok, sorry,” Blake replied, although his tone wasn’t too convincing. His tone was always blasé when he wasn’t doing something he liked, a terrible side effect of being pampered his whole adolescence.

“Alright,” Mrs. Hurston said, livening up her tone once more. “You two boys can follow me through here and we’ll get started with your training.” She scanned her key card and pushed open the door. 

The “employees only” section of the Oak Point University library bored Blake just as much as the other half. Its mix of beige-colored plaster walls towards the interior and brick walls towards the exterior gave way to a corridor more expansive than Blake had expected. A few more computer tables occupied the fairly empty chamber accompanied by aisles of tall bookshelves in the corners. To the group’s left was the front desk with a wide view of the entrance. 

Walking towards the corner of bookshelves and gray trolleys, Mrs. Hurston stopped abruptly in front of a wide tray of books with the word “RETURNS” on it. “Alright gentlemen, the first task you will be expected to do every shift is to catalog the returns. All you have to do is scan their barcodes with your respective scanners. Labels beginning with a number will go on each corresponding floor so I recommend divvying them up in separate trolleys based on floor number. As you are both aware, this is a very large library.”

Blake tried his best not to yawn since he was absorbing virtually nothing this lady was saying.

She continued, eyeing the two tall young men like a drill sergeant. “There is a staff elevator in the adjacent corner that you can use and there are two spare key-cards sitting by it that I trust you both to use. Any questions?”

Both boys remained silent.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Hurston said, pleased with herself. “I’ll be in my office down this hallway if you have any additional questions. I'll be out to check your progress after I make a few calls.”

Blake grimaced as she walked away, just relieved that she stopped speaking. He wasn’t very excited. This seemed like the most boring shit ever. When he’d applied to be a library assistant, he figured he’d just be manning a front desk, not doing inventory.

The other applicant, meanwhile, was unbothered and seemed determined to get to work. He was slightly taller than Blake, had thick glasses, sandy blonde hair, and looked like the type of unassuming geek that Blake steered clear of. “Hey, I’m Derek Speeling by the way,” he said, answering a question the other boy had never asked. “What’s your name again?” he asked as the two walked over to the large tub full of returned books.

“Blake Ingalls,” he flatly answered. 

“It’s nice to officially meet you,” Derek said, still smiling politely. 

“For sure,” Blake yawned before cracking open his bright green can of Mountain Dew, which he promptly took a big sip of. He hoped the caffeine and sugar would quell the exhaustion from getting four hours of sleep and fight off his concurrent hangover. He had a long day ahead of him.

Derek was the first of the two to actually begin working. Still trying to wake up, Blake pulled the trolley closer to him and took another sip of his sugary drink. He rapidly began scanning the books and plopping them in the trolley, not bothering to check their serial numbers. After a minute or so, he realized sweat was already forming on the undersides of his armpits. This stuffy room had rather poor ventilation. 

Derek decided to break the silence. “So what’s your major,” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched Blake’s sloppy process. He surely wasn’t gonna say anything though since his competitor clearly couldn’t follow simple instructions. 

“Business,” Blake retorted expressionlessly. He reluctantly decided to play ball with this geek. It would make the time go faster. “And yours?” 

“Geography,” Derek replied. “I’m on my third year and I’m looking to become a geographic informations system analyst. What field are you looking to enter?”

“The business field,” Blake vapidly replied as he continued to scan the books and chuck them carelessly in his cart. “My bros and I are looking to create a start-up with me once I graduate.”

“Oh nice, and what would that start-up be?” 

“Not sure yet, but like we’re like…thinking of doing something with Crypto,” Blake said. “I wanna create the next BitCoin. That would be sick!”

“Totally dude,” Derek said, trying not to laugh. Blake could tell the other boy was grinning smugly, but he paid it no mind. At least he went to more parties than a try-hard like Derek. And that’s what college was really about.

Blake only took a few more minutes to finish scanning the books and tossing them in the cart. He took another large sip of his soda and gradually began to feel its energizing effects. “See ya later dude,” he gloated as he wheeled his cart to the elevator with one hand and held his drink with the other. He snatched the key card from the adjacent table and used it to take the elevator to the second floor. He grinned as soon as the doors shut, assured that this job would be a piece of cake. He chuckled to himself before opening up Snapchat on his phone like he did a hundred times a day. This time, he noticed something different about his reflection.

A new layer of faint peach fuzz now surrounded his lips, cheeks, and neck. It wasn't anything substantial, but the simple brown shade of the bristly perimeter was enough to make Blake look different. He looked older! With facial hair like this, he wouldn’t even need to use his fake ID! Making sure it wasn’t some kind of filter on the app, Blake brought his hand to his cheek to find that it was definitely real. “No way! Trevor won’t believe this!” he said as he quickly snapped a pic of himself and sent it to his frat bro. “It’s about time I’m able to grow a beard!” he added proudly, playing with the thin bristles between his slender fingers. 

The door dinged open and Blake slowly wheeled his cart out, still sending off Snaps to more of his bros, eager to update them. He put his phone in his pocket and finally took a chance to look at the aisles of bookshelves that surrounded him, some of which he couldn’t even see the end of. Blake stood motionless for a few moments, unsure where to even start. Mrs. Hurston hadn’t been lying when she’d said this library was huge! 

Luckily, there were huge black signs hanging above some of them that stated their genres. In fact, one of them with the label “BIOLOGY” on it hung right above him. "Awesome," Blake said, feeling much more carefree than before. He then bent over to his trolley and dug for a book that had a picture of nature on the cover. As he did, his small, bony butt swelled larger, gaining a subtle amount of mass until it curved the back pockets of his pink shorts. Holding the biology book, Blake stood back up and caused his butt to expand even further. It was now a high-positioned bubble that severely deviated from the rest of his slender frame.

Oblivious to his larger derriere, Blake instead focused on deciphering the rows of letters and numbers on the book’s spine. “How the hell am I supposed to read this?” he mumbled to himself. He then turned toward the books on the shelf only to find they had very different alphanumeric codes on their spines. Curiously, he pulled one from the shelf and found that the cover had pictures of plants and common medicine on it. Still confused, he decided to take a sip of Mountain Dew before-

“BLEEGHH!” Blake exclaimed, his voice reverberating across the sprawling library floor. The acidic saccharine concoction now contained a bitter sensation that left a pungent aftertaste. After a few moments, the rancor dissolved, leaving behind a mouth-watering sweetness that tasted far more natural than Mountain Dew. Looking down at the can in his hand, Blake found that it looked much darker than before and the texture felt much less cold and metallic. The brand logo had also faded slightly. He put it back on the cart in disbelief. “What the hell?!” Before he could analyze it further, a girl's voice startled him from behind.

“Excuse me sir, but are you okay?”

Blake spun around and his perky butt slightly bounced as he did. Standing in front of him was a girl that looked to be his age. He noticed that she had glasses, black hair, and a very pretty face. She also had some massive tits. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said before blushing. "I just uh....sneeze really loudly."

“That’s good.” the girl said with a warm smile. “Do you work here?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Blake replied, stretching the truth in a futile attempt to relate more to this girl. In an attempt to be flirtatious, he playfully leaned on his cart and raised an eyebrow before flexing his nonexistent biceps. “I’m…uh…really good at my job too,” he added flimsily. 

The girl laughed. “Oh that’s great! I’m actually doing a research essay on modern uses of medicinal plants. Would you know where books like that are?”

“Oh! I think I’ve actually got one right here,” Blake said, glancing down at the book he’d been holding. “Here you go.”

“Wow! The section is right in front of me, huh?” the girl said before laughing to herself before searching the bookshelf.  “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I missed them! Too many long nights studying!”

Blake laughed in response, although it came out much stronger and louder than he expected. His whole body shook in tandem and he wondered why he was having such a strong reaction. The young man’s usual vacuous timbre had a prevalent hardiness to it reminiscent of how his dad and grandfather laughed. The motion caused his stomach to extend out a few millimeters. The growth was hardly noticeable, but it caused Blake’s frat t-shirt to become strained around his lanky torso. “So like, is your major related to science or something?” Blake asked in an attempt to lengthen their conversation.

“Yeah, I’m in my fourth year of my biomed major!” the girl said, still sorting through books. 

Blake couldn’t help but steal a perverted glance at her bent-over body. He averted his gaze as she stood back up. “Oh word,” he said, “That’s really cool!”

The girl flipped through the pages for a few moments before shutting it and looking back at Blake. “This book is just what I needed! Thank you so much, Mr…”

“Ingalls! Blake Ingalls,” Blake barked with atypical decorum. “And what is your name, young lady?” He clamped his hand over his mouth with shock, aghast at his uncharacteristic formality.

“Becky Walters,” the girl said with a wavering smile. Blake’s heart sank when he realized she was trying not to laugh at him. “It was nice meeting you, sir,” she said before turning around to leave. 

“Wait!” Blake called out desperately. The audible panic in his voice caused Becky to turn back around. “Um…uh…did you know I’m a member of Theta Chi?”

“Oh. You’re a member of a frat?” Becky asked, her smile replaced with a look of confusion. “No offense at all sir, but I figured you were too old for that.” She said while looking him up and down.

Blake caressed his ten scraggly beard strands between his fingers before mirroring the girl’s action of examining himself. “Well, they do say I look rather old…for…my…age.” His cocky smirk turned into a look of despair when he realized that his shoes looked very different than they had this morning. Once black and white, his sneakers were now much more angular and now had a leathery-based composition. The toes were far more exaggerated and the angular soles looked much more like a traditional dress shoe than some overpriced athletic shoes. “Th…thank you for p…pointing this out to me, young lady,” Blake stuttered, unable to avoid being formal with this girl. 

“I’ll see you ‘round, Mr. Ingalls! Thanks again!” Becky called out as she began walking back in the direction she’d come from. Blake was unsure of anything else to say as he continued staring at his changing shoes. They began growing wider, going up a few shoe sizes in a matter of seconds. As they grew, thick leather swallowed the older, worn-down polyester and cotton of his sneakers while their temporary taupe coloration rapidly darkened into a rich shade of russet brown. The young man’s once stylish tennis shoes had now been reduced to a large, shiny pair of tassel loafers. 

To accompany them, Blake’s short white athletic socks began to stretch on their own. They climbed further and further up his legs until their elastic was tightly clung from his toes to his shins. Wasting little time, the socks began to rapidly gray and lose their pure white hue in an instant. As the skimpy white elastic converted into a thick gray woolen fabric, an array of red and brown triangles appeared all over. The new fuzzy feeling made Blake curl his toes with pleasure while the fabric seized its ascent and rested mid-calf on his legs. All Blake could do was glance down at the brand new pair of argyle socks he’d been given. Although they were hideous, their woolen composition was far more comfortable than his old socks. 

A wave of humiliation shot through Blake’s nerves like an icy shower. These dorky socks and even dorkier shoes made him look like Mr. Rogers! Blake wanted to scream once more. Something was clearly happening to him, but he couldn’t say anything about it. After all, who would believe him if he said his shoes had just transformed before his eyes? 

Blake ran a hand through his styled blonde hair and took a few deep breaths. This was obviously some weird dream. Clothes didn’t just change on their own and girls didn’t just reject him the way that one earlier had. What was her name again? Ah, it didn’t matter. Soon enough, he would wake up and this would all be over. 

Blake nervously snatched his drink off of the trolley and took a large sip in an effort to process what was happening to him. Surprisingly enough, the once overpowering acidic, fructose-laden taste had transitioned into a stronger and sweeter one: coffee. Although Blake had never tried coffee before, he had to admit that it tasted quite delicious, so he took another sip. This time he could feel the liquid alter his taste buds further, no longer causing him to recoil at the potent taste. In fact, he was now craving it. He had never even tried coffee before, but in a matter of moments, he understood why people craved it so feverishly.  

Blake placed the can down in his cart, oblivious to the metamorphosis it was still undergoing. The bright neon green color had been completely swallowed by a new shade of shiny silver. More shockingly, a ring of black rubber had formed in the middle of it. The new metal object stretched taller before solidifying into a rather sizable thermus, capable of carrying a day’s worth of coffee. Oddly enough, it began to calm him. It felt familiar, like it was part of his daily routine. Although he knew that couldn’t be true, he could remember starting every morning with a freshly brewed pot of coffee. He would have a cup with breakfast and then bring the rest to work in his thermos.

Blake scoffed at that idea. Working five days a week seemed like such a boring existence. It seemed like absolute hell when compared to his lax life of going to an all-expenses paid school, getting an easy college degree, and spending his free time relaxing and partying with his frat brothers. Clearly, that was the ideal life to have and Blake was truly thriving as a result. Sure, some days they poked fun at his perky ass and mocked him for the dorky khaki pants he always wore that didn’t match the rest of his-

“Khakis?!” 

Somehow while the young man had been daydreaming, his pink shorts had changed. In their place was a pair of dark brown khaki pants with sharp creases running down the middle of his legs. The hems rested just above his ankles, allowing for a sliver of the argyle socks to be visible. The gold zipper shimmered in the fluorescent light, revealing a much larger fly that now had much more room for his small bulge to occupy, as if they were oversized. He didn’t want them to be real, but as he swayed his legs within their confines and ran his hands up and down the ridged fabric, he found that they were irrefutably tactile. Blake’s heart was pumping like a jackhammer once again. These were the kind of pants that only old people wore! 

“DING!” 

Hearing the familiar chime of the elevator, Blake turned around and found himself actually excited to see Derek. Surely the other young man, one of the two people who had seen him earlier, would also recognize that something strange was happening to him.

Sure enough, the other gangly boy walked out, pushing a similar trolley full of books, only his were far better organized than Blake’s. However, as if to thwart his plan of wanting to appear the same as he had earlier that morning, Blake’s facial hair rebelliously pushed itself even further, thickening his five o’clock shadow into a budding mustache and beard. “Hey dude!” Blake called out loudly, trying to regain his jock-like qualities by raising his voice. In response to his assertiveness, Blake’s butt inflated even further outward, making its new firm size look even more absurd with his youthful frame. The few extra millimeters had given it a newfound roundness that it had lacked prior. His dark-brown pants now dipped into his longer buttcrack, making the growth even more noticeable. 

“What’s up?” Derek asked calmly as he wheeled his cart next to Blake’s. 

“Hey, do you think there’s like…anything different about me?” Blake asked earnestly as he looked the other college kid in the eye for the first time. He seemed taller than he could recall too. Couldn’t be more than a few inches though, since Blake knew he was 6’1”. 

“Hmm, not particularly, why?” 

“Dude, don’t my pants and shoes look different to you?” Blake pleaded. He straightened his back when he realized he was at eye-level with Derek. It must’ve been because he was a sloucher. 

Derek was not amused. “What are you even talking about?” 

“They turned into tassel loafers!” Blake exclaimed before questioning how he knew what they were. Studying Derek’s puzzled expression, he tried to backpedal and not sound crazy. “My shoes….the s…style that I usually wear….I think that they changed. I think that…I’m….changing.” The uncharacteristic desperation in his voice was clearly audible. As if to send him into a deeper spiral, Blake’s height shrunk suddenly, squashing his lanky frame into a pudgier height of 5’7”. “And I’m getting shorter too!” 

“Shorter? Yeah right!” Derek laughed. The fact that he had to tilt his head to look Blake in his eyes made Blake’s heart sink even further. His height was such a big piece of him. It was how he got the ladies and reached things on high shelves. In one fell swoop, it had been taken from him. It clearly didn’t align with fate’s decision. 

“No, for real!” Blake insisted. 

“Wow, somebody’s hungover. Maybe you need some more coffee, old man,” Derek replied with a sly smirk before wheeling his cart away, leaving Blake in the debris of his own uncertainty. 

“Damn geek…” the frat boy pouted to himself. Having a new perspective of the bookshelves around him only reinforced the fact that he’d really gotten permanently shorter. His head felt like it was spinning, so he tried his best to calm himself down. “This….this isn’t happening,” he vehemently declared although his voice was saturated with denial. He glanced down at his dorky pants and found that they were now equipped with a brown leather belt that had not been there seconds earlier. It was a rather nice designer belt too with a gold brass buckle that matched the zipper of his pants. Blake had to admit that it looked sophisticated if only his bloated stomach wasn’t blocking it. 

Shutting it out, Blake grabbed his huge thermos filled with coffee and took a huge gulp, savoring its delicious yet overpowering taste. As he placed it back in the cart, he rationalized that his gut was bloated from breakfast. “I’m just here to do a job. I’ve j...just gotta put these books on the shelves and everything will be normal,” he said to himself, his panic and fear swimming around in his brain. 

So he did just that. For the next few minutes, Blake began to take the role seriously in an effort to distract himself. Like he’d realized with that young lady he’d helped, the numbers and letters on the spines of the books were very helpful to put them in their proper places. The job was actually a piece of cake, so much so that he couldn’t believe he’d had any difficulty before. Blake had found that the worst part was having to bend over to put books back on the bottom shelves or put them up on the top shelves, which seemed…harder to reach than he anticipated for some reason. In a matter of minutes though, he had successfully put away ten of the eleven books he’d walked in with. The final one, a girthy astrophysics textbook, belonged on the bottom shelf of the astronomy section. Getting down on one knee, he successfully placed the book in place after nearly losing his balance. 

Unbeknownst to him, the action caused his rump to balloon even further out behind him, making it comically huge. The two round globes firmed up, becoming a butt so disproportionately large that it had no business being attached to a teenage boy. With no more books to put away, Blake just stood in place for a few seconds, studying the books on the bottom shelf further. They looked so satisfying when they were in proper alphanumerical order. Then for the first time in many minutes, Blake realized one thing - he felt extremely calm. The menial action had actually been rewarding! 

BZZT BZZT

As Blake stood back up, his gut lurched forward in one concise motion, leaving a portion of soft flab hanging over the lip of his khakis. His gut jiggled slightly as he fished his phone out of his back pocket. However, the panic he felt over his increasing body weight was quickly eclipsed by the relief he saw when he saw that he’d received a text from his frat’s groupchat. It was from Trevor and read “Yo Ingalls, we’re at the library, where you at?”

Finally, Blake thought. His bros were finally here to bring some closure to this strange, strange day. 

“I’m at the second floor in the biology section,” he typed, relieved that the young men he idolized would be here. Whenever he was with them, he felt invincible. It was so kind that they’d even taken the time to come out and hang with him. It really showed how close they’d grown over the past month. 

Tucking the phone back into his rear pocket, Blake took a moment to savor the peace of the quiet library. One could really be alone with their thoughts up here since it felt like there were no other students for miles. Blake wondered what it would be like to finally get some more money and how many cool new clothes he could buy with his first paycheck. He could cover up that bulging stomach and-

Blake gasped as he looked down at his protruding gut. It was so much rounder than before! His formerly flat and toned torso was gone, replaced with a stomach that proudly jutted out and some firm-looking pecs. Although he had always wished to have more meatier pecs, he wasn’t willing to get them at the loss of his toned abs!  

“My abs,” Blake croaked feebly to himself, his previous invigoration completely deflated upon this revelation. He pinched himself a few times in an effort to wake up from this nightmare, but the continued attempts only confirmed the fact that this was reality. As he continued to observe his form, he immediately gasped as he realized that the action had a strange side effect. The rapid pinching caused Blake’s torso to suddenly burst forward. His pecs and stomach ballooned forward a few more inches, binding his white polo tightly to his torso. The young man’s stomach now resembled a small drum that teetered on the edge of his belt, threatening to droop over his pant loops if it got any larger. The underside of his doughy, now objectively large belly was on full display. A new forest of dark black hairs stood out from his pale skin, creating a ring around his belly-button. Blake delicately brought his finger down to touch the beginning of a happy trail: an action that caused the doughy sphere to jiggle slightly from his light caressing. Peering closer, he found that many of the hairs had white tips at the end: another peculiar happening. Blake’s taut shirt distended down to cover his fatter tummy back up, generating more fabric to accommodate his huskier frame. His shirt was still tight though: so tight in fact, that even his nipples could be seen through it. They also seemed larger now, as if the pressure was enlarging them somehow. 

This change felt so different; it should’ve repulsed him and yet…it felt weirdly sexual. The growth caused Blake’s cock started to get hard - he rationalized that it was probably just a side-effect of his rampant teenage hormones. Barely visible beneath his enormous fly, it curved upward at the idea of transforming further. It was weirdly exciting and being larger made him feel so much more…in charge and…almighty. If he took up more space, then people would have to yield to him. 

Trevor Thompson’s familiar deep voice interrupted Blake’s self-indulgent rumination. “Eyyy! Wuddup Ingalls!” he said raucously, his voice echoing across the entire second floor of the library. There were three other frat bros trailing behind him: Clayton, Sawyer, and Cameron. The four frat guys were all student athletes and dressed in simple athletic leisure: tank tops, t-shirts, and shorts.

“Hey! What’s up bros?” Blake said, relieved to see them. He’d quickly remembered how tall they all were as they sidled up around him, all four of them had at least a few inches on him. Remaining determined, Blake tried to plead his strange, strange case. "Guys! I know this will sound super crazy but-”

“Whoa-hoah, dorky threads, dude,” Sawyer Jensen interrupted as he sidled up next to the younger man. 

“Why do you look like a dad at a cook-out?” Clayton Yates added, getting the whole group to snicker in unison. 

“He’s even got a dad’s stomach too!” Trevor said, reaching and pinching Blake’s gut. 

“Owch!” Blake exclaimed as the guys erupted into a cacophony of vacuous laughter. His smile wavered. That action had seemed kind of rude, but Blake certainly didn’t want to offend his friends. So he just laughed awkwardly before saying “I know right.” He hoped his frat brothers had just been messing with him. Sure, Blake was larger than all of them and he didn’t have muscles as toned or as polished as theirs, but they didn’t have to be mean about it. 

“For real, what’s with the clothes, Ingalls?” Cameron Leopold asked. 

“Oh right,” Blake said, remembering his mission. “Guys, ever since I’ve been working here, my clothes have been changing! I’ve also gotten shorter! Honest to God, I have no clue what’s-”

“Dressing to impress gets the jobs, bro!” Clayton interrupted, reciting one of the frat’s mottos by rote. “You took it to a whole new level though.”

“Look! Even his nipples are huge!” Trevor added, getting the group to laugh louder than ever. A hot, sweaty tingling burned through Blake’s nerves. He was irritated now and wondered how he could even get a word in with these guys. They were acting like…such ruffians. They were also making a scene in the library and that were being rather inconsiderate to the students and faculty trying to work here. He debated saying something, but he didn’t want to offend the jocks. 

A tingling sensation in Blake's nipples diverted his thoughts. Glancing down at his torso, he found that Trevor wasn't wrong. Sure enough, his tender nipples were on full display and clearly visible through the distressed polo's fabric. They were huge now and had swollen to the size of the end of a baby’s bottle. More importantly, they were so much more tender. The simple sensation of them rubbing against his white polo was enough to raise his cock higher beneath his khakis. He had no clue that having huge nipples could be so…arousing. 

Blake couldn’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like to have someone gently caress and lick them. If his friends weren’t watching, he would’ve tweaked them. Shifting his attention to his distending torso, Blake noticed that a few spindly hairs had sprouted through the open collar of his distressed shirt. Unlike his normal auburn hair, they were light black that almost looked silver in the light, just like the ones by his belly-button. His cock twitched again, pressing itself against his tightening underwear. By this point, the jocks’ laughter had naturally fizzled out, leaving Blake with the opportunity to say something.

“Man I need to party tonight after a day like this!” he confided, his voice rising in volume as he tried to ignore his growing erection. 

“You said it, Ingalls!” Sawyer replied while mindlessly drumming his fingers on one of his pecs. It seemed like partying was the topic to break the boys out of their flippant ridicule  “God, I wanna get so wasted this weekend. Should we hit up The Lounge or Caffrey’s first?” 

“The what?” 

“The bars!” Sawyer exclaimed. “I guess you are a bit of an old-timer though.”

"Oh of course," Blake said, trying to play off his mistake. 

“He’d rather spend his nights blowing loads on himself than on hot babes!” Cameron added crudely, eliciting more vacuous laughs.

Blake was about to disagree when memories of him doing just that occurred to him. He always liked to jerk off in the huge lounge chair he had in his living room at home. Its cushions provided ample space for his massive butt and he would lean back and stroke away, feeling the velvet of the chair press against his huge body. Sometimes he could even get off just by looking at his rotund belly and thinking about the way it dominated a room and garnered looks from everyone. 

To corroborate Blake's vivid memory, his belly exploded forth, inflating like an airbag in a matter of moments. Now distending over his shiny belt, his stomach acted as a shield for his boner. It swelled forth for all the boys to see, causing Blake to nearly tip over from its dramatic growth. The boys didn’t seem to notice, but Blake sure did. His stomach stretched to an enormous size that was slightly larger than that of a yoga ball - a size that he’d never even thought possible. However, instantly he adored its presence. It was just so intimidating and undeniably masculine. The cannonball-sized stomach must’ve weighed at least a hundred pounds. Before Blake could even react, he was inundated with a rush of testosterone that coursed through his body. It was the greatest feeling in the world. He found himself actually feeling excited to be larger. Nobody could ever give him shit again! Not only that, but it made him feel more confident.

“I look like a blimp!” Blake added merrily with a jolly laugh before making a gesture with his arms that caused his body to jiggle slightly. 

“What a dork!” Trevor jeered, eliciting more laughter from the guys. Blake continued to smile, but this time it wasn’t out of accommodation, it was out of self-respect. He didn’t care what these guys said about him. After all, he felt like he had more testosterone in his body than all four of them put together. 

Sawyer was the first to break the silence once the other boys’ bickering had died down. “The frat is gonna be lit tonight!” he exclaimed, turning toward the other three boys, as if Blake wasn’t there.

“Bet. It’s gonna be such a rager,” Cameron agreed. “I invited all the girls I know from Northridge.”

“It cannot come soon enough!” Blake whimsically chimed in. The other boys just looked at him with disgust and confusion.

There was another brief silence before Trevor spoke. “No offense dude, but aren’t you a little old for frat parties?” 

“N…no,” Blake replied. The sentence was throwing his self-confidence for a loop. “I don’t b…believe  so.” However, a quick glance at his fatty torso proved otherwise. His massive, commanding gut was something that a sapling of a nineteen-year-old couldn’t attain. Studying himself further, Blake noticed the frat’s logo on his t-shirt, a Greek letter written in black calligraphy, looked much more faded around his gut. It only took a few more seconds for it to disintegrate completely, leaving Blake with a baseless polo that tightly cradled his burgeoning frame. 

“Are you even in our frat?” Trevor asked, causing all three boys to look at Blake expectantly. 

“Yeah guys, I know thAT I AM!” Blake cried, his confusion immediately cut off by the feeling of his khakis dramatically hiking themselves up his body in one spastic motion. Compressing his crotch, his already tight-fitting khaki pants had leapt up to his belly-button. His brown leather belt firmly held his doughy stomach in place and restricted the khakis from sliding back down to waist-level. As if Blake wasn’t humiliated enough, his balls began to swell larger, immediately creating noticeable spheres beneath the cotton twill. 

“Oh sssshitttt…” Blake purred, unable to contain his arousal as his cock expanded in unison. Delicately resting above his kumquat-sized balls, his dick also made its lewd presence known in Blake’s pants. The pleasure Blake’s tender cockhead received while getting longer and girthier was better than any sex he’d ever had in his life. It was so good that he couldn’t even make sounds of pleasure. He just stood still while his loins inflated, oblivious to the reactions of his captive audience of frat boys. Part of Blake was mortified that his member was so crudely on-display, but the other part of him loved the idea. If these jocks were going to insult him, then why should he care what they think? He was an enormous man and if they didn’t like it, they could suck it! 

Spreading more pheromones through the air, Blake’s shirt collar expanded open a few millimeters, allowing some much-needed ventilation. He audibly panted as his semi-erect cock finally stopped growing, resulting in a flagrant outline of his shaft beneath his fancy twilled pants. Just below it, Blake’s huge balls solidified into a pair of huge, pendulous spheres the size of eggs. The disheveled young man wordlessly tried to catch his breath as he was still trying to recover from gaining not only a huge cock, but also an egregious moose-knuckle all at once. Unintentionally, he inhaled his new musk; a potent smell of sweat and virile pheromones that was practically oozing out of him. 

Blake shifted his balance on his tassel loafers as he felt his larger dick and crude moose-knuckle press against his khakis. It felt so powerful and so almighty to have his genitalia on full display yet contained in a professional-looking outfit and submerged beneath his shield of a stomach. However, his movement had caused his much larger endowment to get bunched up in his pants, so he reached a hand down and readjusted. The action was not without repercussions.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sawyer asked, with a twinge of disgust in his voice.

“Just readjusting down there, bro,” Blake calmly said, although he lingered on the word “bro” for far too long, making it sound very inauthentic. It reminded him of how it sounded when adults tried to talk like teenagers. 

“What a fuckin’ dork! He’s even got a fupa!” Clayton whispered, eliciting a bevy of low-pitched laughs from the other guys. 

“A…a what? No I don’t!” Blake retorted as he slowly processed what they were saying. His breaths were getting heavier as he felt the sensation of his huge body contained in these tight clothes. He didn’t feel like a foolish boy who was compensating for a poor attitude. He felt like someone different - someone more esteemed and deserving of respect, not just entitled to it. Respect is earned after all. “I am not a dork! I am a professional,” Blake huffed, mostly as an affirmation to himself. “You must be mistaken, Cameron.” 

“Dude, I’m Clayton,” the jock replied. Blake just blinked, surprised that he’d somehow forgotten one of the names of his frat bros. “You’re off your rocker, old man!”

“Hey, I am NOT an old man!” Blake interrupted, his voice saturated with newfound bass. His anger was rising to a fever pitch. “I am just as old as you four!” 

“Whatever grandpa,” Clayton retorted. His snide comment was the final one to shatter Blake’s passive affectation. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Blake erupted. In that instant, the young man’s voice plummeted four octaves and his nasally tenor was replaced by an imposing, irreversible baritone that superseded that of any college-aged jock. “I HAVE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF YOU FOUR MAKING A SCENE IN THE LIBRARY! I suggest that all four of you get out or I will personally see to it that the Dean gets you all expelled! If you ever harass me or my staff again, you can all kiss those athletic scholarships goodbye, boys!”  

The four jocks were flabbergasted and their eyes were as wide as saucers. Even Blake was speechless at his own valor. He had never been this assertive in his whole life, or assertive at all for that matter. 

He found that he liked it. 

“OUT!” he yelled once again, stomping one of his loafers on the ground. 

The boys complied and Blake watched all four of them silently trudge away down the hall and to the staircase out of sight. It felt good to send those douchebags packing. The testosterone and adrenaline were changing him and making him more assertive than he ever imagined. Blake snorted with frustration. Nobody talked to him like that and got away with it. 

The stout young man victoriously placed his hands on his hips and stood in place, still clenching his fists and seething with fury and power. The action caused his waistline to gradually widen, allowing his stomach to rest much more comfortably. Blake’s slender, weak legs began to inflate, becoming round cylinders of muscle to hoist his massive loins. They immediately became noticeable in his tight khakis and their immense girth flattened out the sharp creases. The brown khakis widened in unison to support the young man’s new impressive waistline as it grew and grew until it surpassed the sizing charts entirely. A cohesion of robust muscle and girth, Blake now had a set of thunder-thighs so broad that they squished together whenever he stood up. They also acted as a cradle for his impressive semi-erect cock which tented in his high-waisted pants immaculately. The action caused another whiff of his masculine scent to inundate Blake’s nostrils, energizing him even more. 

He took a deep exhale, but as he did, there was a loud PING!

“What the,” Blake gasped as the second button from his white polo went flying through the open library. The movement liberated a little bit more of the young man’s chest, which had plumped up rather significantly. It also caused him to sober back up from his musing. His groomed chest hair and the top of his meaty man-boobs were on display now and it only inflated his ego further. Looking to his left, he noticed that he had a few more books left in his cart next to his coffee. “Oh dear,” he said aloud as he read the spines of all the books. Judging from their markings and serial codes, they belonged on the third floor. With cheerful haste, Blake wheeled his cart back to the elevator. This time, however, he had to bend over slightly while he pushed it - an action that only showcased his gargantuan butt to anyone nearby. 

With the additional missing button of his shirt, Blake could feel the heat dissipating from his bulging chest. It felt great! He needed to keep his shirts unbuttoned all the time and the faint airflow felt marvelous against his pecs and helped cool him down from his previous uproar. The breeze had other plans, however. It magically seemed to grab ahold of Blake’s tight shirt and forcibly shoved it past his tight khakis. The action caused more cool air to seep its way into Blake’s nether regions, cooling his larger body significantly. By the time he had stood up and pressed the button for the elevator, his white polo was taut around his figure. Any wrinkles had been eliminated and his shirt had become a pristine, unruffled canvas that magnified his barrel-shaped torso. 

Blake looked down at his chest and found that the hair looked much thicker than before. The spindly hairs had multiplied into thicker strands whose dark coloration made themselves very noticeable. The strands curled outward, thickening into a distinct tuft of hair across the young man’s chest. He was about to begin playing with it when he heard the sound of another cart’s squeaking wheels.

“Please wait for me sir!” a young man’s voice called out.

Sir, Blake liked that. As he turned around, he saw a lanky young man with blonde hair and broad glasses who had a few inches on him. They’d talked earlier, but he couldn’t recall his name. Maybe it started with a D? He stuck out his arm to prevent the elevator doors from closing and nodded for the young man to get in first. 

“Thanks Mr. Ingalls!” the kid said as he wheeled his cart inside the elevator. 

“Don’t mention it kid,” Blake said before doing the same. However when he stepped inside the elevator, it seemed much smaller than before. The paunchy man looked at both of his broad shoulders and realized that he’d become much brawnier than he thought. “They don’t make these things for big guys, huh?”

Derek just laughed, unsure how else to comment on the size of the other man. 

“Where ya headin’ son?” Blake asked - his rich, sonorous voice sensuously reverberated through the elevator. “Floor One please.”

“I’m heading to Floor Three,” Blake said as he pressed both buttons. The elevator waited for a second before ascending upward. “Looks like it chose me first,” he added with a jolly laugh. 

Placing his arms to his side reminded Blake of how enormous his gut was so he chose to hold his hands together behind his back. He tried to lean back and forth on the balls of his feet, however he immediately became self-conscious when the action caused his stomach to bounce. 

During the brief elevator ride, Blake’s polo began to change. Firstly, his short sleeves began to lengthen from behind his back, covering up his elbows. Feeling a tickle, Blake lightly moved his arms, causing the rest of the new polyester material to unravel down to his forearms. The newly-made fabric continued to spread across Blake’s entire shirt, and although it wasn’t as comfortable as the polo it looked a lot more expensive and well-refined. A string of white buttons quickly materialized over Blake’s torso, however his stomach created quite a dramatic curve. The two already existing buttons even became more polished than before and the new buttons held his oversized shirt together, making him look exceptionally dapper. Even the polo’s color, an alabaster white, rapidly darkened into a gorgeous rich shade of cerulean - a vivacious color that really popped. To complete the young man’s new long-sleeved dress shirt, the collar became thicker, giving his neck much more room to breathe. It was an outfit so sophisticated that it didn’t belong on someone as juvenile as Blake Ingalls. 

By the time the doors dinged open, Blake was wearing a brand new dark blue dress shirt. He bent over and pushed his cart out, unintentionally giving the young man a close-up view of his massive rump. “Thank you, young man!” Blake called out as he pushed the cart out of the elevator. 

As he glanced down at the cart, he realized that his pecs were looking huge. And very hairy too. Hairier than when he’d gotten on the elevator. “You’ve just got a job to do,” Blake muttered to himself, trying to ignore how sexual it felt when his huge thighs rubbed together when he waddled, or the way his new hairy jugs and cannonball-sized gut jiggled with his footsteps. In an attempt to distract himself from his colossal body, Blake picked up one of the remaining books on the cart. “Section 880: classical Greek literature,” he muttered aloud as he read the book’s spine. He wondered why he’d made that association with the number.

Perking his head back up, Blake realized he was in the 800’s section of the library. “A few aisles to the right. By the computer lab’s doors, adjacent to the south section entrance and across from the 700’s section,” he said in a sing-songy tone. Silently, he hummed to himself, savoring the new depth of his low and oddly soothing voice. In his peripheral vision, he even felt calmed by the way his hairy man-tits heaved with the rhythm of his breathing. Even his heartbeat slowed as he calmly searched for the proper place that the book belonged. 

There was a quaint sense of familiarity to this library. The aisles were so spread out and the silence was so calming. It seemed like the only sound for miles was the tip-tap of Blake’s loafers. Happily moving at a snail’s pace, Blake was numb to the fact that his neck was changing. It gradually lost its thin shape as fat began to pour out from it on both sides. His already huge Adam’s apple finally had space and his larger neck quite literally gave him more room to breathe. The fat crept up below Blake’s chin, forming a layer behind it and eradicating his angular, boyish jawline. By the time he reached the Greek literature section, his youthful face was the only thing that hadn’t changed about him. 

The huge, paunchy man was so relaxed now, obsessed yet accustomed to how his gargantuan body moved. He was so busy idolizing his body that he got startled when he saw a tall older woman poke out from one of the aisles. 

“Oh my!” the woman exclaimed before smiling. Blake recognized her as Mrs. Hurston, only it was weird to see her with an expression other than discontent. “You nearly gave me a fright there Mr. Ingalls,” she said with a light chuckle. 

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, Elizabeth,” Blake apologized, still unnerved by her genial smile. His calm reprieve was challenged. Why had he called her by her first name? How had he even known it? 

“I don’t know how a man of your size moves in such silence,” she commented, still smiling, an expression which Blake unwittingly replicated.  

“This huge blob surely doesn’t help,” Blake joked, holding his ball gut up with his hands. He hadn’t noticed that they had grown slightly larger than before. 

“Oh stop it, Mr. Monroe!” Elizabeth laughed with a playful wave of her hand. “So, how do you think the new hire is doing?” 

“Dylan, is it?” “No, it’s Derek.”

“Oh dear,” Blake chortled. “I must say that he seems like a fine young man. Understands the job well and is cordial to everyone so far. I think he would enjoy it here.” He placed his hands on his hips, a popular gesture of his to both stretch his body and show off his globular gut. He played with the back of his leather belt with his meaty fingers. He took a deep breath and felt his entire stomach move. It was so refreshing and powerful to watch. “I think the boy will do fine,” he added. “What’s he studying anyway?”

“Geography.”

“A future cartographer,” Blake remarked. “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine then. Maybe his final assignment should be drawing a map of this whole library!” 

Elizabeth brushed her blonde and silver hair back. “If he writes a nicer-looking one than you, he gets to take your job!” 

“Fat chance!” Blake bellowed. Hearing his own macho rumble provided him with a brief and bewildering moment of sobriety. “Wow! I…I feel like such a square!” he said with a dopey grin, slower than usual. Craning his fatty neck, he tried and failed to look at his lower body, but his bulging stomach inhibited that plan. Blake knew that his portly frame should’ve terrified him, but it did quite the opposite. It felt somewhat exciting to have a body that took up this much space and demanded respect. Unable to hold in his youthful joy, his old, frat-boy mannerisms were resurfacing. “God, it’s k…kinda cool working here, isn’t it?”

“Well, you make it a great place to work since you’re a great head librarian, sir,” Elizabeth said with a polite nod. “I’m glad to see you’ve been doing better this week.” 

“For sure. This week’s been pretty cool,” Blake casually responded, his eyes aimlessly drifting down to the line of curved buttons around his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his spindly chest hair swaying from the faint air conditioning. It looked so sexy peeking out from his tight dress shirt. Sure, it wasn’t ideally formal, but nobody else at the library paid it any mind. 

“So, how are renovations on the house going?”

“They’re going well,” Blake replied mindlessly. “The fireplace has been installed and the guest bedroom is all finished. Now, we just need to renovate the living room.”

“Good luck with that!” Elizabeth chirped. “It took months for my husband and I to tear down our old living room and start from scratch. For months, we didn’t have a living room to relax in! You and Roy must be going crazy without it!”

“Nah, we’ve just been reading in bed,” Blake said, his eyes widening when he realized what he was saying. “It works out that way since we spend so much time there anyway. That’s what happens when you….get….older.”

Blake didn’t want to envision it, but he could see himself in bed next to a man who looked to be in his mid-fifties. He was taller with salt and pepper hair with a much more muscular build than Blake. Roy Monroe was a heartthrob. The thought of his handsome face and those huge muscles filled Blake with a flurry of homoerotic feelings that he didn’t even know he harbored. “Roy doesn’t mind too much,” he heard himself say, picturing Roy’s massive, hulking body against his. Their huge bodies touching each other every night when they slept. “He just wants to be able to entertain again,” Blake added, nervously wondering why his heterosexuality and jock-like mannerisms were getting challenged. He tried his best not to get hard in front of Elizabeth, but his cock began to stir when he thought of his slightly younger husband. 

Younger? Husband?!

Blake tried to repress the sprawling memories of his huge body straddling an incredibly muscular man together in their king-sized bed. Of course, the head librarian went home to his buff husband in the luxurious three-bedroom house they shared together. Roy was practically his second half and they had been married for the last fifteen years. The thought was so opposite of him yet it was…quite relaxing to reminisce upon: the idea of having a huge strong husband to come home to every night. He loved to worship Roy’s manly muscles and-

“Oh! I just remembered something. Have you checked your email today?” Elizabeth asked. Her enthusiastic inquiry reminded Blake that he was still in public.  

“Nah, not like…recently. Why?” Blake responded, trying to maintain his youthful cool. Part of him was panicking while the calmer side of him brushed it off. It felt kind of exciting to imagine himself next to a big strong man like Roy - exciting enough to cause Blake’s cock to get hard again. 

“The creative writing club needs the downstairs lobby for their fundraiser next Monday and they need you to sign off on it. Oh dear, what was it they were planning on doing again?”

“Wasn’t it going to be their board game night?” Blake replied, unaware of what he was even saying. He put his hands in his pockets for a moment and swayed in place. “One of them told me about it last night. Oh, did you see that the Dean-”

“Is moving our Tuesday meeting to three o’clock instead of two, yeah I did,” Elizabeth interrupted before lightly chuckling. “Typical Wallace. Always rescheduling.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time! I bet he forgot about lunch with his wife again,” Blake laughed, although internally he wanted to scream. It felt like his mouth was running on autopilot! How did he know Wallace Paxton: the Dean of Oak Point University? And how did he know him on a personal level?

A loud vibration filled the air and Elizabeth immediately grabbed her cell phone from her pocket. Like a true librarian, she kept her phone on silent. “Oh shoot, I’d best take this. We’ll talk later,” she said before turning away. As she walked back towards the staircase, she answered the phone in a hushed whisper: another sign of a conscientious librarian. Blake smiled. It was nice to see someone being courteous to the few other students on the floor, unlike those rude frat boys - whatever their names were. 

Overjoyed to return to his library work, Blake turned towards his trolley only to find that he had no more books to put out. He was just about to grab his trolley to bring it back to the elevator when he noticed a few books out of place at the end of the aisle. “I just reorganized this aisle,” Blake said to himself as he waddled over - his moose-knuckle, butt, and stomach all bouncing with his footsteps. 

The portly man wasted no time correcting the books and lining them up perfectly. Luckily, most of the disarranged books were at arm’s reach, however one malcontent book on a high shelf caught his attention. “Goodness, how on earth did this even get here?” Blake muttered as he scanned the book’s title. His gripes about meticulous organization sounded like that of a crotchety old man than a sprightly young jock. 

The upside-down rectangular book sticking out over the ledge practically beckoned Blake to correct it. To successfully do so, the short, paunchy man had to stand up on his tiptoes to reach it - a comical scene to any passersby. It took two tries before he finally flicked it from its perch, causing the took to tumble down towards him. however the maneuver would result in many unforeseen consequences. 

The book fluttered gently down into Blake’s hand, however he soon found that it had been harboring a collection of dust, which promptly coated the air and rained down onto his face. “Goodness gracious!” he grunted, immediately closing his eyes as his face was powdered. “He promptly brought his meaty hands to his face and began to rub the dust away. Surprisingly, all of it didn’t flake to the ground, instead it got stuck to his cheeks and clung to his round chin - the discomfort caused Blake to rub his face more fervently. The action gradually proved successful, but not without taking Blake’s age with it. Each back-and-forth motion brought more and more wrinkles to the man’s changing face, leaving him with a double chin and noticeable jowls. He could even feel a tingling in his mouth made possible by his thickening lips and shifting teeth which went from straight to slightly curved, a side effect of gaining decades of age in a few moments. 

He reopened his eyes, but noticed that things were blurry now. “Oh jeez,” he griped as he began itching his eyes. The action caused his nose to plumpen below, taking up far more real estate on his face. Once small and slender, it rapidly inflated to button-sized with larger nostrils. More wrinkles appeared around his nose while a few straight lines materialized in his forehead, which was rapidly becoming more and more prominent as his hairline crept higher and higher.  

As the thin cloud of dust slowly dissipated, it took some of Blake’s hair with it. His once full head of hair was ravaged by the caustic soot, speedily thinning it second by second. The dark curls straightened and shrunk into thin strands. The wave of thin, silver hair began from his temples and gradually made its way around his head. Blake’s hair became so thin that his scalp was almost visible. What once was a gorgeous mane of millions of dark hairs had been reduced to a dwindling light silver-colored crown.  

Blake’s eyes and cheeks were still itchy, however as he rubbed them, he only made things worse. Dark circles and crow's feet formed around his baby blue eyes whose color was rapidly graying. Once youthful and demure, his eyes grew more narrow and less open, indicative of a man in his senior years. They darkened to a faint hazel as Blake repeatedly blinked, trying to rid himself of this new blurriness. Curious about the troublemaking book in his huge palm, the aging man squinted and tried to make out the title and author. It proved to be a difficult task, but not for long. Accommodating his weaker vision, a pair of lenses appeared in front of his eyes. A titanium brown-colored frame positioned them in place, giving the paunchy man a brand new pair of round-lensed glasses. The kind that only old people wore. 

“Much better,” Blake said, relieved that his weaker eyes could see again. “An Introduction to Classical Romanian Literature,” he read aloud. “This certainly doesn’t belong here,” he said with playful disapproval. “This belongs in the 850 section.”

Luckily, that area was just at the end of the aisle so Blake jovially waddled over to it, humming a little tune to himself as he did. His wide breadth took up the entire aisle. Luckily, putting away the novel was a cinch since there was an open spot right where it should be. Even though it was such a simple task, Blake found himself eagerly wondering what job he would do next as a librarian. However, the dust from before had other ideas and specks of it were still creeping into his sinuses. “God I feel like such a…a…a…ACHOO!”

The sound of Blake’s thunderous sneeze echoed across the floor. Instantly, he felt something tickling his upper lip. Bringing his hand up to it proved that a thick collection of bristles had materialized. It felt like a huge one too since it extended past his lips. Blake smiled once more. He had never been able to grow facial hair, but now he had the thickest mustache on the entire campus. The thought of it caused the old man’s cock to rise once again, but not before another sneeze. 

“Ah….ah….ACHOO!”

“Oh, bless me! Goodness! What is happening to me today?” Blake exclaimed, his cock was now fully erect and visibly tented in his high-waisted khakis. He attempted to peer over his massive stomach, but found he couldn’t even see it. He felt so much different now, like he was on the verge of an orgasm he hadn’t known was coming. Luckily, the second floor mens’ room was only feet away so the huge man wasted no time hobbling inside. It was not a fast process and by the time he had hurled himself inside, his cock was dripping with precum. Pleased to see nobody else in the small bathroom, Blake was about to stroke his thick cock before he noticed the reflection of a huge older man in the mirror. 

“Whoa! Is that me?” 

Blake’s reflection was that of a gargantuan, portly man whose immense proportions challenged his tight clothes and width surpassed that of the mirror. He had to take a few shaky steps backwards to fully see his enormous reflection. He wanted to look away, but found that he couldn’t. His reflection’s domineering gaze and humongous breadth pierced through his frenzied nerves. His intense hazel eyes screamed authority and his portly, king-sized frame demanded attention. Although the old man’s thick bushy white beard masked his face, it couldn’t hide his bewildered expression. 

“Th…there’s no way that’s me. I’m s…so old!” Blake stuttered. Unable to resist the temptation anymore, he reached up and began lightly caressing his clothed cock. Immediately, it hardened beneath his fly, causing his hard cock to become fully erect. It was more noticeable than Blake ever imagined. “I’m…huge,” Blake whispered, using his other hand to give one of his man-boobs a squeeze. His torso, a delicate amalgam of muscle and fat, felt so sensual to touch. Sure, he had the appearance of a stout man, but the rigid walls of muscle underneath function like a layer of bedrock to bolster his fatty body. 

It made him want to touch himself further. The expression of the man in the mirror was stoic yet equally benevolent. It contained so much power and wisdom. 

“I’m gigantic…” Blake growled, his pleasantly deep voice taking on a more aggressive tone. He brought a meaty mitt to his erect cock and began softly caressing it through his khakis. It was so sensitive now that even fully-clothed touches gave him full-body shudders. “I’m so fucking big,” he snarled while beginning to unzip his fly and reach inside. Blake looked deeply into his reflection and reached down inside his custom-sized silk underwear to be immediately rewarded with more full-body tingles as he stroked harder: the temptation impossible to resist. He bared his teeth as his strokes grew more aggressive. Nothing about this man resembled a scraggly-haired college kid. This man had a huge beard and a bushy mustache: the likes of which no teenager could dream of attaining.

Fully alone, Blake took the opportunity to finally grab ahold of his massive gut, which felt extremely rewarding to squeeze. Even though his hands were larger than the majority of men, even they looked puny in comparison to this massive stomach. His gold wedding band looked divine though. It sparkled under the fluorescent light, reminding Blake that he wasn’t some clueless, bumbling kid anymore. He was a man: a married, gay man for that matter. 

“Oh fuck!” Blake breathed heavily as he caressed his erection. “Don’t…think…about…Roy. That…sexy….muscular…man!” Beads of sweat appeared all around Blake’s larger and more wrinkly face as he pumped harder and harder. His feeble pleas turned into grunting that became more and more animalistic by the second. He stared deeply into his own hazel eyes, obsessed with how different he looked. Nobody would ever belittle him ever again. Even though this new man was mostly a kind and gentle giant, his square face and bushy facial hair radiated raw masculinity: the kind that intimidated every new person he met.

“I….look like…such a fucking nerd!” Blake snarled, his deep, gruff voice shaking the bathroom stall doors. The sound of his own anger surprised him; it turned him on even further. It made him feel like a man: something he’d seldom felt until this day, but now it was an addiction. He loved when people called him sir and he loved to be the center of the room. “Such d…dorky clothes,” the huge man cried as he tweaked his hard nipples through his dress shirt. The touch of his paunchy body was not only rewarding, it was also memory-erasing. 

Memories of being an entitled college brat didn’t align with the body in front of him. This body demanded to be worshiped due to its immense and hardly-rivaled size. As one final farewell to his old life, the name Blake Ingalls vanished from the world: forever expunged from his driver’s license and his frat’s website. He had no reason to be terrified though. He wanted to be a new, confident, and jolly man. It only felt natural. But what was his name? 

The nameless man stroked harder, subconsciously knowing that he could never go back to being a college kid. But that was okay. He preferred this life. It was full of authority and so pleasures that he never knew possible. Even if his interests were a little nerdy, what did he care? A man as tough yet knowledgeable as him needed a name that no kid his age would ever want: the kind of name that only old people had. Melvin? Leonard? Benjamin? No, none of those sounded right. 

The burly man growled incessantly, frustrated he didn’t have a name, but too addicted to self-worship to care. Each stroke vanquished more and more his old life to oblivion. His chest hairs swayed like tallgrasses in a breeze, occasionally flicking away moisture from his pulsing, sweaty pecs. Visceral memories of relentless sex with his husband pounded through his head. He thought about the bed they shared. He could recall the collection of pictures on their mantle, many of them were when they were younger and had much fuller heads of hair. He thought about how strong their love still was after fifteen years of marriage. One of the few people to call Mr. Monroe by his first name: Glen.

Glen Monroe. That was his name! It was perfect for the jovial yet stringent librarian he was becoming. Glen Monroe was a domineering man who ran Oak Point University’s library strictly by the book, however his warm and charming personality always won people over to his ways. Fragments of memories splintered away as the paunchy old man neared his climax. No more parties. No more wasting money on cheap liquor and designer clothes. No more cheap hair gel. No more rude frat brothers. No more college. Instead, Glen Monroe was a jolly man beneath a commanding exterior who was happily living his full life as a librarian. His career had molded him into a walking encyclopedia who was more than happy to help students with their research. The man was ready to become Glen and with this revelation, his massive cock finally unleashed a torrent of cum. 

“UNNNNGHH!” Glen cried as he shot into his oversized underwear. A huge puddle of cum quickly made itself visible through his khaki pants, coating both his huge bulge and the underside of his stomach in its goo. His load was massive - the kind that a horned-up teenage boy would produce. And it brought the new librarian pure bliss. The universe had made him Glen Monroe and he was eager to fulfill that destiny. That’s who he was and who he always will be.

After a few slow-moving seconds, Glen’s cock finished firing, leaving him drenched in his potent load. The spent old man could only breathe heavily as he wordlessly surveyed the pungent aftermath. His senses began to kick in when he noticed how uncouth he looked in this moment. “Oh…my,” he panted, his defeated tone of voice indicated both his victory and dissatisfaction with his current state. He was the head librarian after all. He couldn’t be shooting hot loads on himself at work.

Obeying his desires, invisible forces began to clean up the mess. The delta of cum around his cock evaporated from his pants and underwear, leaving them as spotless as before. The forces also tidied up Glen’s blue dress shirt, which had become ruffled during his experience. It  once again stretched taut around his barrel-sized chest and turtle shell-sized back. Even his collar had reclaimed its tight grip around his fatty neck. Glen Monroe gazed deeply into the mirror, studying his handsome, aged face before smiling broadly to reveal his set of white and slightly crooked teeth. He looked untouchable: like the jolly head librarian he was meant to be. 

Glen Monroe left the bathroom feeling like a million bucks. He had an amazing job, amazing staff, and he got to do what he loved everyday. The sixty-five-year-old man lumbered through the seemingly infinite expanse of bookshelves, he absorbed the distinct taps that his polished brown loafers made with each step. He glanced down each aisle for any books askew as he shambled past: a meticulous habit of his. Everything seemed to be in order. However, just as he reached the French Literature section, he noticed the scrawny figure of a tall young man placing books on the shelf. The kid immediately perked up as Glen pivoted toward him. How could he not? The paunchy man’s blue dress shirt was a pop of color that was impossible to miss and he was almost wider than the aisle after all.

“How’s the job treating you, son?” Glen asked, his resounding voice was deeper than the majority of other men.

“It’s going well Mr. Ingalls,” Derek replied. He paused for a brief moment. “How are you today?” “My day has been rather swell so far,” Glen said, his gruff frown lightening to a genuine grin. Most new hires never asked him how his day was. He couldn’t blame them though. He was a rather intimidating individual. He exhaled and reminisced. “You liking school?” 

“I’ve been loving it!” Derek grinned. “I’m in my third year and this is my third school, but I’ve really been enjoying myself here at Oak Point. This campus really cares about my program and it makes me feel right at home.”

Glen smiled and put his thumbs on the small of his back and leaned forward on his loafers. “Ah, I remember how young and restless I was at your age.” He looked up at the ceiling and Derek could see the admiration in his eyes while he reminisced. “I loved school; I was obsessed with studying literature really, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever.” He looked back at Derek. “Just know that acquiring knowledge should never stop once you get that degree.” 

“Oh of course, sir,” Derek replied. “I never want to stop learning about new and exciting things.”

At one point, Glen had to force people to call him sir, but now it had become common knowledge among the staff that most just did it without question. It was a silly little thing, but it always made his day. The old man grinned and although it was partially concealed by his thick white facial hair, there was a demure vulnerability behind his old, hazel eyes. “Young man, that makes me so happy. I’m glad that knowledge has impacted you the way it has me.” 

Derek smiled. He’d been surprised this gruff librarian everyone had told him to fear was actually such a softie. It felt good to get on his boss’s good side right away.

“Ah well, I’m sure my emails are piling up,” Glen said. “But it was nice meeting you, young man. I look forward to seeing you around the library and I hope your academic pursuits continue to reward you handsomely. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thanks Mr. Monroe,” Derek said as the huge man turned around and walked away, treating the young man to an unintended show. Glen Monroe’s massive, beachball-sized buttcheeks were impossible to miss as they were always on display in every pair of pants he wore. His dress shirt tapered to his broad back while his wisps of gray hair flicked in the air conditioning. Derek couldn’t help but feel some admiration for his superior. Even though he took his job a little too seriously, he seemed like such an authentic and smart gentleman who seemed genuinely invested in helping and bolstering Derek’s career. Maybe being a librarian wasn’t such a bad gig after all. 

[visceral-stories]

Finding Job Security

Ko-Fi | Twitter 

As soon as the tires of his mother’s Ford Fusion pounded the suburban pavement, Bryce Abbott immediately opened up his phone in search of a game to play. His mother was in the driver’s seat, taking her seventeen-year-old son to his friend’s house since he had yet to secure his driver’s license, a ritual she was growing tired of. Teaching Bryce how to drive had been a wild ride in itself, especially since the young man was nothing short of accident-prone. On their most recent practice drive, the high schooler had nearly hit a pedestrian in the Whole Foods parking lot. Shortly after, he had cut off two other drivers on the highway when merging into oncoming traffic without using his turn signal. Needless to say, Bryce’s driver’s license was still miles away, especially since his mother now refused to let him drive anywhere beyond  empty parking lots. 

Usually, his mother wasted no time in turning up the volume to her favorite FM radio station when she drove out of their quiet suburban cul-de-sac, but instead she spoke calmly yet firmly. “Bryce, I need to take care of some things real quick at the office before I drop you off. It should only be a few minutes.” Bryce looked up from his phone and grunted petulantly in response. That was a promise his mom had never kept. Like her son, she had a habit of getting sidetracked, only she was a workaholic and he was an irritable and somewhat ditzy seventeen-year-old. 

“And I’m gonna need you to come inside with me. I can’t have you wandering around the building like last time and freaking out all my coworkers.”

“I was playing Pokémon Go!” Bryce insisted. “And then I was just checking out all the cool cars in the lot. Your coworkers have some pretty sweet cars!”

His mother wasn’t convinced. “I know, but it wasn’t fun to have the conversation with my boss about why my kid is obstructing traffic and looking in the windows of everyone’s cars.”

“Fine,” Bryce huffed indignantly. 

“And please be good,” she commanded. 

Bryce had gone back to the game on his phone. “I will,” he said, not bothering to look up.

“Please, just promise me.”

Bryce rolled his eyes. It wasn’t his fault his mom worked at the most boring place on earth. But he knew it wouldn’t be wise to argue with his driver, so reluctantly he replied. “Fine, I promise.” 

Bryce remained glued to his phone until he reached the front door. The new Pokémon Go update was irresistible and he was pleased to find that his mom’s work was a Poké-stop. At least there was something interesting about this boring office, especially since he knew that he’d be here for awhile. 

He followed his mother through a door that read “west entrance” that led into a waiting area connected to a broad corridor. The amalgam of white and brick walls did a decent job of offsetting how boring this place looked. 

“Hi Val,” chirruped the tender voice of the receptionist. “How are you, girl?”

“Hi Sofia, I’m doing well,” Bryce’s mother replied sweetly, adjusting the purse on her shoulder. 

Bryce glanced over at the receptionist and immediately felt daunted. She had styled raven black hair that perfectly framed her face and immaculately contrasted the pastel of her light blue dress shirt. She was smiling broadly and looked to be in her late twenties, meaning she was far out of Bryce’s league. “And who is this?” she asked as her and Bryce made eye contact. 

“This is Bryce, my youngest.” “Well, it’s very nice to meet you Bryce,” Sofia said, although her tone was so bubbly that it seemed inauthentic. It felt like she was talking to him like a little kid. 

“Nice to meet you, Sofia,” Bryce replied before cringing at why he’d chosen to address her by name. 

Luckily, Sofia didn’t seem to mind. “So, what brings you two to the office?”

“I’ve gotta print some files and send them off before the weekend,” Bryce’s mother replied. “And our printer’s been acting up at home, so here we are.” 

Sofia tittered once more and Bryce couldn’t help but notice her tits bounce when she laughed. Hoping no one had noticed, he decided to quickly turn around and glance at the waiting area behind him, which was tiny and desolate. There was a lone coffee table and three black chairs that looked well-kept but also like they hadn't been changed in decades. The only other people in sight were those conversing by the cubicles around twenty feet away or so.

“Okay Bryce, I’ll be back in a few,” Bryce’s mother said before heading towards the office. “Be good!” 

“I will,” Bryce said. His cheeks reddened as he heard Sofia laugh at that comment. He promptly sat down in one of the black chairs before returning to his phone. He hated that his mom still talked to him like he was a kid, especially in front of a hot girl. It was embarrassing! Plus, it wasn’t like he was disruptive, he just had trouble sitting still for long periods of time.

Sofia started typing on her desktop, but still maintained her cheeriness. “So how’s school going for you, Bryce?” 

Bryce’s heart start to beat faster. “Oh, um…school’s going okay,” he said absent-mindedly. “Yeah, what classes are you taking?” 

“Uh…just general classes,” Bryce said as opened up his camera app. He studied his face and ran a hand through his messy bangs in an effort to spruce them up for Sofia, who was still very interested in talking to him for some reason. “I’m in math, science, English, photography…social studies….” he trailed off.

“Ve-ry nice!” Sofia praised after a few seconds of peaceful yet awkward silence. Her tone reminded Bryce of an enthusiastic preschool teacher. “Do you have a job?”

“No, not right now,” Bryce honestly replied. The truth was he hadn’t been able to keep one. He was too flighty and didn’t have the patience to run a register, wait on customers, or serve food. He wished he could find one he liked though, having some money would be nice for a change.

“Well, we’re always taking applications here,” Sofia said chipperly. “We would love to have new employees.” “Really?” Bryce said, finally mustering the courage to look up from his phone. 

“Yes, you could certainly apply,” Sofia said, still typing away on her keyboard. “I’m sure your mother would love working alongside you!”

“I doubt it,” Bryce replied. He hated working and it wasn’t like his job history would do him any favors. He’d never kept one for longer than a few months. He decided to open Pokémon Go to curb his nervousness. However, as he noticed his swiping was starting to get less fluid and it took more force for him to play the game. His hands also felt rougher for some reason. Maybe he needed to put lotion on them more often.  

Sofia, meanwhile, continued her spiel of promoting her workplace to the point where Bryce couldn’t help but zone out. “We have flexible availability. And we offer employees the chance to work from home. We also have an excellent 401k program and our health insurance policies are top-notch. We offer-”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’m cut out for office work,” Bryce abruptly interjected, breaking eye contact from his phone. He punctuated his uncharacteristic interruption with a wry half-chuckle to make the moment less awkward. “It just seems so…boring. Oh, um…no offense.”

“Oh well, I completely understand, Mr. Abbott,” Sofia replied more solemnly than before. “It’s not a job for everyone.”

Bryce nodded curtly. Unsure of what else to say, he shifted his attention back to his phone.  As he did, his eyes widened with horror when he realized that it had…shrunk somehow? Or had his hands grown much, much larger. They had somehow grown to the size of oven mitts. “What in the fuck?” he mumbled aloud. 

The receptionist perked up again. “I’m sorry. What was that Mr. Abbott?”

“Oh…um s-sorry,” Bryce stuttered as his heart was beating faster now than ever before. Was he having an allergic reaction or something? In a matter of moments, his hands had tripled in size. Not only that, but they also felt much more rugged than before. Opening up his palm, he even noticed calluses just below his meaty fingers. He trembled as he looked back up at Sofia who had stopped typing on her keyboard and was now looking at him. “Hey, do my hands look funny to you?” 

Sofia craned her neck and looked puzzled. “Not particularly, why?”

“My…my hands,” Bryce sputtered. “They’re HUGE!”

Sofia chuckled before realizing Bryce was being serious. She lowered her tone after a few awkward seconds. “I really don’t know what you’re going on about, sir. Your hands look fine to me.” 

“No..m…my hands…they’re,” Bryce’s voice weakened. As he stared deeper at his enormous hands, more feelings of discomfort began sweltering beneath his skin. His armpits started to get sweatier. “W…w…where is the bathroom at?”

“Just down the hall and to the right,” the receptionist replied unemotionally. 

“Thank you, Sofia,” Bryce tacitly replied, standing up suddenly and nearly knocking over a small coffee table. He scurried down the hall like an animal with its tail in-between its legs while his breathing and heart rate only quickened. His hands were so large now that he couldn’t even put his phone into his shorts’ pocket and was instead forced to hold it. Nearing the office space, a group of employees gave him confused looks as he passed, making the panicked young man even more self-conscious. 

Finally, he arrived and wasted no time throwing open the men’s room door and hurling his body inside. He scrambled inside, flying past an aisle of vacant urinals. As he saw his scrawny figure in the mirror, he froze in disbelief. “What the fuck?”

Bryce’s hands had swollen to the size of kettlebells, with one still tightly gripping his phone. He would’ve had no trouble palming a kickball or a basketball for that matter. As disgusted as Bryce was, he couldn’t stop staring. There was something captivating about his new meaty fists, something almost Herculean. He looked like he could knock anything down with one swift punch, a powerful idea the lanky team had never considered before. 

“This is so weird,” he trembled, feeling equally nervous and empowered at what was happening. As his eyes met his reflection, he realized that his hands were not the only thing different about him. His shoulders had broadened into a rigid plateau that pulled his light blue t-shirt up and partially exposed his navel. “Jason won’t believe this! I’ve g…gotta take a pic,” Bryce muttered excitedly, thinking about his best friend, a kid as lanky as him. Opening up his clenched palm, Bryce looked at his phone screen and waited for it to activate, only…it didn’t. He frowned and jammed one of his cumbersome fingers into the power button only for him to realize it was dead. “Shit!” he cussed. He forgot that Pokémon Go ate up a lot of his phone battery. 

The young man grunted and tried to jam his phone into his board shorts. The action required a lot of effort, but he eventually was able to make it work. Facing his reflection again, he realized how small his new broad shoulders made his head look. He felt like a freak: a weird, gangling freak.

Just then, the door swung open and two businessmen, one tall and one short, stepped inside deeply engrossed in conversation. They reminded Bryce of the douchey jocks from his English class, only they were much older and substantially more muscular. Cocky smirks appeared on both of their hunky faces as they stepped closer. Although Bryce was a moderately tall kid at a height of 5’10”, these guys both had a few inches on him. 

“You gotta be like this guy Kev,” the short one said as he sidled up next to Bryce, his booming voice echoing across the small bathroom. “He looks like he never skips arm day!” 

Bryce’s blood ran cold. He had no idea what this man was talking about. “Oh yeah…um for sure,” he replied nervously, his face immediately turning scarlet. He hadn’t even expected to be acknowledged by these thirty-somethings dressed in business suits.

The tall one stepped right in front of Bryce, giving the young man a close-up of his half-exposed chest and a whiff of his rustic, earthy-smelling cologne. “Dude, what’s your secret?” 

“M…my secret?” Bryce squeaked. He was so nervous that he hadn’t even realized his arms had started growing. His biceps and triceps swelled forth, forcing his sleeves to rise towards his broad, angular shoulders, immediately straining the cotton over their enlarging mass. 

The tall one stepped closer, so close that Bryce could smell the mint from his breath. “Yeah! How big are your arms anyway?!”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“He’s gotta be at least eighteen inches!” the short one loudly remarked.

The tall one practically screamed in response. “Eighteen inches? Are you fucking blind bro? His arms have to be at least twenty!”

“My…huh?” Bryce said before noticing that his arms were not the muscleless twigs they once were. They were very large and looked like they had doubled in size. From the looks of it, they were still growing, tethering Bryce’s t-shirt tightly to his figure. Time seemed to slow down as he curiously flexed his muscles. Not only that, but the blood racing through his veins caused them to rise to the surface. After a few self-indulgent flexes, Bryce’s new arms had swollen to match the man’s description. “Holy shit,” he whispered to himself as his anxious frown morphed into a half-grin. 

The tall one barked again, this time more demanding than before. “So what’s the measurement big guy? Are you deaf or something?” 

“Twenty-one!” Bryce erupted. “I have…twenty-one inch biceps.”

“That’s unreal!” the short guy exclaimed while the tall one just whistled. 

Bryce couldn’t agree more. He was just glad his guess had been satisfactory. His biceps gained a few more inches in response before solidifying into twin behemoths that would make professional bodybuilders jealous. A cocky smirk appeared across the young man’s face, his joy unable to be hidden. Even though he looked like a freak, it felt amazing to have these professional-looking guys gawk over him. “Yeah, I…um…work out a whole lot,” Bryce added mildly, his soft-spoken nature did not match the burgeoning confidence he was feeling. 

“How much do you bench bro?!” the tall one asked again. The two men were acting like adoring schoolchildren and Bryce was savoring every disorienting second of it. 

“I dunno, at least 100 pounds,” Bryce said, just randomly throwing out a number while he was too busy ogling at the brawny, muscular arms he’d been gifted. They looked to be as wide as his head! His veneration was short-lived as the two men burst out into raucous laughter.

“So he’s a comedian too!” the short one said before slapping Bryce on the shoulder, causing him to flinch. The contact also caused him to sprout even higher, gaining an additional three inches that made his clothing look even more ridiculous and intensified the scrawniness of his already gaunt figure. “Come on though, what is it for real?”

“600 pounds!” Bryce exclaimed proudly. “I can bench 600 easy, but my PR is 640!” 

In dramatic fashion, a shockwave of muscle exploded through Bryce’s body. His legs gained additional muscle, preventing him from becoming too top-heavy. However the real change happened at the seventeen-year-old’s torso. Two mounds began to rise from his flat chest as they swelled forth like inflating airbags. The blue t-shirt Bryce had been wearing was quickly yanked to its absolute limit, exposing more of his midriff and shoulders. Delicately coiling his burgeoning cleavage, the frayed fibers of his shirt held on for dear life. His nipples followed suit and quickly hardened until they lewdly protruded against his strained shirt.

“Holy shit! That’s impressive, dude!”

Bryce loved the sound of that. Realizing he was growing bigger than both men, he straightened his posture as his back started to widen out from behind him. His angular shoulders gained much needed definition as thick muscles pushed out from behind them. The changes spread down to his lower back, which swelled to the same muscular size as the frontside of his torso. Bryce rolled his shoulders, reveling in the power that his new masculine prowess. His grin only broadened as he looked down at the mesmerized faces of the businessmen.

“So what’s your name dude?” 

“Bryan,” the young man replied. He was unaware that he had said the wrong name; his mind was too preoccupied by the sight of his bulbous pecs which were still rising like dough. He couldn’t resist the urge to cup one in his hand and feel the thick wall of muscle. 

“Are you new here?” 

Bryan realized that the men actually thought he worked here. He couldn’t resist the urge to toy with them further. “Yeah! I’m actually new here. I just started…last week.”

“Right on!” the tall one said. He patted Bryan on the back the same way a football player would to a teammate before heading to an open urinal. “I’ll see you ‘round, Bryan. Nice meeting you, dude!”

The shorter one patted Bryan on the back and followed his friend to the urinals. “Hopefully, we’ll see each other at the gym!” he said.

“Hopefully,” Bryan replied solemnly as he stared at his reflection in disbelief. He felt so powerful, similar to Hercules, if only Hercules had a pimply face. He grinned even further, finding himself obsessed with the validation from these men. It would be nice if he got more of it. If these athletic muscled jocks thought he was a gym junkie, then he could surely fool others. With that mentality, Bryan headed towards the doorway only to find that his hulking shoulders nearly surpassed it. “Whoa,” he breathed to himself as he slowly walked through it and out onto the office floor.

Swaggering out into the open corridor caused Bryan’s traps to swell outward, their sharp angles protecting his neck like an upside-down lotus flower. Closing his eyes, Bryan could feel his neck thickening to accommodate his new traps. His chest simultaneously stretched forth, growing so large now that it challenged the capability of the male body. It inflated like a balloon, endowing him with even more thick muscle. As he imagined himself walking around with these jugs, an audible ripping sound broke his rumination.

Looking down, Bryan immediately noticed that his pecs were partially exposed beneath his tattered shirt. Even weirder, his nipples looked much larger than before, almost appearing swollen. They rivaled the size of thimbles and served as caps to his brick-like pecs. Bryan felt the urge to tweak them before a gurgling sound in his stomach caught his attention. 

“Shit, that’s what I get for skipping lunch,” he muttered to himself as he felt an intense hunger. 

Just then, a cough from a passing group of official-looking individuals caught Bryan’s attention. Directing his gaze towards the group, Bryan locked eyes with another muscular man who was looking right at him. Not thinking twice, Bryan spoke up. “Hey man! Know where I can get some food around here?” His voice echoed for a moment and he realized he’d been speaking louder than he meant to. 

The man stopped in his tracks as did the rest of his little entourage. He immediately broke eye contact to pretend as if he wasn’t staring. “Oh, um… There are some vending machines down at the east end.”

“Oh, nice!” Bryan said excitedly. “And where is that exactly?”

The man now looked confused as he pointed down to a long hall perpendicular to the waiting lounge. “It’s just down that way, sir.” He glared at Bryan’s exposed pecs before glaring back at him. 

“Awesome! Thanks dude!” Bryan replied jovially, oblivious to the man’s disdain. As he took his first step, his clothing began a drastic metamorphosis. The frayed cotton of Bryan’s t-shirt regenerated, covering up the exposed areas of his chest and back. The stretching fabric reached the bottoms of his meaty pecs before it split off in two different directions and reformed up by his shoulders. A spiffy shirt collar burst forth and folded around the young man’s neck, quickly accompanied by a stream of buttons that stretched across the center of his torso. An inundation of black stitching then spewed forth, swallowing the ratty blue cotton and rapidly converting it to polyester. It repaired the frayed fibers by his clavicle and promptly stretched slightly past his waist. 

Bryan glanced down, still feeling the same breezy feeling as before. Realizing the top two buttons of his brand new black polo shirt were undone, he let out a dopey laugh and smirked. His pecs were so huge that he always had problems buttoning nice shirts around them. Their heft also reminded him that he was not as agile as he once was. His footfalls, usually quick and thoughtless, were now cumbersome and meticulous. His pecs hardly shook when he walked too, meaning they primarily consisted of thick, impenetrable muscle on display for all to see. 

Leading with his muscular chest now, Bryan entered the narrow hallway, which he nearly filled completely now. It had to only be six feet across or so. He noticed this when a group of office workers had to reposition their group into a single-file line to pass by. “They gotta make these hallways wider, huh?” Bryan bellowed, his voice filling it entirely. No one responded, instead they just averted their gaze. That only caused Bryan to smile broader. It felt kind of empowering to be feared. 

“How’s it going today, guys?!” Bryan bellowed once more to another group of men passing through. As his voice filled the space, The only acknowledgment he received was a few nods and fake smiles. “Buncha stuff-shirts,” he muttered accidentally under his breath. Simultaneously, his back blossomed into a rigid column of muscle, widening and shielding him like a thick turtle shell. His polo was now stretched taut about his burly upper body.

The hallway finally reached an open office area, greeting the burly young man to a sight of gray office cubicles. The sight of people bustling about and the clatter of keyboards typing was not very welcoming. Bryan grimaced and wondered how people did this all day, especially his mother. He imagined the displeased expression on her face when she saw the flirtatious way that he was dressed. But it wasn’t his fault. Looking at his massive upper body, he knew he was bigger than most kids his age and she should understand that it posed some peculiar problems. 

“Whoa!” Bryan exclaimed as he nearly ran into a skinny guy with thick glasses that walked in his way. “Watch it, little man!” he barked as the guy scampered off to which Bryan just rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” he snorted, relieved that he could finally see a vending machine in the distance. His stomach released another growl to reinforce his point. Not only that, but his abdomen enlarged beneath his tight polo, its featureless surface quickly giving way to a tight, rippling eight pack. The taut muscles became so large that they made noticeable indentations beneath his black polo. To complete his new larger stomach, Bryan’s obliques flared out, like a sharp frill guarding his abdomen. The young man’s dark gray board shorts clung tightly around his midsection, but his hunger distracted him from the constrictive sensation. 

Bryan sidled up to the vending machine and excitedly peered inside. Ravenously scouring the collection of cheap snacks, his eyes finally landed on a bright red bag of Skittles. The hungry man promptly inserted his cash and pressed the buttons, his body stretched a few inches taller, now allowing him to see over the dusty roof of the 6’0” tall machine. Thinking nothing of it, he instead watched as the wire spun and the pouch plummeted down. It took Bryan a bit of effort to squeeze his meaty hands inside the machine. When he pulled them back, he noticed that his forearms looked thicker. He smiled, impressed that his daily workouts at the gym had been paying off. Stepping aside from the machine, he noticed his shorts had…black loops over them for some reason? 

He didn’t think about that for too long though as he ravenously tore open the bag and crudely poured a bunch of the sugary candies into his mouth. He began chewing before stopping abruptly. The overwhelmingly sweet taste, something he’d grown up on, did not have the same effect it once did. It tasted much more processed and undesirable now. It tasted so bad that he felt the need to spit it out. Luckily, he noticed a trash can across the hall, so he promptly rushed inside and relieved his tastebuds of that unpleasantness. 

“BLEGGHH!” he exclaimed with disgust before frustratedly chucking the whole bag in the garbage. Why on Earth had he chosen such a sugary snack? His stomach rumbled once again, reminding him that a man his size needed more than just a measly bag of candy for lunch. 

Bryan surveyed the liminal and empty room, noticing a few empty tables, a tall black refrigerator, and a microwave in the corner. His stomach rumbled once more and he remembered that he needed food now. Hesitating for a moment, he quickly scrambled over to the fridge, hoping there would be something for him to sneakily eat that was tastier. It felt a little wrong to steal, but Bryan rationalized that his hunger was more important. Plus, it wasn’t like he worked here. His incongruous attire of a black polo and red gym shorts was a dead giveaway.

Throwing open the door, Bryan was greeted to a fridge stuffed full of food and drinks, most of it labeled. His eyes darted past the array of soda cans and paper bags until they landed on a huge, rectangular piece of blue tupperware on the top shelf. Examining it further, he noticed a yellow post-it note with the name “Bryan” on it. What an odd coincidence.

“Hopefully the other Bryan won’t mind,” Bryan muttered as he picked up the tupperware with his oven mitt sized hands. He smugly snatched a plastic water bottle sitting next to it too. Peering through the clear underside, he could make out a mix of broccoli, rice, and chicken. It looked delicious. He reckoned it must’ve been at least 1200 calories stuffed into that container.

Plopping the tupperware down on a high table, Bryan opened a drawer and grabbed a paper plate. He dumped the contents onto it and placed it in the microwave, his hunger mounting even more. He leaned against the kitchen table and waited, placing his hands on his broad waist for a moment. Feeling the desire to go on his phone while he waited, Bryan reached toward his pocket only to be immediately thwarted by his boxing-glove-sized hands. Mildly perturbed, he opted to instead use two of his fingers to reach inside the small pocket of his tight red gym shorts, which after a few tries, proved successful. However, the iPhone suddenly slipped from his grasp. It would’ve plummeted towards the ground had it not magically latched itself around one of the loops on his shorts. 

“What the hell?” Bryan asked. 

The iPhone swiftly began to radically metamorphosize. First, a black antenna sprouted from the top of it while the rectangular screen grew smaller and smaller. The camera lenses vanished as a black plastic covering swallowed the entire object. Next to the tall antenna, two circular knobs formed on the top, one for the volume and one for channel detection. The power button on the side of the black object swelled larger, becoming a push-to-talk toggle. The volume buttons followed suit and quickly shrunk in size, becoming much less pronounced than before. In a matter of seconds, Bryan’s once rectangular iPhone had been reduced to a much smaller two-way radio. 

“M…my phone!” Bryan said helplessly. He stared at the new radio in disbelief, unable to form the words. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his shorts were vibrating on their own. They slowly unraveled as more fabric materialized from nowhere and draped his thighs and knees. The scarlet hue of his shorts was rapidly darkening, turning into a deep shade of mahogany. The blend of polyester and elastane of his pants converted to a new mix of cotton and nylon. As the shorts reached his knees, they resembled capris. Studying himself further, he noticed a black leather belt coiled around his waist. Had that been there before?

DING! DING! 

Bryan perked up and realized his food was ready. He wasted no time snatching the plate and sitting down at the table. His mind was frenzied, unsure whether to focus on his changing attire or his fervent esurience. Ultimately deciding on the latter, he promptly began devouring the meal while taking huge bites. As he did, he was clueless to his changing lower body. His thighs widened, taking up more and more space on the chair. His shins followed suit as they gradually reached the same circumference. 

As Bryan continued noshing away, he was propelled upward as his rump inflated beneath him, changing from bony to huge and cushiony. Two buttons formed above each round buttcheek while more fabric cascaded past his knees. The maroon hue had blackened in a matter of seconds, becoming a new pair of black pants with distinct creases above his legs. His cock inflated while he ate, changing from unnoticeable to a brazenly visible bulge that was tightly pressed against the fly of his pants. A metal zipper etched itself above his new meaty and mature cock.  For a moment, it remained upright before bending against Bryan’s meaty bulge, expertly displaying it further. If Bryan hadn’t been focused on devouring his food, he would’ve noticed how horny the changes were making him, but instead he quickly grew accustomed to the feeling. A man of his size was often turned on, usually by himself, and he always felt like a walking sex symbol whenever he patrolled the office. To finalize his new manhood, a singular black button appeared just below his pant loops, fastening the tight pants to Bryan’s huge lower body.

His pair of blue and white athletic sneakers were next to change. Years of wear and tear were instantly eliminated as the shoes took on a shiny black hue. Bryan’s mid-length white socks also blackened and dwindled down until they rested around his ankle, becoming much more accommodating to his larger feet. The rubber sole of his new black shoes hardened, making them much more slip-resistant. The young man’s once casual outfit was now an all-black uniform designated for work, right down to his shoes. 

The low sound of footsteps caught Bryan’s attention and he perked up just in time to see a short black man step inside. He was stocky and was adorned in an all-black uniform that delicately hugged his muscled frame. The veins on his arms looked ready to pop. Most interestingly, the man was wearing a cast on his right arm. The stoic expression on his rounded face lightened into a jovial smile as the two made eye contact. “Hey Bryan!” he exclaimed, revealing his shiny white teeth as he walked towards his table. “Long time no see!” 

“Oh…um…hello there,” Bryan replied awkwardly. He still had a mouthful of food and instinctively cupped his hand over his mouth to prevent any food from falling out. 

Hearing his name out loud sounded wrong somehow, like a man of his size didn’t have a name like Bryan. But he didn’t know what else he would be called. 

The short man kept walking closer and closer until he was crouching down to give Bryan a tender side hug. Terribly confused, Bryan wrapped one of his arms around the man’s muscled shoulder and lightly tapped him on the back. “It’s so good to see you, man!” the man said excitedly. 

“Whoa, what happened to your arm?” Bryan asked as the two broke their embrace, unsure of what else to say. He caught a glimpse of his black polo sleeve from the corner of his eye and looked down further at his immense frame. Why had he chosen to wear an all-black uniform to his mom’s work? And why was the guy in front of him wearing the same one?

“Tripped on a goddam rug while renovating my house,” the guy chuckled while sidling up to the fridge. “Gotta be the dumbest fuckin’ reason to break it.” He produced out a tinfoil cylinder and plopped it down on Bryan’s table before he sidled back over and sat in a chair. “How’s the job been, man?” he asked while pulling a sandwich out of its tinfoil prison.

Bryan wasn’t listening. He was too distracted by the thin black uniform he was wearing. It was so unlike his fashion style yet it accentuated his muscles excellently. It cradled his chest, vacuum-pressed his thunderous thighs, and made everything feel…so on display. He never got tired of seeing his huge, juicy…manly…meaty muscles. 

“Ey! Earth to Brent!”

“Huhh?” Brent asked as he perked up and immediately sat up straight. As he did, he felt an itchy feeling start to appear on his chest. It felt like millions of tiny follicles were forming across his exposed cleavage. “What’d you say Andre?” He wondered how he’d known the man’s name, maybe it was on his RFID card. 

“I asked how’s the job been, dummy.” 

“The job’s been…chill,” Brent replied, his mind becoming gradually inundated by testosterone. Millions of tiny black strings began to emerge from his hairless chest as his confusion turned into relaxation. The hair was sprouting with impressive speed too and its distinct ebon hue was impossible to ignore. “I love…working here,” he muttered, his lax tone almost sounded inebriated. Tufts of hair flared across his forearms and legs, spreading up and down his limbs. The clusters of hair connected beneath Brent’s polo, gifting the once hairless teen with much more body hair than the average man. It was odd being a hirsute seventeen-year-old, but that thought didn’t feel permanent. His nipples swelled larger and made circular indentations beneath his polo. Feeling a new itchy feeling, he glanced down and realized how hairy his once barren chest had become. It now had a forest of black hair on prime display for everyone. Seventeen-year-olds didn’t get huge, barrel-size chests, only older men did. Bryan’s conic nipples hardened at the thought. He loved imagining himself as someone different…someone older. He wanted to be somebody more mature if it meant growing larger. 

“Yeah, it’s much better than being a bouncer at a shitty club downtown, isn’t it?” Andre replied before taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Bouncers are assholes,” Brent agreed. His eyes widened as he heard his voice. It sounded lower, like he was imitating his teacher or something. “Dealing with drunk twenty-somethings all night and having to stay awake on shitty energy drinks was the worst!” Brent wondered why he was saying these things. However, to corroborate his words, short flashes of memories of him standing outside a club downtown suddenly came to him. He would have to scan IDs, let in lines of people, and break up the occasional fight.

“We make much better security guards than bouncers,” Andre agreed.

“A real man flaunts his muscles in the daylight,” Brent boomed, feeling impassioned to make any excuse to talk about himself. His voice dropped much lower, residing at a permanent baritone that permanently erased his adolescent vocal squeaks. Vainly he ogled at his own gains once more, obsessed with the feeling of his sexy body on display. 

Andre laughed and rolled his eyes playfully. “Typical Brent, can’t go five minutes without bringing up your goddam muscles.”

“What can I say?” Brent shrugged, although it was less noticeable due to his huge traps. “It’s what they hired me for.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment while memories of him striding down the office halls and outside the front door inundated his head. He’d been here for a few years now. It was a lax place and nothing dramatic ever happened. The simple yet alluring black uniform accentuated his massive body as he flounced around the office, forcing onlookers to gaze at his enormous, masculine body, the very kind that seemed lifted right from the pages of a dirty magazine. He had the body the jocks at his old high school would drool over. He reopened his eyes and smiled even broader. “My muscles are looking pretty great, aren’t they?” he gloated before flexing his arms once more and found himself obsessed with the way the short cotton sleeves curled back, neatly framing his bulging and veiny biceps.

Andre was too busy chewing on his sandwich to reply so Brent continued to feed his ego further. 

“The guys at the gym say I’m a legend. I’m larger than most men in my high school. I was in science class the other day and-”

“You’re still in school?” Andre blurted quizzically. 

“Yeah,” Brent replied, slowly becoming accustomed to his deep, unfamiliar voice. “At least…I think I am.”

Andre chuckled. “Crazy to think it’s been twenty years.”

“Twenty years….” Brent repeated solemnly. “It’s really been twenty years since…high school?” he asked. The sentence didn’t seem true, but the recollections flashing through his head said otherwise. The year he thought he was born was now the year he’d graduated. “Yeah, those really were the days,” he continued, his mouth just a vessel to recite the new memories as they entered his head. “You and me on the football team, partying on the weekends. No worries at all.” Brent’s youthful face started to harden, taking on age and a few additional wrinkles. His hairline crept up a few centimeters, revealing a more prominent forehead. 

Andre nodded in agreement. “That was the shit, man! But we didn’t have muscles like this when we were seventeen!”

Brent smirked. His nose and lips ballooned forth, taking up more space on his face. “Hell nah! Now I gotta worry about credit card bills and I gotta pay alimony for my kids and shit!” His cheeks broadened and his chin rounded out before quickly being covered by a dark black goatee. The hair on his head finished darkening until it was the same shade. The long strands shortened into thin black bristles. Faint wrinkles appeared around Brent’s eyes as more memories came pouring in. He wasn’t just a man in his late thirties; he was a father! Well, a divorced one, but he still made an effort to be a part of his kids’ lives. His son Cameron and daughter Janine were both in elementary school, but not only that, they were black. Brent could remember being a black man too. If he was their biological father, he must’ve been black.

“I know whatchu mean,” Andre replied, oblivious to how the man in front of him was radically shifting. “But the gym makes me feel better than football ever did.”

“For sure,” Brent replied, his head still in a trance. The idea of being a strong black man was latched to his mind and he had trouble remembering what his past life was. He was a single, swinging, ripped bachelor with two kids he loved. The amalgam of fatherly pride and macho adrenaline was a concoction far stronger than any feeling the aging man could ever imagine.

To legitimize his musings, his body rapidly darkened in pigmentation. More melanin saturated his skin cells until they took on a brown pigment. Brent rolled his shoulders and watched the color glide across his formerly pale skin. It was purely intoxicating. Not only did he feel like an older muscular black man, the universe was fulfilling those desires and the realization his skin was changing only inflated his pompous ego further. The past felt so hazy now, but the future full of these exciting new memories seemed so exhilarating and inviting. Brent smiled even broader, revealing his white teeth and excitement to dissolve into this life. He wanted to hold onto this confidence forever. 

He breathed in and out, savoring the new smell of his subtle manly musk. It seemed to take him higher than he ever imagined to the point where he couldn’t remember his old name, or his old life for that matter. All that mattered was being an enormous man who may be self-obsessed and superficial when it came to romantic pursuits, but was still a loving father to his kids. To finalize Brent’s change, a lanyard materialized around his neck with an RFID badge that had a picture of him with the name Trent Robinson. 

A low, garbled voice came through Brent’s walkie-talkie. “Hey Trent! Can you meet me at the south wing?” was all that audible before the stereo cut out.

“Oh damn, looks like I gotta give Eddy his break now,” Trent said, his body was now fully transformed and unrecognizable from the skinny white young man that he used to be. He held out his hand to Andre who promptly gave it a firm high five. “I’ll catch you ‘round though, man. Glad to have you back!” he said before standing up and swaggered out of the breakroom. 

“Later, man,” Andre said before continuing to devour his sandwich wrap.

As Trent stepped back out into the hall, the feeling of sexiness had doubled. There was no more teenage doubt or confusion because he felt fully self-assured as a muscular black man. He was a full-time security guard, the largest in the office in fact, which was a distinction he carried with flagrant pride. His wide and domineering gait left no doubt that he was a musclebound behemoth. His bulge and butt were on full display as he walked, both bouncing with salacious sophistication. 

Accustomed to being the subject of other people’s gawking, it was an open secret that Trent Robinson had a tendency to flirt with every woman in the office. Sometimes even men, but that was something that the muscled stud kept to himself. His lanyard swung between his pecs as he made his rounds, his tree-trunk thighs nearly brushed together as he walked, and his RFID badge dangled just above his abdomen. 

Trent’s firm, hairy chest was always what most people inadvertently looked at as he passed. He loved to make eye contact with all of the older office prudes, it made him seem more intimidating and mystical that way. It was like he was the antithesis to the professional world they were to shut him out of. His tight, ill-fitting clothes always received the dirtiest looks and he loved every second of it. As Trent swaggered around a corner, he found himself in a familiar-looking reception office. He paused as he noticed a familiar-looking raven-haired woman typing on her computer. 

The woman perked up and turned towards Trent. “Hey there handsome, how are you today?” she asked flirtatiously. 

“Hey Sofia,” Trent tenderly replied as he flicked his shirt collar. The python in his pants twitched as he looked at her beautiful smile. “I’m doing well today, I can’t complain,” he replied in his signature low, suave voice that was enough to give anyone goosebumps. As he sidled up to her desk, his enormous chest was now at the receptionist’s eye level. “So what are you doing after work?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I have anything planned tonight,” Sofia replied. “What about you?”

“Me neither,” Trent replied. “Maybe we could go out to dinner tonight? Maybe we could go to that one fancy place at Vine and Jackson?”

“Oh Rutherford’s, I love that place!” Sofia piped up excitedly. Her tits bounced when she did and Trent’s cock bobbed in his pants once more. “I’d like that a lot” she added sweetly. 

“Awesome, how about I pick you up at 7?” Trent said while drumming his finger on the reception desk.

“Yes, that sounds perfect!”

“Great!” Trent said. As he stood upright again, his muscle tits bounced and Sofia got a show of her own. The two had been going out for a month or so and enjoyed each other’s company immensely. Trent was always a true gentleman during their dinners, but the real fun began after when Trent took Sofia back to his house. Over the last month, the two had found that they were extremely sexually compatible, often going multiple rounds deep into the night. Trent was so grateful his kids didn’t live with him so the two could be as loud as they wanted. “We’ll have quite a fun night,” he said with a wink.

“I’ll see you then, Trent!”

“See you then, babe,” he said while playfully mouthing a kiss with his huge lips. The macho stud then swaggered away. The feeling of his semi-erect dick and butt bouncing in his pants never got old and it made him feel like a walking sex symbol. The only thing on his mind was the exciting night of passion that awaited him.  

[visceral-stories]

Big fan! Keep up the good work my favorite stuff is your age progression/ weight gain stuff. Is that the next theme for your next story?

Thanks! I love to hear that I'm providing sexy content. Let's just say that I have both a weight gain and muscle growth-based story in the works, and they're both age progressions. Can't wait to get 'em out there when I'm able.