Just A Guy

Photo Source/Credit: Camden Elkington 🇦🇺

The old you is finally awake again. It must’ve been twenty months since this self had control of your own body and mind. It felt like a never-ending bad dream as you watched yourself obey your jock roommate’s every hypnotic suggestion. You pledged a frat with him and surrounded yourself with only your—actually his frat bros, pumped iron with him every day, wore only his gymbro wardrobe, and talked like a chill bro neanderthal while the thoughts in your head felt like molasses trying to drip through cotton candy. He even made you only take classes that you could fully bullshit with the magic brain box... No, um... A large language model.

“What’s wrong, bro?” your bro captor Colton says, noticing a change in your demeanor.

“All this is wrong, bro!” Wait, why can’t you stop saying that word? You try again:

“Colton, you’re not my bro. You’re a sick bastard trying to make me into some dumb ass clone of your frat bros for brojobs and muscle worship seshes! But none of that’s me!”

“Calm down, bro,” he says. You suddenly slump a bit and lower the arm that was pointing a finger at him.

“Here, wear your chain, bro.” You feel Colton place the thick gold chain you’ve been wearing 24/7 around your neck—though you took it off this morning. And you suddenly feel a cozy warmth wash over you.

“If none of this is you, and I’m not your bro, then who are you? What is your name? If you can tell me your name, I’ll let you go back to normal and never bother you again.”

“That’s not fair! You put the dumb jock chain on me, bro! The hypnotic trigger… I… I… can’t remember shit!”

You grasp your head tightly through your BPO ball cap, in a vain attempt to keep your memories from draining away and this vestige of your old self from being suppressed once again.

“Bro, my head hurts,” you say blankly to your bro Colton.

I was so nervous. I have been practicing the jokes over and over. This was not my first time on the stage. But without a doubt, this was the largest crowd venue where I have performed. “Welcome to the stage to Zack Reynolds” - the presenter yelled as I walked to the stage. I felt a rush of adrenaline. There was nothing like doing a set up stand up. I start telling some of my old stories. College pranks… The crazy girls that I have dated… or I was the crazy one? There is no clear answer to that. All the stories were hitting hard. It was laugh after laugh. I was nailing every joke. Then I went to my fitness jokes… about the guilt of going to a cheese factory and ordering from the skinnylicious menu… about how to train at the gym with breakup songs… and about my fat friend that finally got a subscription to his favorite gym, Costco. All the jokes were dumb, light hearted, but the last one seems to have touched the nerve of a member of the audience. That old fat man yelled at me and he left me no option but to answer. Nobody likes a heckler, I just did what was needed in order to put him in place.

I exited the comedy club after a successful night. I light a cigarette and relax for a bit. That is when the heckler approached me. 

“You make fun of me”. He said, he was clearly mad

“Sorry dude, there was no bad ill. It was just a joke” I answered

“I didn’t like the joke”

“Sorry for that man… my intention was to regain control of the stage. You know… when someone heckles, things can go south very quickly”

“I interrupted because you were joking about fat people”

“About fat  people that think Costco is a gym. C’mon dude, it is clearly a joke”

“Yeah… you are a prick”

“Sure… whatever”  I said as I started to walk away

“Hey, I have not finished!”

“What? I think that you said everything you have to say”

“Maybe we can understand each other better”

“Understand what? It was a joke!”

“Maybe we can go and talk somewhere else”

“Somewhere?”

“Yeah… maybe your place…”

“Are you crazy?”

“C’mon, you can trust me”

“Fine, follow me”

“So what’s your name?” I said as we walked to my apartment

“Mike Galindo. I have a question… have you been doing this for a long time?”

“Stand Up, yes… about five years”

“Wow. I have also done it for about five years”

“Really… we are both comedians”

“Both of us? No. I am the only comedian here”

“What are you saying… we just come from my show”

“Are you sure about that? We came from the Starbucks where you worked. You are a manager there, right?”

“Yeah… weird, I forgot about that. Still, I like comedy”

“Watching it. I see you… you will have a panic attack the moment that you put a foot on the stage”

“Yeah, you are right. But I wish that I have the balls to do it” I answered

“How long have you lived in Austin?”

“2 years… move from Philly for the comedy scene”

“I did that! I am asking you… you are from here, no?”

“Yeah, I was raised here. I don't know why I am feeling a bit… off”

“You have too many drinks”

“Probably. Well, we are here at my place”

“Stop joking around.  How do you get my keys? This is my place”

He opened the door. I walked in and saw a small apartment, kitchen, living room and a small room. I walked in and recognized the objects decorating the walls. Music posters framed on the wall, dumb toys doing funny things, and my collection of skateboards. No… this is Mike’s apartment. But all the stuff that he had feels that are things that I would probably buy. Let’s be honest here… we clearly have a lot of things in common. Then I noticed a picture frame. I approached and saw her. 

“Jenna?” - I said while I hold the portrait of me kissing her. 

“You know Jenna” Mike said as he walked towards me. 

“Yeah… she is my girl…”

“Don’t say that. She's my girlfriend. I really love her”. 

“You are a lucky guy” - I answered as I put the portrait on a nearby table. 

“I am. By the way… can you give me my clothes back?”

“The jacket is yours”

“All the outfit, man”

“Sure” I answered as I slowly started to undress. I took off my jacket, my shirt and my trousers. Mike seemed annoyed, I took my clock, my necklace and bracelets off. Mike only smiled after I took off my briefs. The guy walked around me and inspected every bit of my body. He passed his hands on my pecs, on my chest. He even grabbed my balls. It was weird, but there was something about Mike that made me trust him. 

“Man you should go to the gym” He said with a smile

“Is that a joke? Just look at me”

“I see you… an overweight man that has never lifted a dumbbell”

“Don’t say it like that” I touched my belly. I can swear to god that I had a six pack. But this big belly was undeniable.

“Also you should take a bit more care about yourself. That unkempt appearance… man you are just 40 but you almost look like 50”

“I am 24”

“No… you are 40, I am 24. I never want to be like you that is why I always go the gym”

“Yeah… you are changing… this doesn’t make sense. I can almost swear Mike… that you looked different”

“Why are you calling me Mike?”

“That is your name, right?”

“No… my name is Zack Reynolds. But I think is time to leave, Mike”

“I am Mike?”

“Yes, you have always been Mike Galindo”

I looked at the young man in front of me to touch his own skin in a seductive way. He flexed his arms and started to stroke his dick. Completely oblivious that I was staring at him. Zack Reynolds is a really weird guy. He invited a stranger to his house. He quickly got comfortable and did some weird shit. Come on, getting naked in front of someone that I barely know is something that I would never do. 

The day passed and life went on. I just followed my routine… go to work, eat and watch porn all night long. One of my friends on the starbuck called me and invited me to go and see a stand up show. We went to the comedy club. The place was super cool and it felt in some way familiar. “Welcome to the stage Zack Reynolds” the host said and then I saw this douchy dude walking to the stage. I know that this will sound crazy, but I felt that somehow I knew him. He started making jokes about his struggles after realizing he was gay. He even took his shirt during his beat. Shit! He was really funny. I looked at that stranger… at that comedian… and I just wonder how it would be to be someone like him. But hey, lets just enjoy the show in silence, as you know, nobody likes a heckler.

Jared slumped on the cold bench in the locker room, staring despondently at the floor. It was his fourth time here, and he still felt so out of place. He was comfortable with the cardio machines, but the weightlifting area? That was an entirely different world—a world of animalistic grunting, clanging metal, and guys twice his size throwing weights around like toys. He had hovered near them earlier, feeling like an intruder in a foreign land, before retreating to the safety of the locker room. He desperately wanted to be like them but had no idea where to even start.

As he sat there, stewing in his frustrations, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention: a dirty black tank top lay crumpled on the bench across from him, stained with sweat and reeking of body odor. Next to it was a damp, oversized pair of gray sweatpants that similarly reeked. They looked as though they had been left behind by one of those jacked gym regulars that he was too intimidated to approach.

He reached out hesitantly, hoping to bring them to the lost and found. His fingers brushed against the damp fabric. “Gross,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose at the sensation. Yet, despite the dampness and rankness of the clothes, he couldn’t bring himself to leave them for someone else to deal with. His gaze lingered on the worn material, imagining the kind of person who had worn it: strong, confident, sexy. Everything he wasn’t.

Maybe the person was coming back? After all, there are showers in the locker room, perhaps they had simply forgotten to put their dirty gym clothes in their locker. But his body refused to listen to his brain. His arms began moving with a mind of their own. Before he could realize what he was doing and second-guess himself, he had stripped off his shorts, picked up the sweatpants, and slid them over his slim legs. The pair was still warm from the person's previous workout, and the front crotch area felt... crusty..? Jared was bewildered by the betrayal of his body. He hadn't meant to do any of this... why did he put on these gross sweatpants? In response, his arms ripped off his shirt and brought the filthy tank top over his torso, seemingly without him even intending to do so. The tank top was loose, hanging awkwardly off his skinny frame. It was almost disturbingly damp, as though the person who had worn it before him had taken a shower with it... and had never worn deodorant before. Before he had a chance to question what had happened, the tank top settled over his shoulders, and a strange, euphoric warmth spread through him, clouding his mind and releasing his inhibitions. He felt... different.

His eyes flicked over to the mirror on the wall. The clothes still looked oversized, but they didn’t seem ridiculous anymore. They looked... right. He looked at the door leading back to the gym floor, and for the first time, he felt the urge to head to the weight rack.

Walking through the gym floor, his eyes looked past the judgemental stares in his direction for wearing the oversized set of clothes. He didn't notice people fixate on the stains on the crotch or the fact that the tank top was still dripping with sweat. His ears tuned out the gags at the stench they exuded. Jared simply made a beeline for the squat rack. Using his minimal knowledge from observing the gymbros, Jared loaded the barbell with weights and placed himself underneath the barbell, the modest weight balanced awkwardly on his shoulders. He’d never been here before—mentally or physically. This was uncharted territory, but somehow it felt like he knew what he was doing and always had. As he squatted down and pushed back up, he felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt before.

He racked the bar, stepped back, and froze. A faint tingling sensation rippled across his chest and shoulders. It started subtly—like an itch, he couldn’t quite place—but soon intensified into a deep, pulsing, orgasmic warmth. Jared glanced at the mirror and his jaw dropped.

The first change he noticed was his hair. It puffed slightly, the dark brown lightening ever so slightly slightly. Strands began to coil and curl, framing his face as if they were growing right before his eyes. The curls bounced slightly with every breath, thick and untamed as if he’d spent years cultivating the perfect gym-bro mane.

Then he felt his chest suddenly tighten. Jared gasped, grabbing at his pecs instinctively. They felt heavier, denser—like a pump from a workout that wouldn’t fade. His fingers sank into firm muscle, his once-flat chest expanding outward into two solid slabs. He rubbed his chest, in awe of just how much there was to grab. The damp fabric of the tank top, which had hung limply before, now clung to his pecs. His firm nipples were visible through the tank top, which was now skin-tight. The weight of his chest pulled his shoulders back, giving him an imposing, confident posture.

The heat spread to his arms. Jared watched, transfixed, as his biceps began to swell. They grew rounder, and thicker, the veins snaking across them like rivers on a map. His forearms followed suit, the muscles twisting and bulging with newfound definition. His hands, once narrow and delicate, grew rough and calloused, his fingers thicker and more powerful. When he curled his fingers into a fist, it felt like he could crush steel.

Next came his shoulders and back. His shoulders rounded out like firm cannonballs, broadening his frame and making the tank top look as though it was going to burst from his frame. His traps rose like mountains on either side of his neck, which thickened and became more pronounced. Turning to the side, Jared caught a glimpse of his back in the mirror—it was wide, a tapestry of ridges and grooves that looked like they’d been carved by years of hard work.

The sensation moved down to his core. His stomach tightened and hardened, his abs popping into view one by one. A deep V-shaped groove appeared, leading down from his chiseled obliques to his hips. He ran a hand over his stomach, marveling at how solid it felt, the faint sheen of sweat highlighting every ridge.

Then his legs began to change. Jared stumbled, grabbing the squat rack for balance as his thighs expanded, the muscles growing so fast they pushed against the fabric of the once-too-large sweatpants. His quads and calves flared out with each stumble for balance, now thick and powerful, while his ass ballooned to gargantuan proportions, tightening his sweatpants even further and taking up valuable space for his swelling cock, which grew longer and thicker. A soft moan escaped his lips before he could stifle it as his now massive cock began to leak.

Through his orgasmic bliss while leaning against the squat rack, caught a glimpse of his reflection. His face had changed, too—his jawline was sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. His once-boyish features now carried a rugged, masculine edge. His neck was thick and corded with muscle, tying the whole look together.

He couldn't take it anymore. He let out an animalistic grunt–just like the men who weightlift in the gym always do–as he cummed intensely into his too-tight sweatpants. His vision blurred with the orgasmic pleasure induced by his sudden shift in physique. Drool escaped from his lips as he was consumed by the unadulterated euphoria he now felt. Finally, with one last buck of his wide, muscular hips, he finished, and he began to try and compose himself.

He breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling with power. The tank top clung to his body now, soaked with sweat and reeking of effort. His scent filled the air—raw, earthy, and undeniably potent. Jared would have been embarrassed by it before, but now it felt like part of who he was.

He reached up to adjust the tank top, marveling at how his fingers grazed against the boulder-like mounds of his pecs. Turning back to the squat rack, he loaded more plates onto the bar. This time, when he lifted it, it felt like nothing.

Jared racked the barbell with a satisfying clang, stepping back to catch his breath. The weight he’d just squatted was something he wouldn’t have dared to attempt in his wildest dreams. Now, it felt like he could’ve added double the plates. His chest heaved as he inhaled deeply, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and cum.

He turned toward the mirror again, marveling at the sheer size of his new physique. Every inch of him seemed sculpted as if chiseled from stone. His tank top clung to his massive chest, the sweat-soaked fabric outlining every groove of his pecs and abs. His biceps bulged with each subtle movement, and his shoulders looked broad enough to fill the entire mirror.

“Damn…” Jared muttered, his voice low and resonant now. He grinned, unable to resist flexing his arms for the mirror. The peak of his bicep rose like a mountain, veins snaking across the surface. He turned slightly, watching how his back flared out like wings, tapering down to his impossibly tight waist.

Jared glanced around, then pulled his phone out from his gym bag. This body wasn’t something he could keep to himself. Standing in front of the mirror, he adjusted his stance, planting his legs wide to show off his tree-trunk legs. He flexed his arms again. The lighting in the gym was perfect. He snapped a photo, making sure to catch the curve of his biceps, the sharp cut of his jawline, and the unapologetic confidence in his smirk.

Satisfied, he tossed his phone back into his bag, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. For the first time in his life, Jared felt not just strong—but unstoppable.

Jared slung his gym bag over his shoulder, his massive arm flexing with the motion. The straps dug slightly into his broad, muscular shoulders, but he barely noticed. His chest still glistened with sweat, the tank top clinging to him like a second skin. Each step he took toward the exit felt heavy with purpose, his powerful thighs threatening to burst from his sweatpants and his calves popping with every stride.

As he pushed open the gym doors, the cool air hit his sweat-drenched skin, refreshing and invigorating. Jared took a moment to breathe deeply, his massive chest rising and falling. He grinned to himself as he strode across the parking lot

His car was, dwarfed by his hulking presence. Jared swaggered toward it, moving with an effortless macho bravado. His biceps brushed against his sides as he walked, forcing his arms to swing slightly outward. The scent of his workout still hung around him—sweaty, musky, and undeniably masculine.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he felt the car groan slightly under his new weight. The steering wheel felt smaller in his powerful hands, and the seatbelt stretched tight across his chest, barely able to contain the bulk of his pecs. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and smirked. The jacked, curly-haired bodybuilder staring back at him was a far cry from the skinny kid who had driven here earlier.

He adjusted the mirror to take in more of his reflection. His jawline looked razor-sharp, his hair wild and tousled from the workout, and his shoulders seemed to crowd the frame. Jared couldn’t help but flex a little as he reached for the ignition, veins popping along his forearm.

The car roared to life, and Jared revved the engine, enjoying the vibrations running through his chest. He shifted into gear, peeling out of the parking lot. His smirk widened as he turned onto the main road, his car rumbling like a predator on the prowl.

Jared didn’t know exactly where he was going, but it didn’t matter one bit. His new life wasn’t about the destination—it was about the ride. And, man was he ready to take his body for one hell of a ride.

(A requested story)

In the public restroom, I was taking a leak in a urinal. A straight frat bro went to my left to take a leak too. Out of nowhere he flips out, "Did you look at my dick?" He demanded to know in a panic.

"No. I always keep to myself? Just maybe you should do the same." The frat bro's face goes red. He stormed out without even washing his hands.

Then in the middle of the night at 1:00 AM, I was abducted from my college dorm room. Tied up and my mouth covered. I awoke to Frat bros doing some sort of hazing ritual.

The frat leader walked in and declared my reason for being here, "I am Simon the wizard and tonight my fellow straight bros, you will be tested against the mental might of a single gay man's pride. Our newest and definingly straight frat member Clay will do the honors of trying to overpower his will within his own body."

Clay walked in, "Don't worry, Simon. He's no match for my masculinity and and my mind to body connection."

The wizard Simon just threw my consciousness, my soul into Clay's body. I looked down and said, "fuck, this twunk is ripped." And I felt the new package harden...

Clay himself felt great rage against me, "This is my body! Get out, I'm better than this gay guy!!!"

The wizard Simon gave some advice, "True pride is not thinking you're better or about arrogance. It's about self certainty in your own capabilities."

And I responded using Clay's voice, "I think I'm feeling pretty capable." I just relaxed and moved my body, while Clay's mind sunk like quicksand into a sleepy coma.

Simon smiled and flirted, "yeah, indeed you are pretty and nearly one of us. We are all gays in possession of super straight men. Clay needed his straight body filled with a gay spirit like yourself. Welcome to the club, Clay!" He winked at me, and my heart skipped a beat.

Later, Simon asked me out on a date. I said "Yes, I would love to fu- I mean go on a date with you!"

"Since you're so horny, Clay... let me show something the frat did last week. But promise to save yourself for me later. Here..."

Simon explained, "This was the last possession ritual before yours. We called him Bubble Butt Brian when he started moaning by our obsessive touching of his ass. It was a virgin straight ass until that day."

I covered my dick. It was fully hard, but haven't the time to see it in it's full glory yet. I pulled my jeans away from my waist and it must be around 7 inches and 6 inches of pure girth...

Simon watched me, "Remember no jacking off. I want to be your first sexy experience in your new life." He licked his lips and grabbed ahold on my dick and added pressure to his grip. "Just hold on until after we eat. Fucking while hungry could reduce pleasure. Now, let's go do our date in the arcade."

I saw him having fun, but secretly I think he was trying to turn me on at every turn by acting promiscuous in regards to showing off his body to me. He looked at me with an enchanted aura in his eyes, "How do I look? Hot enough to ride a different bike?" He laughed in a quiet manner.

We had a awesome date. Did everything we wanted until we got back to the frat house. And while we were still in the car...

He put curtains around the windows. He kissed me. Putting his hand down my jeans and used the other to put the seat all the way back. Breathtaking and breathless soon after. He rode my new dick for the first time. Right after which, I rode his 9 inch dick, in which moments my heart was his prisoner and him, my warden.

We announced to the frat of our decision to become a couple. But we still have to pretend to be our straight hosts as to not arouse suspicion. They're giving me training on how to be Clay the Frat bro.

1 week later.

Simon instructing me, "Say what we taught you."

"Dude. What the fuck. Get off my dick. I'm not about that, bro!"

Simon looked proud, "You're ready. Help the frat with our next straight frat bro when the time arrives." We finally went on another date night out, and man did I look like a catch- Maybe a little gay, but pink is just a color, not a sexuality. (Fun fact. In the early 20th century, blue was originally for girls, and pink for boys. But cultural changes happened)

Ready for my date with Simon. He says I need to loosen up and just have fun. Can't help but be gay and a perfectionist. People are starting to ask questions because I keep checking out Simon in public. He likes to punish me during sexy time for my incompetence.

'Please don't take over my body! I'm sorry. It was an accident. I'll do whatever you want. Just not my body, please!!!" My soon to be home body, Nicholas said.

'You killed me. I no longer have a body of my own. I refused to go to the Light. Now, I'm taking your body because your soul has karmic holes. I can use the karmic holes related to me to harness your body as my own. Luckily, you're cute despite being a drunk driver."

My ghost body has nearly overtaken his physical one. I start reaching out to check my new package, and I could feel how big it really was. And Nicholas begged in tears, "that's my dick, you can't..."

"Yes, I can and I am. DAMN! you're hiding a mountain cocktail in your pants! My boyfriend will love this!"

"But... I'm not gay." Nicholas thought strongly.

"Don't bother fighting me for control anymore. Or I'll turn you in myself. It's either jail time or ME time. It's your pick." I smirked.

He quit fighting me. And I'm Nicholas now. I went to my boyfriend's place and he opened the door, and Codes asked, "Hi, who are you?"

"Your boyfriend" I quickly popped out my ghosty face from Nicholas's body. And Codes took a step back...

"I thought you died. Well, you clearly did. But how is this even possible, to take his body? Was he the hit and run? If so, damn. Karma is kinda hot."

We took things inside. And this Nicholas dick brought us a new and improved way to enjoy ourselves. Codes measured it for me, and it grew from 3 inches flaccid to 11 inches erect. Shouldn't be possible, but here it is. All for us.

2 weeks later.

Codes proposed to me, "I never want to lose you, again. Marry me, Nicholas. My host started fighting me and internally screaming, "This isn't supposed to be forever, was it? I want my body back!"

Codes put the ring on my finger. And Nicholas went silent. "The ring is enchanted. It allows you to possess any body that wears it, neutralizing any resistance from the host. I even wear the backup. If you ever need it, borrow my body until a suitable cutie is found." And he got hard from the thought of me inside him.

We went to the bedroom. And I was inside him the normal way, moaning about the weather raining deep down his bubble butt.

Codes mentioned in the afterglow, "By the way, both of souls are bonded and compatible with these rings, although I never died. So, it maybe many years before it's power is tested."

"Fuck. Are we immortal now? Maybe immortal adjacent. But still... I wonder what kind of hot body you'd live in one day. Hopefully, a man packing front and back. A model face. Oh, and a big bank account. Maybe a 20 something son of a millionaire..." we slept minutes later.

30 years later.

"I wonder how Nicholas is doing after I finally left that 50 year old body of his..." I remarked.

Codes, now in a college rich guy named David, "Just shut up and kiss me. It wasn't easy putting the ring on your new body. It barely fits, might need it as a necklace. Always keep it close, Blake."

"Cool. I like the sound of Blake. I wanna see us naked, David..." we undressed. And David was bigger than me...

"Sorry, Blake. I bottomed enough in the last life. My turn to be the biggest dick in the relationship." He turned me around and butt fucked me, and this body likes it more than my last. I'm so in love with him. And his taste in selecting hosts for us is so freaking sexy.

Speaking of taste... "Blake, try my cum... or we'll have to find you a new host..." as he slowly moved his hand towards the ring.

'Fine! Just don't touch it..." I drank it from the tap, and he immediately responded, "Good bottom."

"What? I can top too! 6 inches is enough." I said.

"I like our current set up. Me the top. And you're my bottom. In the next life, we can both be verse. But you have a debt to pay for all the topping you did to my past body."

I gulped. He made me pay in full for the next 15 years until we gave these men their bodies back at 35 with the memories of everything we did. They continued dating after we left.

And now, we're both verse and happy inside total hunks who were straight sex addicts trying to be each other's wingman. And now, they are for each other.

Happily Sex Ever After.

I met my tutor Dexter off campus. He been tutoring my all semester. There was no way I was going to pass all my classes even in at a C grade level.

I purchased this device online that will swap my body with the person of my choice. Today it will be with Dexter.

I did not want us to be seen together. So I picked a place just off campus.

Good your here. Take off all your. We need to be naked for thus thing to work .

Thinking he was going to be in my body I worked so hard on and I am just hanging it over to a nerd.

Hard part. I be him a nerd for most the day.

Dexter is skinny. No muscle tone at all. And the clothes he picked. I be dressed like that all day.

Step over here Dexter we both have to be holding the device for it to work.

I'm breaking into a sweat. I am giving him my body, my good looks. Everything that makes me Doug Graham members of this college football team. And I will be Dexter all day. One if the campus nerds.

But if I don't I most likely fail my tests and lose my scholarship and be kicked out of school .

I hit the swap button and I can fell myself being pulled from my body. My head spinning it making a copy of my my mannerisms my train of thought anything that makes me me and giving it to him. So he can pass himself as me. But it's also happening to him. It will turn me into a nerd.

Then it all stopped

Dexter checking out my buff body touch my pecs my arms my abs. Hey hands off my cock your in my bidy to b take my test and then we swap back after so stop groping my body and get dressed.

I was so weird watch my body get dress in my clothes he talking with my voice and doing a great job passing for me.

I stood there naked watching him.

I did not want to look down. I did not want to see myself in this body. I picked up his underwear and started to get dressed. Stire brand tighty whites. Well thuer clean.

What a small dick, waist, chest. No muscle tone. Hus armmms where like noodles.

And these clothes. He wore a bow tie. I an wearing a bow tie. What was hard was hearing his voice coming from my mouth.

I looked over. He was ready. He was Doug Graham. Get going man. I wull been in touch by text.

I watched him leave back to campus and I finished getting dressed. My worst fear is the jocks are going to see me and like give me a wedgie.

Five hours have gone by. No word.

Dude what's taking so long? Shouldn't you be done by now?

Sorry man. These are some major test. And remember I have to pass for you. I have to take time to answer all the questions and need to remember to get some wrong. You should be a B student not and A and I have to be careful.

Fine, I just can't take being in your body much longer. I take it to the gym if you ever step foot in one.

What the real Doug did not know it's one of his frat brothers figured out he swapped bodies with his tutor. Dexter let a few things slip, he is friendly and polite he wasn't a conceited jerk like Doug.

Frat brothers grabbed the New Doug back to the Frat house . Replying to the real Dougs text messages for him.. Dexter had a feeling they know a swap was made.

Back at the Frat they started to party. And playing along like it was normal

They grab Doug and strip him if his clothes

Dexter was enjoying it too much to think what was really going on. Intil he say in if the Frat brothers waiting like this in Doug bedroom

The goal of the frat brothers was to trap and keep Dexter in Dougs body on he trapped all of Dougs knowledge and abilities wmfir football looking forward himdm becoming Doug 2.0. And keep Dexter's IQ

Not give much of a fight the let the brother seal the deal and make him Doug full time.

Once thus happens across campus the real Doug who was in Dexter body mind started to spin. He was no long Doug Graham but becoming a dumb version of Dexter. He became Dexter, But Dexter knowledge did not come over trapping him. As a dumb nerd.

This is a follow up to FML: Fraternize as selected by you for my 2,500 subscriber special. It took longer than expected and had a few rewrites, but I promised you all this would be the next story released. Hopefully it is worth the wait.

In all my years at this university I had never seen anything like it. Week after week students were seeming to disappear. You expect to see some flux in enrollment as students change schedules and drop classes. But these students weren’t removing themselves from classes. It was as though they were never enrolled at all. Initially within the department we all had our pet theories on the matter. But in a few weeks it was clear where they were going. It isn’t hard to notice a lot more students milling around the business campus, or the sudden discussion within administration of expanding the personal training and physiology tracts. We were all just left wondering why.

I finally hit my breaking point near the end of the semester when one of my more promising students disappeared from my roster. I asked the other pre-law professors and sure enough, they couldn’t find a trace of him ever taking a class in the department. However, I did find one lead. One of my students must have heard me discussing it with the TA’s and said that he was a member of a fraternity on campus. I groaned at the thought of having to trek out there, but I knew it was the quickest way to get some closure. Against my better judgment, I headed to the Eta Psi Rho house.

Every step there filled me with dread. I hate to confess it, but I had once attended this same university, and yes, even tried to join a fraternity. It had been such a long time ago, but I could still remember the cruel ways that my brothers had mocked, berated, and punished pledges. Fraternities we’re nothing but a blight on this campus that produced people like… well people like the man who greeted me out front.

Honestly. Back in our days at least we had the good sense to drag our brothers inside. It’s a shock campus police had not raided the place yet. I knelt down. He reeked of booze and sweat. His snore was almost deafening. Even if his brothers wouldn’t help him, I couldn’t leave him out here. I pestered the young man awake. Groggily, he rose to his feet, stumbling over his feet and his words. Immediately he clapped me on the back, thanking his ‘bro’ for the help. I tried to brush him aside, but his firm grip ushered me inside as he muttered about being late for class. I’m surprised he was still enrolled. Regardless, he helped me get inside and one of his ‘bruhs’ tried pointing me in the right direction where I could find my lost student. I began wandering the halls, looking for any sign of the young man, but they were eerily empty inside. What was I saying, the young men were all in their classes surely. Still, when from down the hall I suddenly heard, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood,” chanted in unison, I was a bit shocked. I walked up to the door and peered in, hoping to get better directions. I was met with a group of young men, glassy eyed, staring deep into a static filled television.

I walked in front of one young man, trying to get his attention. It was like I wasn't there as he stared right through me. It was no use, and the sound and light in the room was giving me a headache. I was about to leave when suddenly, from the TV, a clear command:

Brothers are lean and muscular.

Brothers are lean and muscular, the men all repeated. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the young man before me changed. His skin rippled for a moment, as though a chill went down his spine. Then, he began to swell. It came in bubbles, uneven and tumorous. But each patch began to combine and normalize with those around it until it suddenly stopped and a different man sat before me. At least, that's what I told myself as I bolted from the room.

Lost in the maze of corridors, I was just following the signs to the nearest emergency exit. Something was wrong here. Young men don't just- just GROW. The sign directed me rounded the corner into the laundry room and more pressingly, into a stranger. I started apologizing before I paused. I assumed there had to be a mistake.

The stranger had a familiar air to him. When he had been my student, the young man I knew was clean shaven, a bit shy and reserved in class, but smart as a whip and friendly. The man in front of me was confident. He shot me a smirk as he greeted me, ‘dabbing me up’ and calling me his bro. Up close he was overwhelming. I had known a brother to miss showers but it smelled like he hadn’t rinsed off in a week. The smell of cologne did nothing to hide the alcohol on his breath and the funk emanating from him. And while I could tell he used to be fit this was absurd. He looked chiseled from a magazine cover! The vacant expression was a far cry from the law student I knew. If it weren’t for his face and eyes, I doubt I would have even recognized him.

Regardless of his appearance, I started talking, pleading with him to tell me what was happening. What was happening in this house? Who was responsible for the poor boys in that room? Why did he throw away a bright future for this? But my words never seemed to get through. He pleasantly smiled and nodded, but gave canned answers about ‘brotherhood’. I really should have made for the exit in front of me but I was past the point of logic.

I finally shouted, “I just don’t understand why you would throw your life away for this!”

“This is my life,” he droned, “I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.”

That same mantra as those young men. I took a breath before continuing. God this place was rank. “Listen son, I know about the brotherhood and this fraternity. But you have to see something wrong is going on here. What were those boys doing in that room?"

"Oh the pledgies? Yeah, initiation is next week, got to make sure they stay in line over the finish line, ya know what I'm saying?"

"Someone's got to stop this. I'm going to the Dean, he'll be able to do something. This fraternity can't operate like this!"

The toothy smile fell, “You’ve got to be loyal to your bros. After all, we are made to be loyal to the frat.” His tone was suddenly flat as he began inching closer. In one swift motion he removed his tank top, flashing all his muscles. In one more, his shorts were on the ground. As he got closer, the heat in the room intensified.

It was getting hard to think, I was feeling so woozy. This bizarre display had gotten far beyond my scope as an educator. I tried to excuse myself, “I think I’d better go, this was a waste of- ” but he was suddenly upon me. I hadn’t realized I had backed myself into a corner.

"Pledge, come here!" and my mind froze.

As much as I wanted to scream and run, I could feel an unnamed power he held over me as his command to stop burrowed into my brain.

"You sound like you were in there for a bit. Let's see how much you got trained. What's a good punishment... ah. Pledge, sniff."

I felt so aroused and so scared as I was forced to closer to the source of his musk. I tried to resist, but something primal drove my nose in and gave a hesitant huff of pure frat bro. I was loosing any… any restraint… left. I couldn’t… resist… my… my…

He smirked, "Bro, what was that? Come on, Pledge, sniff!"

“Yes bruh.” It slipped so easily out, almost as easily as the drool from my mouth. My face crinkled as I shoved my face in his nasty pit. I couldn’t think about it. I sniffed and while I knew it was gross, it all felt fuzzy and warm in my head.

“Oh, you must have been in with them a while. Dude, we can't have you sharing fraternity secrets. Don't worry though, we may be able to save you yet. Come with me.”

My brain only processed the command as I stumbled after him back through the halls. We turned into a familiar room. I stood, head spinning, as he fiddled with a TV for a second and sat himself down.

“I think that the guys won't mind a double dose. Sit next to me.”

“Yeaaah, surrre thing,” I slurred, stumbling into my seat. His firm arm felt nice around me. He held me firmly as he pressed play on the remote and a VHS tape whirred to life. There was a disorientating strobe of colors that left me a bit dazed before starting up into an intro. I was confused at first what the tape was talking about. I wasn’t here to join the fraternity and learn more about a life of brotherhood. The opposite almost. I tried to stand, but his arm held me firmly in place. I started to protest, but the voice sounded so insistent, and it was so confusing to watch. It reminded me of something, some tape I had seen long ago. It was like slipping back into an old pair of pants, something just fit. Maybe I hear him out? Then, the tone switched.

Welcome to the first day of your new life. You have been selected to become one of the few. One of the elite. You feel honored to have been selected.

“I feel honored to be one of the elite,” every voice in the room rang out in unison.

An old pride rose in my chest. I was selected. I was better. I would be in Eta Psi Rho.

This important decision has been made for you. You must accept our guidance. The frat knows best.

“The frat knows best,” we all repeated.

You will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.

“I will be entirely dedicated to the brotherhood.” It felt good as it slipped out.

Good. Brothers, step out. We have it from here.

My former student brother released my shoulder, stood quickly and left the room. But I didn’t want to leave anymore. I was to watch the tape.

Let’s start with an attitude adjustment. It is important for bros to be bros. Bros are relaxed and carefree.

“Bros are relaxed and carefree.”

I hadn’t realized how much tension I had been holding in. But as I repeated the words, a wave of relaxation rolled down from my neck, through my shoulders, rippling through my arms and torso, all the way through my legs. I let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back into my seat.

Bros eat, sleep, workout, and hang together. Bros just want to spend time with their bros.

“Bros just want to spend time with their bro.”

All sense of time and obligation suddenly felt swirled in my head. I remembered that I was supposed to go, but it felt so distant. Instead, my mind filled with a schedule of work outs, parties, meals, and frat events. I couldn’t give my lecture tonight, I would miss chapter!

In a few short weeks you will be ready for brotherhood. But first, a reminder. You want to complete your pledge. You want to be a brother.

“I want to complete my pledge. I want to be a brother.”

That almost made sense. I wasn’t a pledge, I was too old. Or, I think I am? But quickly that logic was suppressed by something else. I wanted it. I wanted so badly to be a pledge.

The commands were starting to pick up speed.

A pledge does not think for himself. He follows his brothers’ orders and fits in.

“I follow my brothers’ orders and fit in. ”

Yeah, life is so much easier when I can just listen and follow. Let others make the decisions bro.

A pledge will do anything to become a brother.

“I will do anything to become a brother.”

God it felt so good to have it all sorted out.

Now, it is important to not just act like a brother. You need to look like a brother. Feel your body. Focus on it. Every frat bro's body is a temple. A temple prime for trashing. These next four years are the prime of your life. You will enjoy your college years.

That short phrase rushed through my body. An icy chill ran down my spine that froze me in place. My body felt tight as it slowly rewound itself. I felt young blood pulsing through my body as my muscles swelled, releasing the tension of muscle aches and cranky joints. Skin pulled tight against my muscles as years of work and stress smoothed over my body. Not a wrinkle, not a sag, not a follicle of body hair was left behind as I shed my 50’s for my 20’s. Then, all at once, a wave of testosterone washed over me. It was like puberty all over, as I broke out in a cold sweat that carried that young, masculine funk. My voice cracked and softened as I moaned, my cock was flush with hunger. The brain was in no state to resist as years of history were washed away under twenty-something hormones. Bruh, I could feel my brain unfurl and smooth out a bit too. For the first time in decades, I felt young, dumb, and so full of cum.

Brothers' muscles ache from years pushing it too hard in the gym. It feels good to push your body beyond its limits. Protein powder and energy drinks are the fuel that keep you lit. Bros are swole.

“Bros are swole.”

Any twink-ish hopes I had just developed were quickly dashed against pumping iron. I felt the ice melt as my body twisted under my skin and slowly began to sweat. My stomach began to fill as a familiar chalky taste crept up the back of my throat. Protein. A deep aching filled my body, yet it continued to pulse. The more it hurt, the more I wanted it. I watched as each muscle melted inside of me and reformed out of hardened steel.

Brothers know the power of their masculinity. They are not afraid to show off their bodies. It shows others who is in charge. Let weaker men worship you. Use them for your satisfaction. You will be dominant.

I will be dominant.

I rushed to take off my clothes. They suddenly felt so restricting. I thought back to my bro as he made me sniff his rank pits. The way I just complied to his commands. The gravity of his words. I wanted that. No, I deserved that. My brain filled with a rush of new desires. To walk into a room and see people turn. To be loud, to be seen, to be heard, to be felt. I wanted the thrill of the approach as I singled out the hottest body in the room and commanded them around like my bitch. I wanted to feel their desire flush as I roughly tossed them on my bed and pried my jeans off. I deserved their mouth, open and begging for my perfect cock. I earned their hole, clenched tight as they rode for dear life until I berried my seed deep in them. I claimed the cold wind on my skin, proud of a night of conquest as I stood nude at the window, hitting my vape. I could almost feel it. I could almost... smell it? I had lifted my arms above my head, and a smell rolled off my pits. Fuck, that was the smell he had. The smell of dominance. It was mine now. I took a victorious huff.

Finally, let's ensure you can always find what you need in Eta Psi Rho. Look around you at the bros in this room. You will stay together. You will serve each other. You love your bros.

I felt a swell of kinship in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to be a part of the brotherhood. To fucking dominate this school together. But suddenly there was a tension in the air. God, why were my bros so... hot? We had all been factory made to conquer but, something more held us together. There were a few seconds as we all waited for something to happen when, suddenly, the two bros next to me made the first move.

As the room devolved into chaos, the commands kept coming. We recited back diligently between sloppy kisses, deep moans, and grunts as we slid against each other's bodies. We listened but all waited for the command that would get us to cross the finish line.

You will keep it simple, keep it stupid.

“I will keep it simple, keep it stupid.”

My head felt like it was filled with fluff. No thoughts, just instinct.

You will listen to your pledge master, follow all he says.

“I will listen to my pledge master, follow all he says.”

It was so much easier to just trust my bros. Whatever they said went.

You will live for and serve your bros, live for and serve the frat.

“I will live for and serve my bros and the frat.”

I would do anything for my bros. Gotta keep ‘em happy.

What happens in the frat house stays in the frat house. No homo, bro.

I spit out the cock in my mouth as I kept railing the bro below me,

"No homo, bro!"

The frat is life.

“The frat is life.”

Perfect. We anticipate your full initiation. Cum.

Moans echoed through the halls as the tape ended.

A while passed before a door slamming shook me awake. An ache passed through me as I reached for the jug of water next to my bed. The buzz of pre-workout shook me awake. I was in my bedroom of the frat house. I was where I belonged. My big stood over my bed.

“Look at me,” my big said. My body turned to him and hit him with my cockiest smile. It felt good to obey my alpha bro.

The new man spoke, “Shit, that tape did a number on you. I don't know if we've ever inducted someone so old. How do you feel?”

“I feel relaxed and carefree, bruh,” I responded.

My bro slapped me upside the head, “Is that how you respond to your pledge master?”

Of course, how could I forget. I was so dumb sometimes, “Sorry. Good, Sir.”

His face lit up with glee, "Never get over that. Let’s see. Pledge, I brought home a twink for after the party tonight. Warm him up for me."

I felt my cock suddenly swell, rigid at attention. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

My pledge master whistled, “Dang, you know how to pick ‘em Skunk. He's no Long Leg, but he's up there. You picked out his pledge name yet?” I didn’t know his pledge name was skunk. But catching a whiff of myself as I scratched my head, guess it ran in the family.

“Well, if he’s going to keep acting like a smart ass, I’m thinking Prof.”

“Pfft, that’s hilarious,” my pledge master turned back to me, “One last question little bro. How do you feel about Eta Psi Rho?”

The alley smelled faintly of grease and dust, a place most people walked past without a glance. But Jason wasn’t “most people.” He was twenty-one, overweight, unkempt, and perpetually hunched over, the kind of guy who spent most of his time in front of a glowing monitor. His jeans were too tight in the wrong places, his hoodie stained, his wire-rimmed glasses perpetually sliding down his sweaty nose.

Jason always thought he saw treasures where others saw trash. Old circuit boards, half-broken controllers, a busted VCR he once proudly turned into an external hard drive dock. So when he noticed a pair of headphones sitting on the edge of a dumpster, sleek black, clearly expensive, his heart gave a little leap.

“Score,” he muttered, shoving his matted bangs out of his eyes as he picked them up.

They were heavier than he expected, cool to the touch. The padding around the earcups was pristine, the headband flexible but firm. And on the side, engraved in silver lettering, was a name he didn’t recognize: Karv.

Jason adjusted his glasses, grinning. “Bet these are noise-cancelling. Maybe I can finally game without hearing my neighbors fight all night.”

Without hesitation, he slid the headphones over his ears.

There was no music. Obviously, he didn’t expect there to be music but then he froze.

He felt a warm sensation in his ear. Only from playing endless sessions of dungeons and dragons did he recognize what was slowly crawling out of the headphones: a tentacle. Warm, wet and slightly slimy, he felt another appear in his left ear. freaking out he went to tear the headphones off, but something stopped him, before he could. It was as if his body had stopped responding to him entirely, so he just sat, frozen in silent horror, as the tentacles protruded further inside him. 

Yet the feeling was soothing in a way he couldn’t explain, like a deep internal massage. They slid past his ear canal, past his skull, deep into his brain, his hand fell away limply, and his lips parted. 

Yes… a voice whispered faintly. Just wait.

Jason found himself nodding without realizing it, eyes half lidded and arms hanging limply at his side

 He started walking, headphones snug over his ears. The alley gave way to the street, but Jason barely noticed. The world dulled around him, a blur of motion. The chatter of cars, the gust of wind forgotten. The tentacles still moving and shifting in his head. 

The fat clinging to his body softened, then melted, ounce by ounce. His hoodie felt looser. His thighs didn’t rub so harshly. His sneakers no longer pinched at his swollen feet.

He shuffled along, oblivious, as his stomach shrank inward, as if invisible hands were sculpting him. His jaw sharpened, cheekbones rising, double chin dissolving into smooth tan skin.

And his hair—stringy, greasy, neglected—lifted, dried, and fell into a styled flow of golden-brown streaks, catching the sunlight like strands of silk.

People passed him, staring, some double-taking. Jason didn’t see them. His world was only the odd feeling of the slimy stroking of his brain. 

By the time Jason reached the main road, his clothes hung oddly. His hoodie slid right off his shoulders without resistance, pooling behind him on the sidewalk. His jeans sagged, then thinned, morphing into loose white shorts that rode low on his newly cut hips.

His sneakers flickered, warping, reshaping, until only sandals remained—brown leather straps snug around his bare, sun-tanned feet.

Jason kept walking. His shoulders were broader now, chest flat and lean, abs etching themselves into perfect ridges. His skin glowed bronze, kissed by an endless summer.

A woman slowed down as he passed, eyes wide, mouth opening like she wanted to ask something, but Jason didn’t even glance at her. His head bobbed slightly, Inside, the tentacles began to seek something deeper: his memories. 

“Fuck,” Jason murmured as the pleasure hit him, his voice flat and eyes glazed.

Jason’s thoughts had always been noisy. Worries about grades, about jobs, about how he looked, about how he never had anyone. That constant hum of insecurity had defined him.

But deep inside the tentacles invaded his mind, making the inner noise dimmer.

He moaned again, a slack smile tugging at his lips. His walk came easier now, hips rolling slightly, shoulders loose. He wasn’t hunched anymore. He now looked like a boy who belonged in the sun, not behind a computer screen.

And more memories slipped away, the slimy appendages absorbing them. His Steam password. His favorite anime. His high school humiliations. His ex-friends. Jason didn’t even notice it was all gone.

By the time the sun reached its peak, Jason’s mind was almost empty. The tentacles had erased everything unnecessary.

He couldn’t recall his last name. He couldn’t picture his old face. He didn’t even remember what his voice used to sound like.

He only remembered a single word: master.

Jason looked down at himself, at the smooth ridges of his abdomen, at the golden skin gleaming with sweat. His shorts clung to his hips, his sandals snug, his hair falling in perfect waves.

He smiled dreamily. Perfect. For Master.

His feet suddenly stopped. A massive home rose in front of him. He looked up confused until he recognized the carved poles and towering windows. This was the master's home, the headphones had brought him. . .home.

His hand rose to adjust the headphones. The tentacles had receded back from where they had come, leaving him feeling light and empty headed. He felt an ache in his chest—not fear, not longing, but need. He couldn’t rest until he obeyed, something, anything.

His entire body, mind, and soul belonged to his Master.

He stepped forward again, sandals slapping against the concrete steps, abs flexing as he walked. His blank, blissful eyes lifted toward the door. There were no thoughts left in his beautiful, empty head. He opened the wooden door and stepped inside. . .

The conference room sat at the top of the building—fiftieth floor, windows blacked out, curtains sealed, lights dimmed to a corporate haze. The room was long and unusually casual, plush coaches set around circular tables carved from some endangered hardwood varnished into extinction. Twelve men sat around it, each one the kind of billionaire whose biography was always described with the phrase “controversial but effective.” Their suits were tailored, their ties crisp, and their souls collectively accrued from several centuries of monopolies, exploited workforces, and very well-hidden offshore accounts.

At the head sat Grayson Stone, founder of half the world’s largest logistics chains and owner of the other half. Thick-fingered, gray-haired, and somehow always sipping a drink that was never empty. He tapped on said glass.

“Gentlemen. Let’s begin.”

The room settled. A few of the men checked their phones. A few adjusted their watches. All of them carried the same bored, heavy certainty that nothing in the world could possibly surprise them anymore.

Slate cleared his throat.

“As you all know, the world is—pardon my language—fucked.”

Several men nodded solemnly, while others smiled in amusement.

“Economically, geopolitically, socially, ethically… pick a category. We have a crisis in every one.” Slate gestured lazily to the curtained windows. “Revolutions, pandemics, wars, the dissolution of attention spans, the collapse of traditional family structures, the rise of freelancing—” he shuddered “—and don’t get me started on democratic participation.”

A ripple of disgust moved across the table.

“Society has reached uncharted levels of ‘freedom,” added Elliot Brand, the tech mogul who’d cornered the cloud computing market. “People don’t want to follow rules. They want their own opinions. Their own facts.” He sighed heavily. “And they argue. All the time.”

“They think,” muttered Holmes Price, the pharmaceutical giant’s CEO, as if naming an unspeakable sin. “Even when we tell them not to.”

“And worst of all,” chimed in Bruce Dallow, owner of the largest construction conglomerate on the planet, “they die.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Mortality,” he explained. “Makes them unpredictable. Scared. Panicked. They do stupid things. They riot. They vote incorrectly. They write think-pieces.”

The table collectively winced at that last one.

Slate leaned back, folding his hands. “Exactly. People are too complicated. Too varied. Too… human.”

The word hung in the air like an uncomfortable truth rather than an obvious fact.

“And men,” Slate continued, “are… well…” He made a vague motion, a half-hearted shrug. “Improvement is needed. But you know.” Another shrug. “We can work with that.”

Several of the men snorted. One of them whispered “Better than dealing with women,” and the whole table chuckled with the casual, oblivious cruelty of men who had never once been told no.

“But!” Slate lifted a finger. “We don’t have to tolerate complexity. We don’t have to tolerate intelligence. We don’t have to tolerate personalities that aren’t immediately useful.” His voice gained momentum, the tone of a man revealing the twist to a plan he’d been crafting for years. “We can fix all of this.”

Elliot leaned forward. “With what? Psychological conditioning? Behavioral nudges? Targeted propaganda? We’ve tried and tired, it hasn’t worked since the late 90s”

Slate smiled. “More… direct methods.”

A silence swept across the table. Then: “What, exactly, are you proposing?” Holmes demanded.

Slate pressed a button beneath the table.

The lights dimmed. A projector hummed to life. On the screen behind him, a massive slide appeared in stark white letters:

THP: THE HOMOGENIZATION PROJECT

Several of the men squinted. A few adjusted glasses. One or two nodded in premature approval, as if the name alone had sold them. Slate clasped his hands behind his back.

“Gentlemen… society has failed. Democracy has failed. Education has failed. The market,” he cast a look at Elliot, “has not entirely failed, but the customers have.”

Elliot nodded gravely.

“The problem is that people think too much, feel too much, disagree too much. They innovate incorrectly. They aspire incorrectly. They vote incorrectly. They form relationships incorrectly.”

He raised a finger.

“And some of them,” he added, “are women.”

(Nods. Several satisfied sighs. Somebody muttered: “Finally someone says it.”)

Slate continued.

“We need a society that is simple. Predictable. Obedient. Unburdened by high cognition, existential dread, or excessive personality traits.”

He clicked to the next slide:

PHASE 1: UNIVERSAL TRANSFORMATION

“And the solution,” Slate said, pacing slowly, “is to remake the world’s population into something more manageable. To eradicate variance. To standardize humanity.and to do this we must transform them.”

The room buzzed with various reactions of shock, amusement, and lots of confusion. Holmes Price gave a suspicious glance at Grayson, waiting to see where he was going with this. 

“We will transform every person, across all nations, all ages, all identities, into a narrow demographic range: approximately sixteen to thirty-seven, all male, all engineered with predetermined personalities that are simple, agreeable, predictable, and entirely loyal to the new world order.”

A complete silence. Then someone asked:

“…Like… like NPCs?”

“Better,” Slate said cheerfully. “Like influencers. But stupider.”

The room erupted in impressed murmurs.

“And what,” Holmes asked, “will these… men… act like?”

“Whatever we tell them to,” Slate replied. “They are perfectly content doing what they are told.   To be quite crude they’ll be dumb, the kind of dumb that will maximize our profits.”

Bruce let out a low whistle. “That’s beautiful,” he murmured.

Holmes leaned forward. “And how do you propose we accomplish this?”

“Transformation technology,” Slate said casually, like it was the kind of thing one might pick up at Target. “I’ve partnered with some specialists. Ancient biotech. Experimental materials. Nanostructural behavioral rewriting. A little alchemy. The details don’t matter.”

“So they don’t get a choice in the matter, I assume,” Holmes asked, at a confirming nod from Stone. He leapt to his feet, going off at the CEO. “This is completely unethical, Grayson. I don’t understand what’s happened to you. I don’t know about the rest of these men, but it will have no part in this.” He left out the conference room door in a huff. 

Garyson tapped his foot. He said something into his ear piece. All of a sudden a scream could be heard, echoing throughout the conference room. The distinct sound of Holmes muffled curses gave the men lounging around the room a vivid picture of what had just happened in the hall. The room grew tense as Stone gave the rigid room a big grin.

“What matters,” he continued brightly, “is distribution.”

And suddenly the screen shifted again:

PHASE 2: PRODUCT-BASED DELIVERY

Elliot’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to transform people with… consumer goods?”

Slate nodded. He gestured to a large screen set into the wall.

“Observe.”

File Name: SF-CR-Jeep

Manufacturing details: produced by Jeep then customized by Graystone detailing

Key transformation components: Saltwater Infusion - Vehicle’s metal frame pressure-washed internally with Pacific seawater containing dissolved surfer archetype energy signatures.

Leather Treatment - Interior leather soaked in Sex Wax–derived conditioning compounds, optimized for inducing neurological chill-out responses and cognitive downgrades.

Cabin Vapor System - Emits micro-mists of sunscreen, ocean breeze chemicals, and “perpetual vacation” pheromones.

Drive-Cycle Activation - Transformation accelerates with vehicle movement; vibration synced to mimic wave motion, inducing identity regression and brain reprogramming.

Testing: an oversized, aggressive, slate-gray Jeep—wheels raised, surfboard rack attached, smelling faintly of saltwater was parked on the side of the road. 

An intern stepped towards it, you could tell he was an intern based on the way he carried himself, with meek manners and a sense of humility about him, his small body shoved in an ill fitting pair of pants and oversized blazer. 

Obviously confused, rummaging around himself only to find keys that matched the unknown car in his pants pocket. Clearly exhausted, he shrugged and got in the car. As he drove, something started to happen.

The wind tossed his hair as it became sun bleached. His clothing tightened around growing muscles, before reforming entirely into a bright T-shirt and shorts. He grinned in a dopey sort of way as he cruised down a coastal highway. 

“Brooo,” he said, voice cracking with surfer slang, “life is literally vibes, man.” 

He didn’t even know what an accountant is anymore. Totally  carefree surfer dude. His brain just… washed clean. All he cares about now is waves, suntan oil, and saying ‘heyyy brahh.’ 

The Jeep horn beeped with a jaunty little rhythm.

File Name: (F)JOK-SE-Football

Manufacturing details: manufactured entirely by Graystone Labs: THP division

Key transformation components: Injected Youth Hormones - Leather panels infused with proprietary AdoLEssence™ hormonal cocktail engineered to induce teenage-body regression. 

Paint Mixture -

1/3 standard field paint

1/3 “biological extract” from retired NFL donors

1/3 stabilized adolescent athletic pheromonee 

Contact-Triggered Hormonal Aerosolization - Heat from handling releases micro-particles targeting muscle density, aggression, and ego inflation.

Second Testing: Holmes Price sat on the metal bleachers, very angry at being forced against his will to come to such a place.  The sixty-year-old CEO stood with arms folded defensively. 

A football was tossed at him. He caught it reflexively, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a standard-looking varsity football. Except it wasn’t: The leather pulsed faintly, like it had a heartbeat.

Instantly, his wrinkles began fading. His shoulders broadened. Hair thickened, then fell into the perfect teenage-quarterback flop that was quickly covered by a hat. His suit vanished into thin air. His brain rewriting itself in real time.

He blinked, confused. “Coach?? Practice already?? I didn’t—uh—I didn’t hear the whistle, dude.”

He jogged onto the field, shouting “LET’S GO, BABYYYY!” Not a single thought to his old life. 

File Name: PR-EB-Gray Goose vodka

Manufacturing details: sponsored by Gray Goose liquor and developed in partnership 

Key transformation components: Posh Chemical Additives - Infusion of investor approved synthetic preppy pheromones.

Youth Hormones - Same AdoLEssence™ base as [REDACTED], reformulated for oral absorption.

Bottle Composition - Glass blended with micro-shards from upscale Vineyard Vines store displays, containing residual “country-club brainwave patterns.”

Blood Alcohol Delivery - Alcohol carries identity-lowering compounds that target verbal processing and color preference centers through bloodstream. 

Testing: The glaring, ice-filled wine chiller caught her eye. She was in her forties,a mid-level marketing executive, at a company party that she was NOT enjoying, but something on the drink cart had kept her from leaving. Inside the chiller sat a single glass bottle of vodka.

It fizzed faintly, even unopened. The woman opened the bottle and took a sip from it directly. Her eyes widened, it was delicious. She quickly moved to mix it around with some fruit juices on the bar cart.

As he did so, her hair shortened, then turned sandy-blond, then popped upward into the perfectly obnoxious swoop favored by boys named Chase. Her frame sharpened into lean teenage athleticism, her face youthful beauty Her blouse rewove itself into a colored polo layered over an expensive jacket.

His voice cracked as she stared at the party of people he no longer recognized. “Bro… what the heck… it’s time for lacrosse practice??”

He left the party in a rush. Now a dense preppy teenage boy. The kind to grow up in a private school and never be told no. Sweater-over-shoulders energy. A bit clueless but completely harmless. 

Slate walked between the presenters, hands clasped behind his back.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “this is only the beginning. If we can transform individuals through cars, sports equipment, beverages—imagine what we can do when we distribute these globally.”

He clicked to the final slide:

PHASE 3: MASS ADOPTION — FULL WORLD CONVERSION IN 18 MONTHS

“Automobiles. Footwear. Sodas. Toys. Gym equipment. Household appliances. Toiletries. We partner with every major manufacturer. We embed transformation catalysts into the supply chain.”

He paused.

“We don’t need to force anyone. They’ll transform themselves.”

The men around the table began whispering excitedly, the overlapping hum of eleven egos seeing their legacy written across the next century and the fear of ending up like Holmes if they declined. 

Someone asked, “What about resistance?”

Slate shrugged. “They’ll be too stupid to resist.”

Elliot asked, “What about government interference?”

“Governments won’t be able to function now,” Slate said dryly. “Imagine how easy they’ll be to manage when every world leader is a twenty-year-old dude named Kyle.”

Laughter rippled, cold and certain. The businessmen leaned back, satisfied. Every one of them imagined a world shaped like a beer commercial, run by the least threatening demographic imaginable.

A world of bros. A world they could finally, perfectly control. Slate raised his glass.

“All I need from you is your funding.”

Eventually, a full scratching of pens filled the room, as every single businessman signed a contract, giving Greystone industries full access to their funding and resources. Yet as the last lines were signed, something began to happen. 

Their faces began to get smoother, their appearances more youthful. A couple tried to sound the alarm, but their panicked shouts quickly turned into mindless grins. Their suits transformed into tiny shorts showing off massive legs. Their jackets becoming an assorted mix of tops: tank tops, t-shirts, one’s button down shirt melted away completely leaving behind a bare chest, showing off thick muscles. 

Stone watched all this with a grin, he already had their money, he had no need for these men now. He poured himself more whisky, as he watched his old friend Elliot complete his transformation. Elliot’s gained muscle quickly becoming  a sun darkened tan, his hair gaining a touch of the sun as well with streaks of blonde running through it. He lifted his tie dye shirt and grinned up at Grayson flirtatiously but without recognition. Stone looked over the rest of the men as they finished as well. Their hair styled in various trendy dos, some covered by baseball caps. Some glanced at him with dull, glazed over eyes.

 He gave them all a final glance as he left the room. Knowing that his transportation department would teleport the room and the boys inside to a frat house in a coastal town. There had been many discussions on what would be the best to transform the investors to, options ranging from boy band to hockey team had been discussed before landing on the idea of a frat house. An addition that would be unnoticed wherever they relocated them, but soon people would notice the growing number of young men. Things were about to change, and Grayson Stone had many many many plans.