Alex D

This is a sequel to the Apron Costume Shop story.

By the time Connor found the aprons again, he’d already forgotten ever seeing them before. Well, some version of Connor had seen them before…even if not this one.

They were in the back seat of Mason’s car in a crinkled costume-shop bag, wedged between a half-empty case of hard seltzer and a book bag. Connor dragged the bag out by one handle while they were parked in front of the Delta-Alpha-Delta house, both of them half-dressed and already late for the brothers annual costume bash.

“Dude, you promised to get us real costumes!” Mason huffed. “Tell me these aprons aren’t our costumes!”

Connor reached into the bag and pulled out the red one first. It unfolded in a bright square of cotton and cheap black lettering:

KING OF THE GRILL

He laughed immediately. “Oh, absolutely these are our costumes.”

Mason took the second apron and held it up by the neck loop. Dark blue denim, big stitched pocket, silver letters across the chest:

ASK ME ABOUT MY MARINADE

Mason stared at it, then at Connor, and started laughing too. “This is so bad.”

“Exactly! It’s perfect.” Connor draped the red apron over his bare chest. “We go as two dads!”

Mason slipped the blue one over his head and started creating a back-story to help his general disappointment in his friend’s decision in costumes subside. “Two divorced dads, specifically.”

“Two hot divorced dads” Connor retorted before Mason could even finish.

“From a cul-de-sac in Ohio!”

Both men laughed for a few seconds - proud of their addenda to the underwhelming presentation of the aprons. Connor adjusted the neck strap and frowned for a second. “Do these feel… weird to you?”

“Weird how?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know.” He tugged at the apron front. “Familiar? Maybe?”

Mason looked down at his own apron and shrugged. “Probably because they’re the most spiritually correct costumes we’ve ever had.”

That felt like enough of an answer. Connor snorted, grabbed a backwards baseball cap from the dash, and slapped it onto Mason’s head. Mason retaliated by swiping Connor’s plastic sunglasses from the cupholder and shoving them at him.

Two minutes later, they walked into the ΔΑΔ house with a swagger and the undeserved confidence of two young men who had planned their costumes well in advance.

The party was already in full swing. Music thumped through the floorboards. The downstairs smelled like beer, sweat, and whatever someone had burned in the kitchen an hour ago. Brothers were everywhere - Roman togas, cowboy hats, football pads, fake mustaches, jerseys, nothing coherent or cerebral. A few shouted as soon as Connor and Mason came through the front room.

“Holy hell,” someone yelled from the couch. “It’s the grill masters!”

“Delta Alpha Delta!” another brother shouted. “More like DAD!” That got a bigger cheer than it deserved.

Connor spread his arms theatrically, red apron on full display. “Gentlemen, I’m here to discuss propane and propane accessories!”

Mason patted the pocket on his blue apron and said, dead seriously, “Don’t ask me what’s in the marinade if you’re not prepared for the answer!”

Someone, probably already wasted, nearly fell off a barstool laughing. For the first half hour, that was all it was: a dumb bit, a good bit, the kind of costume that got funnier the drunker everyone got - and you can be sure people were plenty drunk. Connor and Mason played into it shamelessly. Connor stood in the kitchen with one hand on his hip telling a pledge made up stories about the tragedy of overdone burgers. Mason accepted a beer and immediately started lecturing nobody about optimal meat refrigeration times.

Every now and then, though, one of them would glance down at the apron he was wearing and feel a tiny useless twinge, like when you heard part of a song you almost knew. Something about the fabric. Something about the cut. Something hovering just out of reach.

Then Tyler and Eli cornered them by the stairs. Tyler was in a pale blue polo and backward white cap, already flushed from drinking, carrying a giant foam cup like it was part of his costume - which otherwise seemed non-existant. Eli stood next to him in jeans and an old fraternity T-shirt, glasses slipping down his nose.

“You guys have to let us try those on,” Tyler said, pointing between them. “Just for a minute.”

“For what?” Mason asked.

Tyler grinned. “Because I want to see if we can pull off "Father of the Year" energy! I have dad jokes for days!”

“And I want to see if this one,” Eli said, flicking the blue apron, “can make me look like I refinance boats for a living. And besides - our non-existent costumes are lame and you guys have had enough attention already! Spread the love!”

Connor looked at Mason. Mason looked at Connor. Both shrugged.

“Fine,” Connor said. “But if you spill anything on King of the Grill, I swear to God…”

Tyler saluted and snatched the red apron. Eli took the blue one more carefully.

“There’s a mirror upstairs, let's use it to take some selfies” Tyler said. “We’ll be back in two minutes.”

Connor watched them head up the stairs shoulder to shoulder, aprons hanging from their hands. He felt that odd twinge again, stronger this time, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?” Mason asked.

“Nothing,” Connor said. “I just had the strangest feeling.”

“About?”

He watched Tyler and Eli disappear down the upstairs hall. “No clue.”

⸻

The upstairs half-bathroom at the ΔΑΔ house was barely big enough for two men to stand in shoulder to shoulder without elbowing each other, which made it exactly the kind of place Tyler and Eli would choose for a joke selfie.

Tyler put the red apron on first, still laughing. “Tell me honestly,” he said, turning toward the mirror. “Am I giving neighborhood cookout dad?”

Eli, already looping the denim apron over his head, smirked. “You’re giving ‘asks if the beer in the fridge is for everybody.’”

Tyler barked a laugh. “That’s the same thing!”

Then he stopped. His smile lingered a second too long on his face before slipping. He tugged at the neck strap. “Dude.”

Eli was staring at himself now too. “Why does this suddenly feel tight?”

The room seemed to shrink around them. Tyler’s shoulders jerked first, broadening under the red apron not with youthful gym definition but with the heavier, denser width of an older man. His chest thickened. His waist pushed outward, not soft exactly, but settling into a substantial, middle-aged solidity. The pale blue polo beneath the apron tightened, then changed with him, seams stretching and reshaping into an older cut that fit a thicker torso.

“Connor got the wrong size or something,” Tyler started to joke, but his voice snagged halfway down into something deeper, rougher. He grabbed the sink.

In the mirror, a dark blur spread over his jaw. Beard stubble pushed through smooth skin all at once, not in patches but in a fast, bristling wave, thickening up his cheeks, darkening his chin, filling into a full beard that framed a face broadening by the second. His cheeks got heavier. The easy, loose planes of a college kid’s face settled into the lined, lived-in structure of a man around fifty. His nose looked more pronounced. Crow’s feet pinched into the corners of his eyes. Beneath the backward cap, the front of his hairline crept backward, temples clearing, then the crown thinning until the cap sat oddly over less hair than it had a second ago.

“Eli!” Tyler said, and the name came out in the voice and tone of his father.

Eli lurched back against the towel rack. “No, no, no.”

His own change was racing him. The glasses on his face shifted as his features thickened underneath them. His jaw got broader. His cheeks filled. The bridge of his nose hardened into a stronger line. Beneath the blue apron, his slim torso filled out, shoulders becoming denser, chest fuller, stomach firmer and thicker. Dark chest hair pushed up under the collar of his T-shirt and spilled higher as if it had always been there. His hairline retreated in a smooth, merciless line at the temples, leaving the front slightly higher, more mature, more undeniably his father’s.

Across his upper lip, a thick dark mustache grew in dense and fast, heavy enough to change his whole expression. His forearms roughened. Hair spread darker over them. Even his posture changed, settling lower and sturdier.

Tyler stared at him in horror. “You look like—”

“Don’t say it,” Eli snapped, except it didn’t come out like Eli anymore. It came out like a man in his early forties who had spent years answering work calls on speakerphone. He clutched the sink next to Tyler, the mustache on his face making the motion look absurdly natural. “You look like your—”

Tyler’s cap no longer fit right. He pulled it off and stared at the thinning hair beneath it, then at the beard shadow swallowing the lower half of his face. Hair had started creeping out at the open neck of his shirt. His arms were thicker, dusted with more hair. His stomach pressed solidly against the apron front.

For one brief, impossible instant, both men understood exactly what was happening. Tyler saw his own father in the mirror wearing his expression and Eli saw his father’s mustache settle onto his own face.

Then the understanding loosened. The panic didn’t vanish so much as slide sideways, becoming confusion with nowhere to land.

Tyler blinked at the mirror. “Why am I…” He frowned. “Whose house is this?”

Eli touched his mustache, puzzled but no longer terrified. “I was looking for a bathroom, I think?”

Tyler peeled the red apron off automatically, as if it were the least important part of the situation, and dropped it on the sink. Eli unlooped the blue one and hung it on a hook near the sink. Then they looked at each other.

“Do I know you?” Tyler asked.

Eli squinted. “Maybe? Why are we in the bathroom together?”

After a few seconds the two middle-aged men walked back into the party like they had taken a wrong turn at a neighborhood cookout.

⸻

Connor noticed Tyler first. Or the man who had been Tyler first anyway. There was a thick-built, bearded man standing by the chips in a better-fitting version of Tyler’s polo, turning slowly in place like he had entered the wrong address. He looked about fifty, broad through the chest and waist, hairline receded, beard neat but full. He had Tyler’s eyes.

Connor laughed out loud before he could stop himself. “Okay, who invited somebody’s dad?”

Mason, coming out of the kitchen, followed his gaze - and then froze. At the far end of the room, another older man had just emerged from the hall. Early forties maybe. Glasses. Receding brown hair. Thick mustache. Sturdier build than Eli had had by a wide margin. He looked around with calm, low-grade confusion and accepted a beer from a passing brother without asking questions.

“That’s not funny,” Mason said quietly.

Connor turned. “What?”

Mason looked from one man to the other. “Where are Tyler and Eli?” Connor’s grin faltered.

The red apron was back downstairs twenty minutes later, crumpled on the arm of a couch. Nobody knew how it got there. The blue one turned up in the upstairs hall, then vanished again.

At first, Connor and Mason tried to find some rational explanation, mostly because the irrational one would have required saying sentences neither of them wanted to say out loud.

Maybe Tyler and Eli had gone home and someone’s actual dads had shown up. Maybe alumni were invited. Maybe the whole house had gotten more drunk than either of them realized.

Then Brandon disappeared into the downstairs laundry room with the red apron over one shoulder, shouting to somebody that he was going to “see if the dad energy hits different.”

He had already been one of the hairier brothers in the house - shirtless under an open flannel, dark chest hair, thick legs, built like he spent more time squatting than he did studying - which he did by a wide margin. Connor almost called after him. Mason actually started to. But by the time they got to the laundry room door, it was shut.

From inside came a muffled curse, then a heavy thump.

Connor knocked once. “Brandon?”

A long pause. Then a gruff: “One second.”

The voice that answered was not Brandon’s voice. Connor and Mason looked at each other. The door opened a crack first, then wider.

Then out popped a man with Brandon’s dark eyes and hairy torso but absolutely nothing else in common. He was broader, thicker, built like the older version of Brandon had been buried inside him all along and had finally gotten his turn to break free. Hair covered his chest in a dense dark spread that disappeared down over a full, powerful belly - more muscle than softness beneath it, but unmistakably a dad gut now. His scalp was mostly bald, the top cleared out and shiny under the overhead light, with only heavier hair around the sides. A thick mustache dominated his face, dark and blunt over his mouth. His forearms were huge and shaggy. He held the red apron in one hand like he had forgotten why.

He blinked at them. “You boys in line for the washer?”

Connor’s mouth fell open. The man frowned, looked at the apron, shrugged, and draped it over a chair before lumbering past them into the party.

Mason grabbed Connor’s forearm. “It’s the aprons!”

Connor shook him off automatically, still staring after Brandon’s father. “No shit, Sherlock!"

By then the party had started to tilt. Not all at once, not with a scream or a flash of lightning. It tilted the way a room tilts in a dream - so gradually that you only noticed once your drink slid off the table.

A skinny sophomore Connor barely knew went upstairs in the blue apron and came back as a narrow, graying man in the frat t-shirt, patting his pockets for car keys and asking if anyone had seen a Honda double-parked on their way in.

A broad-shouldered lacrosse bro vanished into the bathroom with the red apron and emerged later as a ruddy, barrel-chested father with a salt-and-pepper goatee, immediately complaining that the music was too loud.

Another brother came out of the downstairs bathroom older, balder, and deeply offended by the quality of the paper towels.

Some of the transformed men clustered automatically in the kitchen. One found the thermostat and turned it down. Another stood by the snack table talking to no one in particular about propane tanks. A third ended up out back examining the house grill with the solemn concentration of a monk.

Every so often one of them would stop, look around, and ask a question in complete sincerity.

“Is this a fundraiser?”

“Whose basement is this?”

“Why is everybody wearing costumes?”

“What's the password for my phone, my son always tells me...”

They were confused, yes - but not enough to panic. Their minds kept smoothing over the inconsistencies in their existence. A fraternity house party became, in their heads, some hazy event they had probably meant to attend at their son's request. Something odd, but survivable.

Connor and Mason tried to keep track of who was still themselves and failed almost immediately. Faces got slippery. Names blurred. Someone Connor swore had been on the couch earlier was now a bald man in orthopedic sneakers talking about mulch. Mason started a list in his phone, but the names stopped meaning anything halfway down.

Around one in the morning they finally found both aprons together again, abandoned in the upstairs bathroom where Tyler and Eli had changed. Connor picked up the red one. Mason took the blue. The mirror above the sink showed two flushed young men in a tiny fraternity bathroom, scared enough now to be quiet.

“Do it,” Mason said.

Connor nodded. They pulled the aprons back on. Nothing happened. They waited. Still nothing - but they somehow knew nothing would happen and not just because they wore the aprons to the party.

The silence in the room deepened. Mason stared at himself in the mirror, blue apron against his chest. “Why doesn’t it work on us?”

Connor gave the kind of laugh people used when they wanted it to cover everything else. “Maybe we’re just imagining everything and we attended a party that was always full of middle-aged dads?”

Mason turned and looked at him. “Connor.”

There was something in his face then that made Connor look back at the mirror. For one impossible second, the reflection changed. Not fully. Not like the others. Just a flicker.

The young blond guy in the red apron was gone, and in his place stood a middle-aged man with a thicker chest, stronger hands, rougher face - someone older, heavier, deeply familiar. Beside him, Mason flickered too: not brown-haired and twenty, but older, broader, with a more mature face and a darker apron stretched over a much larger body. A costume shop mirror. Narrow changing rooms. Fluorescent light.

A shopping bag. Laughter in voices that were not these voices. Driving home with the aprons. Connor jerked backward so hard he hit the toilet. The image vanished.

Mason grabbed the sink with both hands, breathing hard. “You saw that.”

Connor swallowed. “Yeah.”

Neither of them said what it meant. They didn’t need to.

⸻

By the time dawn started whitening the windows, the ΔΑΔ house no longer felt like a fraternity house. It felt like the after-hours lounge of a suburban rec center that had somehow swallowed a keg party.

Middle-aged men sat on couches rubbing their temples. One of them had started wiping down the kitchen counters. Two others were on the back deck beside the grill, speaking to each other with intense concern about whether the propane line was secure. Somewhere upstairs, a man with a thick mustache was asking if anyone had aspirin and why his son wasn't at the party.

Connor and Mason slipped outside with the aprons folded between them. They sat side by side on the curb in front of the house, the sky just beginning to brighten over the roofs. Empty cups littered the lawn. From inside came the muffled sound of dads talking over one another in confused, practical tones. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then Mason looked down at the blue apron beside him.

“If it turned all of them into their dads…” he said slowly, “why didn’t it turn us into ours?”

Connor stared at the red apron. The flash from the bathroom had already started to fade, slipping away like a dream right after waking. But the feeling of it remained - older hands, a different body, the terrible certainty that the aprons had recognized them once already. He rubbed his thumb over the word GRILL.

A young man is dying and wants to see this singer in his hospital room.He always wanted to be him.

Magic Coin

​I am so sick of being a kid. I always have to eat gross vegetables, my bedtime is way too early, and I can never reach the cool stuff on the top shelf. It’s totally unfair!

​My dad is a single parent, and he looks so tall and strong. He gets to do whatever he wants and nobody ever says "no" to him. So, at the park, I threw a really shiny coin into the big fountain. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished super hard to grow up fast and be a big adult right now.

​I went to bed feeling so excited. But when I woke up, I was in Dad’s giant bed! I looked down and my legs were super long, my feet were huge, and my arms looked really strong. I ran to the mirror and saw my dad's grown-up face! When I talked, my voice sounded all deep and weird.

​Then, I peeked under Dad's shirt. Woah! Dad's tummy was super thick and sturdy! It wasn't super round, just really big and solid! I rubbed his big, husky belly and started giggling. It was so funny, my body felt all thick and kind of squishy like a big bear!

​But when I looked around, everything in the house looked so small. I totally freaked out because I don't know how to cook breakfast or do boring work stuff! I just wanted to be big, I didn't want to actually be my Dad! Being an adult is kind of scary...

​But wait! Maybe this is awesome! Hehe. I can eat ice cream for breakfast, stay up as late as I want, and I'm the boss now! Okay, I’m going to try to be the coolest dad ever today.

​And maybe I should go check on my naughty "son" in his room...

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

Hunter:

It was a regular day. My boyfriend, Quinn, and I were hanging around my house on a Saturday. We had just finished breakfast and were deciding what to do.

“Man it's way too hot today. I don't feel like doing anything,” Quinn announced. It was true, there was definitely a heat wave going on or something. Normal people would stay inside, but a certain someone had other plans.

“Hey boys!” My dad walked into the room with a determined look on his face.

“Hey dad. What's up?”

“I'm gonna go fix that hole on the roof. The neighbors paid for the damages their kids did to it, but somebody’s still gotta do the work.”

“Today?” It's too hot out.

“Well,” he said with a laugh. “You can't stop progress!”

Once he walked out to the garage and was out of earshot, Quinn spoke up.“Your dad is like the biggest workaholic ever.”

“I know right.”

“Better than being lazy…like you,” he teased.

“Hey!” We laughed and then decided to watch a movie.

Quinn:

A few hours later we were talking in our group chat with a couple old school friends. Somehow the topic got to Hunter's dad and how hot he was. He looked at me with a confused face.

“My dad?”

“You gotta admit. He's pretty hot.”

“What the hell? No way.”

“Well of course you would say that. He’s like…your dad. Duh.”

“Well what if I said your dad was hot? He really is actually.

”Ew. He did not just go there. The idea of my dad being considered hot by anyone, was an unsettling thought. Who could like a guy like him? He was always supportive of me and all, but tended to be overly formal in casual situations.

“My dad? Gross. He's like…all traditional and stuff.” He laughed.

“And how does that affect his looks?”

“It doesn't. I mean…well he's fat and has had the same ugly mustache since the 90s.”

“Well I happen to think the chubby mustache combo is pretty sexy…”

“Gross! Stop! Your dad is the sexy one! Those piercing hazel eyes…that fit bod…”

We got in each other's faces and after a couple seconds of silence, we flopped back onto the couch and started laughing.

“If anyone heard us just now, they'd think we were nuts!” Hunter said between laughs.

“True!” I replied. “Well whatever. What are we gonna do now? I'm still bored.”

“I have an idea,” he scooted closer to me and began stroking my pants.

“But your dad's home.”

“Yeah, but he's on the roof. He's such a perfectionist with all his projects; he'll be there all day.”

“Yeah I guess.” I let out a laugh. “Well then…shall we head over to the bedroom?”

Hunter:

As Quinn sucked my dick, all I could think about was his dad. How hot it would be to fuck him, and watch him cum. Man, that would be amazing. But it was only a dream. It would really make things awkward between Quinn and I, even if it somehow did happen. I guess the only thing I could do was close my eyes and pretend he was his dad. I leaned over and kissed him, pretending he had that sexy mustache.

“I'm gonna cum!” He said between breaths. He got onto his back and jerked while I did the same, sitting on top of him. My last thought was of his dad before I closed my eyes and came; The sound of Quinn’s moaning meant that he finished too - the same time as me. It was so intense that I started feeling a little lightheaded. Before I knew it, I blacked out.

Quinn:

I opened my eyes to find I was outside. What happened? The last thing I remember, we were messing around and I came. I've been known to get so exhausted afterward that I want to take a nap, but that was just straight up blacking out. Was this a dream? I looked around and realized that I was outside my dad's restaurant. What was I doing here? It was then that I noticed it was extra hot and I found that I was wearing long sleeves. I examined my clothes to see I was wearing a tie with a black shirt and vest combo. No wonder I was sweating my ass off. But I think I recognized the outfit. My dad's? That couldn't be…

I walked inside and scanned the area. I spent a lot of time at this restaurant as a kid so I knew the layout pretty well. I would probably get an explanation by talking to my dad, so I headed for his office, but was stopped by one of the waitresses.

“Hi Mr. Rivera! How are you today?” I had no idea who this waitress was but I didn't want to be rude so I greeted her back.

“I'm good. Thanks.” My voice came out raspier than usual. A little deeper too. What was going on?

I tried the door handle. Locked. Great. What was I supposed to do now? I took a seat on the nearby bench and it felt like I sat on something, but nothing was on the bench. I searched my back pockets and it was almost like my butt was bigger somehow. I grabbed a pair of keys - my dad's pair of keys. Oh god. What if…?

I quickly turned the keys and closed the door behind me. I felt around my front pockets and took out a phone - his phone. I opened the front camera and found his face staring back at me. Fuck no, this couldn't be happening! How did I switch bodies with my dad? What was I going to say to Hunter?

Hunter:

What happened? I opened my eyes to the blue sky, but looked down to find I was on the roof! What the hell?! I scanned the area and noticed that I was home…on the roof. Did my dad bring me up here somehow?”

“Hey dad! Where are you?” I said, but my voice came out weird. Deeper somehow. I caught sight of my hands and found I was wearing gloves that had some dirt on them. My dad's gloves? What was going on? When I noticed that I was wearing his clothes - the same clothes he was wearing earlier this morning - it suddenly hit me.

“What the hell! I'm my dad!” I screamed.

How did this happen? What was Quinn going to think? And how do I even get down from the roof…

Quinn:

I held the phone up to my ear and anxiously waited for my dad to pick up. I realized that if I was in his body, he must be in mine right? After a few seconds, it went to ringtone. I couldn't wait any longer so I decided to go there myself. It wasn't too long of a drive to Hunter's house at least. I walked through the restaurant, (thankfully no employees noticed me), and pressed the button on the keys to locate my car. The reflection in the car reminded me of what I looked like, but I tried to ignore it and got into the driver's seat. There, I could see a clear reflection of myself in the rear view mirror for the first time. It was definitely my dad's face. His double chin was so evident without any facial hair - well except for his ugly mustache. I touched it with two fingers and brushed along to see what it felt like. I grazed the back of my head to find the bald spot he had there. This was so gross! I turned the ignition and was on my way to figure out how to fix this!

Hunter:

After climbing down the ladder, I was back inside the house and I immediately headed towards the bedroom where Quinn and I fucked. There we found our bodies seemingly unconscious on the bed, in the same position we were in. It was really creepy.

“Hey uh. Dad? Wake up…” I said hesitantly. No response.

“Wake up!” I said even louder. No response.

They must be in a coma or something. Oh god what if I was stuck like this? I headed towards the bathroom and found my dad's face staring back at me in the mirror. I made different facial expressions and started to creep myself out. Thankfully I was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. I made my way and opened the front door just as Quinn's dad jumped out of the car, almost losing his balance as his feet hit the concrete

.“Sorry, I'm not used to this…” He looked up at me. “Oh uh I mean, hey there Mr. Patterson. Um, have you seen my uh son?”

I think I had an idea what was going on.

“Quinn?” I asked.

“Yeah? I mean- yeah that's his name…I mean…” He paused for a few seconds until he must've realized what had happened too.

“H-hunter? Is that you?”

“Yep. And that's really you in there?”

“Oh god. This sucks! What are we going to do? Wait, where are our bodies?”

“In the room where we last were. Whether or not our dads are in our bodies doesn't matter because they're unconscious or something.”

“So we're stuck like this?”Suddenly I had an idea.

“Well…you did say my dad was hot…”

“What are you getting at….OH.” Quinn replied as I smirked. “But…I mean...it's my dad's dick!”

“Yeah I know. But this may be your only chance to fuck my dad. Same thing for me too.”

“Well…being in a different body means I'm horny again so…”I leaned in for a kiss. The brushing of his mustache against my face felt amazing. Even better than I imagined!

“Shall we go?” Quinn said with a smile.

Quinn:

We didn't know what to do with our bodies so we just left them there and closed the door. Hopefully they wouldn't hear anything if they somehow were still conscious.We went into Hunter's dad's room and he immediately started stripping. He had the sexiest athletic body. Blond hair covered his entire chest and while he didn't have a six pack or anything, he had some pretty decent pecs.

Hunter looked into the mirror and made a frown.

“This is so gross!”

“Maybe don't look at your face in the mirror. Only look at the body.”

“I guess it's not as bad when I do that. But still…” He gazed at me with lust in his eyes. “Your turn.”

I so wasn't ready for this! But he hugged me and began to strip me himself, starting with my tie and vest. Each piece of clothing made my dad's chubby body more and more obvious. He started unbuttoning my shirt until the tank top underneath was revealed. I guess I didn't look as bad as I thought. My dad must've lost weight. I didn't want to go any further than that, but I also really wanted to feel his body against mine so I lifted the tank top off happily…but I was met with a terrifying surprise.

“Shit,” I said. My chubby rolls slapped the rest of my body as I gawked at myself in the mirror. It's no wonder that the tank top felt so constricting. It was holding in all that blubber.

I turned to Hunter and expected him to be upset, but was instead met with a sexy smirk. God, making his dad do those hot expressions was really turning me on.

“Wait you like this?” I asked.

“Of course. You're even bigger than I thought. An absolute muffin top.” He came from behind and wrapped his arms around me. I could feel my dick harden as much as it could and grasped it. It was still gross the idea that it was my dad’s dick but I didn't care. All that mattered was Hunter's sexy body.

He reached his hands over and grabbed my man tits. When he played with them, I experienced sensations I never felt before as a twink. Vibrations went through my body as he jiggled every bit of squishy flesh. I turned around to return the favor - I kneeled down and started sucking his cock. He was huge! Much bigger than what he had before. It wasn't any harder to take it in though; I guess my dad's mouth must've opened bigger than mine. He put his hands around the back of my head and started pushing his cock down my throat. Faster and faster, as I jerked myself.

Suddenly he stopped as I could feel the warm cum shoot down my throat at the same time I shot my own load. In one big gulp I swallowed it all and hopped onto my back, the flabby rolls jiggling as I did.

Afterwards we washed up and Hunter put on one of his dad's t-shirts, while I just put on what I had before, because I knew nothing would fit me. We walked back into Hunter's room to see if our dads had woken up, to find that they had disappeared completely. In fact, the whole room was magically cleaned up and the bed made, as if it was a guest room and always had been.

“So…I guess we're the dads now,” Hunter said with a smirk.

Now, trapped in Wario’s body, Mario feels incredibly weak under the massive obesity he now carries. He no longer has his brother, nor Peach, nor anything else — just himself and his enormous, fat belly. It is utterly humiliating for Mario to look down and see nothing but pounds and pounds of pure fat on a body that isn’t his. He used to be a bit chubby, but not to the point where lowering his gaze revealed only layers of blubber. Every step feels heavier and requires more effort, his huge gut bouncing with each movement — a total humiliation. Still, Mario doesn’t understand why Wario’s cock gets hard every time he grabs his belly with both hands to see the dick hidden beneath the fat. Maybe it’s just the body’s muscle memory… (or maybe Mario doesn’t actually dislike being this obese, though he would never admit it).

We hope he gets used to that body, because Kamek has no plans to switch them back.

This contain feederism, masturbation, body swap, and that

Nick received a solo case. The case involved a wide network of clandestine laboratories where illegal experiments were being conducted on the animals of Zootopia. There were several cases of subjects reporting altered behavior after being near that location. Chief Bogo assigned Nick because of his clear ability to blend into the environment. After a long and extensive data collection, Nick managed to bring evidence to the precinct: a small briefcase with enough proof to get him a raise. Upon arriving at the precinct, a somewhat tired Nick stopped at the reception desk and placed the briefcase on the table. Clawhauser was pleased that Nick had arrived with all his limbs intact. He then proceeded to open the briefcase, encountering a strange and overly sweet aroma.

"Yes, I'm going to get tested later, but take a little from the purple bottle; it smelled incredible and tastes incredible."

Clawhauser didn't really think much and took a sip from the bottle. He didn't really think about it; the smell captivated him, almost hypnotized him, making him involuntarily take it. It tasted incredible—maybe the best thing he had ever tasted!

A few seconds passed until they both felt dizzy and suddenly fell to the ground unconscious.

In an attempt to get up, he looked at his gigantic hands covered in brown stains. It didn't take him long to realize what was happening. When he looked at his body, his fears were confirmed, as all he saw was an enormous belly covered by a rather large police uniform. He was even more frightened when he saw his own body in front of him, extending a hand to help him up. After a few seconds of Nick struggling to lift Clawhauser's obese frame, he was finally standing. To keep from falling, he grabbed his belly with one hand and the desk with the other. Seeing his own body standing there, he understood. He didn't want to accept it, but damn it, he understood. They both understood. They both quickly looked for the briefcase, but it was lying on the floor. The impact of Clawhauser's obese body had moved everything, knocking it to the ground.

Nick's first days as Clawhauser were complicated: too much weight, too much belly, too much of everything! He was ridiculously obese and could think of nothing but food. The first time he entered Clawhauser's house, he wondered how it was possible that everything was so tidy. Everything was reinforced. I think we know the reason.

Nick and Claw met during those days to try and figure out how to solve the problem while pretending to be each other, but almost every option seemed impossible. Clawhauser in Nick's body was actually very positive, unlike what Nick was going through. Being fat was really complicated; he still wasn't used to how fat he was now.

After two months, Clawhauser's room was a disaster: food everywhere, clothes strewn on the floor, and in the center of the room, the obese body that Nick now inhabited. He ate one pizza and ordered two more. Nick didn't really change his routine. He masturbated whenever he wanted, ate without thinking about anything, and started to enjoy how fat Clawhauser was. It was almost the same as living in his old body!

Nick finished the last slice of pizza he had; he'd had three and was already ordering more. He'd never thought he could eat so much! While waiting for another pizza, he pulled down his boxers, which were all he was wearing. Nick had grown accustomed to his obese body, and in fact, he found his damn fatness arousing. When he tried to masturbate, his belly began to obstruct his path the humiliation of being so fat and struggling to masturbate turned him on even more hot. After some maneuvering, Nick managed to touch his penis with his hand, which was quite tiny due to the amount of fat. Damn, he was so OBESE now, so imposing. He was no longer the fox they used to make fun of, the little fox; now he was gigantic in every sense.

He began to rub and pull at his penis, buried in the fat. With his other hand, he started to grab his belly, letting it fall onto his penis, grabbing his rolls of fat and occasionally his damn fat ass. He came quite a few times; this body withstood fatigue very well after masturbation. When he finished, his thigh and belly were covered in semen. He got up with effort from his chair and went to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. The mirror reflected an obese cheetah. He'd gained a little weight due to his lifestyle. With one hand, he began to grab his fat rear end. He looked at his fat rear end in the mirror as he touched it and felt it bounce. Then, with the other hand, he touched his belly as if he'd been doing it all his life. He began to touch it with both hands, lifting it, touching it, letting it fall, putting his finger in his navel, making it bounce, and before he knew it, his penis was erect again with an even greater urge to masturbate. Being obese and big really excited him.

Someone knocked on the door. It was the delivery guy. He quickly got dressed and opened the door. It was the pizzas he'd ordered. He sat back down on the sofa and began to eat while grabbing his fat belly. He was no longer the small fox that nobody wanted. Now he was imposing, big, and damn fat