Changing Humans

I know you are responsible for this! Turn him back! Or I’ll call the cops.

snap

You're gonna call the cops? On me? Good luck with that!

Listen to that panic in your voice.

You’ve noticed them, haven’t you?

All those hockey players showing up around town. Big guys in team jackets and backwards caps. Heavy gym bags slung over broad shoulders. Groups of them laughing too loudly outside convenience stores and coffee shops like they own the entire city.

And your best friend? He's gone, bro. He finally became what he was supposed to be. 

And honestly? Wouldn't you want to join him? I know you do... Deep down, you want to be a cocky, jacked hockey player bro just like him. 

I can already tell exactly what kind of guy you are. You're already bulging in your underwear. 

You're so tense... Too stuck inside your own head. Good thing I can fix that.

I'll start the change deep in your legs.

Feel that thick pressure building in your thighs, your muscles swelling violently beneath your jeans. Those jeans are way too tight now. Let’s get them off.

Ohhh, there we go.

Feel how heavy your legs are getting?

You need tight calves for hockey. Dense cords of muscle. Steady now. Your balance is shifting lower… I’m making you a little bit shorter, but it’ll help when you’re on the ice. Perfect for skating. 

Your hips are widening now and your core is getting tighter. Lift your shirt, go on! Feel those hard abs flattening beneath rapidly growing muscle.

So much broader now. Stronger. Built for hitting.

Your chest is thickening heavily beneath your shirt, dense athlete muscle stretching the fabric tight across your torso. Your arms swell next — forearms hardening first, then biceps, then thick hockey-player shoulders forming naturally onto your frame.

Not bodybuilder or gym rat muscle. It’s hockey muscle.

Powerful. Functional. Intimidating.

Your lungs pull in a sharp breath as the smell hits you suddenly.

Ice. Sweat. Locker rooms.

Your brain’s changing already.

You’re still trying to fight it. Don’t bother. You know you want it. 

You’re rougher now. Cockier. Go ahead, roll you shoulders roll back. Widen your stance. There you go… Let that insecurity drain out of your body. Now you stand like you own the space.

Careful now. Memories are crashing into your skull.

All those early morning practices. Team bus rides. Weight room sessions. Laughing with the boys after games. Getting stitched up after fights. College scouts watching from the stands. Every memory rewrites itself perfectly.

Your old life starts feeling distant. Small. A little embarrassing, right?

Why were you so stressed all the time? None of that mattered. But this does.

Okay, you’re ready in body and mind. Let’s get you looking the part!

I’ll stitch a long-sleeve compression shirt across your chest and stomach, hugging your newly muscular frame tightly. Looks tight. Looks good. Then let’s get some hockey gear on you!

Shin pads, socks, skates. Hockey pants, shoulder pads, elbow pads.

Finally— A dark red jersey. Number 34.

Go ahead and stare down at yourself.

You look incredible.

Big thighs. Broad chest. Strong jaw. You are the exact kind of guy you used to secretly stare at.

And the funniest part? You’re not intimidated by hockey players anymore, because now you are one.

Okay, what’s next? Practice! You’ve got practice.

Helmet on. Grab your stick. The boys are waiting for you.

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

Short pec TF story

Currently, you have to run into the bathroom after eating some weird looking food. You took this picture to show that you weren't doing so well.

You here footsteps approaching the bathroom, there moving surprisingly slow but keep getting louder and louder. You see a man peek into the bathroom were you are, you yell out to see who it is. They approach you from the corner,

"Oh, you had a drink didn't you?" The man said, "yeah? What did you do to me. I feel . . Weird" you reply. "You'll be way bigger soon." The man says, "What? . . "

Your vision gets blurry, you fall over. Straight into the man's pecs, he grabs you and lifts your head. His eyes sparkle, your heart skips a beat. Right before your black out,

______

You wake up in a mansion, you look down at your at your new body. You feel transformed.

Your pecs are massive compared to the little tiny pieces of meat that were on your chest before you woke up. You felt so powerful, everything felt so different. Your posture slouches because of all the muscle on your chest, you grab a fist full of the meat. It makes you feel so good. Your biceps are huge, you can lift anything. You would do anything to flex them. Your face was transformed, you feel way different. When you try to remember your past life, you see a woman . . . But you don't like woman. You love men. You have muscular boyfriend waiting for you.

You head into the kitchen and begin to cook for your boyfriend. You hear those same footsteps from the bathroom. Your heart beats faster and faster. You feel sensational from the presence of your man.

"hey baby! How's those pecs doing" your man says, "good baby, just need a little touching if you know what I mean~" you reply, "ok baby, hand them over"

You giggle, his warm hands fondle your pecs like a baby,

You give up your body to him, you mind foggy after the bounces, every bounce makes you feel dumber and dumber. You love this, you love his touch. Your pecs feel so much better now.

"let's head back to the room baby," he says

You agree silently, he lifts himself onto your back and begin to carry him to the bedroom, you feel so good. He keeps twitching your nipples making you moan, your pecs feel heavier and heavier. Your back aches from the muscle. You feel amazing

Once you get to the room, he grabs some muscle growth cream,

"your pecs aren't big enough yet, let's fix that" he says. You just moan for more. You love your boyfriend just as much as you love your huge pecs

Muscled out cops?

If you do, smoke this.

“Alright sir, your total will be $134.18 today. Cash or Card?”

“Neither. I usually don’t need to pay for things like this.”

I was befuddled by the forwardness, “I’m sorry sir, but you are going to have to pay for your groceries today. Cash, card, or please get out of my line.”

“I’m sure we could come to an… arrangement.” In the middle of the store he took off his thin tee shirt.

He flashed a charming smile as he flexed his muscles, his torso on full display.

“I’m sorry sir, this is very inappropriate. I am refusing service. Please exit the store.”

“What, no one’s looking besides you. It’s just you and me right now baby,” his voice had gone low, smooth as silk, “come on, can’t you cut me a deal?” He practically shoved his musky body in my face. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my forehead. “You do me a favor, I’ll do one for you.”

Something about this felt strange. My face was flush as my clothes began to feel tight against my body. My polo suddenly was too warm, too tight, too scratchy against my body. My pants felt close to bursting. Even though my dick was straining against its tight enclosure, begging to be set free, I felt the weight in my pocket more. My wallet was pressed tight against my thigh, a thick square almost squeezing out of my pocket. Unconsciously I had been tracing the outline. He had noticed.

“That’s it babe, pull it out.”

He shifted positions, placing his hand firmly on the wall behind me and began teasing. Treating me to a blast of his damp pits.

“Make your daddy proud.”

He was treating me like a child, “Please sir I-I”

“No please and begging babe. Just hand it over to me.”

I couldn’t resist any longer, “Ye-yes Sir.”

I was already holding the wallet. I fiddled for a card-

“The whole thing.”

I handed him my wallet. He flashed a winning grin as he pulled out my driver’s license.

“Awww, such a good photo of you babe.” He flicked the plastic back at me. The photo looked… wrong somehow. Too energetic. Too bright. But it was hard to focus. Under the heat of his presence and the heavy musk I was almost panting. He pulled out a green credit card.

“What’s my pin?”

I almost cried, “7352.”

“Good boy,” he swiped the card and took a step back. As the weight of him shifted I felt more relaxed, but somehow far emptier. “Young guys like you can’t be trusted with money anyways.”

A shiver ran down my spine, as my body stretched and settled. Energy pulsed through me. I hadn’t felt this way in years. “Would…would you like a receipt Sir?”

“No receipt. Thanks for asking. You’re such a good boy,” the words burned in my ears. I was sure I looked like a wide eyed fool, but I was waiting, hoping he would say…

“Oh, you can cum for me now.” He said it.

I felt a wave crash over my body as he said it. I ripped out of my shirt as I grasped for my dick, too late to stop the thick damp spot from forming on the front of my khakis.

“Hopefully that body reminds you of your Master.”

“Yes sir… thank you sir…”

“I will be keeping this.” He slid his wallet into his pocket, “And I expect to be able to use this whenever I need to.”

“Yes sir…” I watched as his beautiful body disappeared under his shirt again. Mine lay in tatters on the ground around me.

“Goodbye babe,” and with a dazzling smile he left.

“Thank you for shopping with us…” I shouted after him, far too loud and quickly.

As I looked around me, I couldn’t help but feel a deep shame and deep lust for what had just happened. My mind, body, and soul had realigned in just a few short minutes. There was only one question to ask myself,

“Shit… what am I going to tell my wife?”

"He's kind of cute."

Cameron could feel his dick stir as he gazed at the shirtless photos of a nearby twunk. Nice pecs, nice abs, and bulge barely hidden by a tight speedo. Just his type.

"Hey there, I like your pics." Cameron typed, "Kind of new to this. What are you looking for on here?"

Sent. Cameron lowered his phone and let out a sigh.

"C'mon Cam, that was lame." He muttered to himself, instantly regretting his decision to press send, "You can do better than that."

It had only been a few months since he came out, and even more recently that he started hooking up with guys. He was new to all this- the apps, the culture... all of it. His eyes lit up when he heard that he had a new notification.

"Sorry, not into twinks." The man had replied, "Not a top. And not looking for a relationship." Cameron frowned, "And FYI, Grindr is for hookups, buddy. Try Hinge or something if you're actually looking for a relationship. No offense, but most people aren't trying to date rando guys off Grindr."

And then he was blocked. Cameron felt his dick soften- the reply killing his mood. The guy was right. And as Cameron reviewed his own profile, he realized how stupid he sounded. Looking for something long-term... deeper connection... dates... He even included his hobbies. All on Grindr...

"I can't believe I actually thought Grindr would be a good place to find a boyfriend," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He couldn't help but laugh. "What was I thinking?" He looked over at his desk, "I should probably being studying anyway..."

The sound a of new notification caused Cameron to look back down at his phone. A blank profile- of course. And the message?

"Yo come over."

He didn't have much to go with, but the fact he got a message made his heart flutter, especially after the rejection. And as he reviewed what little information there was, Cameron felt his dick stir.

Age: 27

Ethnicity: Middle Eastern

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 190 lbs

Position: Top

Body Type: Muscular

Tribe: Jock.

That definitely piqued his interest. After all, he was into muscular guys. Fuck it. A relationship could wait. After all, as the twunk had told him, Grindr was for hook-ups.

"Hey, I'd love to come over... but could you maybe send a pic first?" Cameron typed out nervously, biting his lip as he hit send.

A few agonizing minutes passed before the response came through, "No pics. You coming over or what?"

Cameron gulped, hesitating. This was so unlike him, meeting up with some random guy online without seeing what he looks like first. But god... his imagination was running wild with the possibilities.

"I'll come over. Text me the address."

__________

Cameron stood outside the door, heart pounding as he knocked tentatively. No answer. He double checked the address. This was the right place.

"Hello? I'm here…" he called out, voice wavering slightly as he pushed the door open as instructed, "Hello... oh crap." The smell hit him first - stale sweat, musk, and something else he couldn't quite place. He wrinkled his nose.

The studio apartment was a mess, clothes strewn about, empty beer bottles littering every surface. In the corner sat a weight bench surrounded by dumbbells, a towel tossed carelessly on top. And there, on the unmade bed, a laptop played a loud porno, two beefy guys going at it. Cameron stepped inside cautiously, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Hello? Anyone home?" His voice echoed in the messy space. He moved further in, "God, what am I doing here?" he muttered under his breath. Every instinct screamed this was a bad idea, "What the..."

He approached the laptop, morbidly curious. The two muscular men on screen grunted and groaned, lost in their intense pleasure. Cameron felt his face flush hot, imagining what it would feel like to be pinned under one of those muscular men.

"Get it together Cam." He whispered, looking around the dirty apartment, "Maybe I should just..." The weights scattered next to the bench caught his eye, "Woah, does this guy really lift that?" Cameron approached the weight bench, imagining the type of guy that could lift those weights, "I don't even think I could lift that with both arms."

He reached out to touch one of the heavy dumbbells. And as he gripped it, sudden vivid flashes of memories flooded his mind - himself, shirtless and glistening with sweat, grunting as he lifted the weight over and over. The muscles in his arm flexed and bulged with each rep.

"What the hell?" Cameron gasped, yanking his hand back. Those weren't his memories… were they? They felt so real... He stared at his hands, noticing they looked bigger, more calloused than usual. Stronger, "Fuck… I need... need some water…"

Cameron stumbled to the small kitchen area, opening the fridge. Tubs of marinated lamb, chicken skewers, and other halal meats greeted him. Memories surfaced - himself at the butcher, haggling for the best cuts, preparing the meat with practiced ease. He shook his head, trying to clear the strange thoughts.

"This isn't my food… is it?" he mumbled, reaching for a protein shake. The label was in Arabic, a language he didn't know. Yet somehow, he could read it perfectly. As he unscrewed the cap, the scent made his mouth water. He chugged half the bottle before realizing what he was doing.

"Shit!" Cameron set the shake down hard, droplets splashing onto the counter. He felt feverish, skin flushed and sensitive.

Cameron stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. He ran a hand over his bare chest, marveling at the firm muscle beneath his palm. When did he start working out like this? When the fuck did his biceps get that big? He couldn't remember ever being this fit. Because.... because he wasn't? Right?

As he moved to the couch, more fragmented memories assaulted him - controller in hand, thumbs dancing over buttons during intense gaming sessions. Him sprawled out naked, watching sports highlights, cheering at the TV. None of these were his normal activities. Something was very, very wrong.

"No, no, no…" Cameron panted, sinking down onto the cushions. They felt familiar under his ass, like he'd sat here countless times before. "This doesn't make sense. I'm not… I'm Cameron. I don't…" He felt like something was pressing on his brain, squeezing it tightly, "I need to get out of here… I need to…"

Cameron's head throbbed as he tried to make sense of the alien memories and sensations flooding his body. The longer he stayed in this strange apartment, the more foreign and distant his own identity felt. With a burst of panic, he leapt up from the couch, stumbling towards the door. But he didn't make it far.

"Oof!" Cameron cried out as he tumbled face-first into the pile of dirty laundry. The pungent aroma of sweat and musk overwhelmed his senses. He sputtered and coughed, trying to push himself up.

"Ungh… what the fuck…" he groaned, but the words sounded wrong, too deep and guttural. His abs clenched involuntarily, and he watched in shock as defined ridges appeared across his stomach. His pecs swelled outward, dark hairs sprouting across the newly expanded muscle.

"Aah! No, stop!" Cameron wailed, scrambling backwards. His arm hair thickened and darkened, the strands elongating. He clawed at his head as clumps of brunette hair fell away, replaced by coarse black locks that soon covered his scalp in a close-cropped style.

Cameron's face contorted in agony as a beard began to sprout rapidly, coarse hairs prickling his skin. He scratched frantically at his burning cheeks and chin, recoiling in horror as the facial hair darkened and thickened.

"No, please… I don't want this!" he begged, his voice already sounding less like his own. Stumbling to his feet, he staggered towards the bathroom, nearly tripping over his changing body.

In the harsh fluorescent light, Cameron stared at his reflection in disbelief. His skin tone deepened, shifting from pale to a rich olive complexion. His once bright blue eyes clouded over, darkening to a deep, smoldering brown. The changes slowed but didn't stop, leaving him panting and disoriented. Small details shifted- thickening eyebrows, styled beard, a new chain necklace...

"What… what's happening to me?" he croaked, no longer recognizing the man staring back at him in the mirror.

It was a stranger in the mirror - a muscular Arab man with dark features and a thick beard. Panic rising in his throat, he mentally compared himself to the Grindr profile from earlier:

27 years old? Check. Middle Eastern appearance? Check. 6'2" tall? Check. 190 pounds of solid muscle? Muscular build? He flexed an arm experimentally, watching the bicep swell impressively. Absolutely. Somehow... somehow he had become that man. At least physically. But 'top'? 'Jock'? Those didn't feel right. He was still himself- a newly out college kid who just wanted to find the love of his life. He just needed some help... he just needed....

"Someone to worship my cock." Cameron's eyes widened as the words left his mouth.

"N-no… I'm not like that," Cameron stammered, but the words rang hollow. A foreign heat began to build low in his gut, his newly muscular body thrumming with an intense, single-minded desire.

"Ahhh, fuck…" he groaned, palming his growing erection through his pants. The musky scent of his own arousal filled the small bathroom, making his head spin with lust.

"No… I don't want this!" Cameron struggled against the invading thoughts and urges, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave.

"I just wanna fuck… wanna get my dick sucked…" he growled, voice dripping with desperate need. With shaking hands, he whipped out his massive, throbbing cock. It was so much bigger than he remembered…

"Ungh yeah… gonna find someone to choke on this fat cock," he grunted, fisting his meat faster. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth as he lost himself in the haze of horniness.

His free hand roamed his sculpted torso, tweaking a nipple as he imagined a pretty little bottom gagging on his dick. The urge to breed, to mark his territory, consumed his every thought.

"I need it… need to fuck… need to cum…" Cameron babbled mindlessly, "I... fuck... no... Allah, what's happening to me?!" He cried out, tears prickling at the corners of his dark eyes, "Don't... don't wanna be like this... wanna find love, not just... unghh... just fucking..."

Cameron whimpered, even as his strokes became more aggressive, more focused solely on his own pleasure. As Cameron's climax built, a new name flashed through his mind - Raheem. And it repeated in his mind, over and over. Raheem.... Raheem.... Raheem.... until that was all that remained. With a guttural roar, he exploded, thick ropes of pearly cum erupting from his cock. His powerful body convulsed, muscles rippling as the intense orgasm crashed over him.

Raheem… Yes, that was his name now. His true name. As the final spurts dribbled from his spent cock, darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. The last thing Raheem saw before passing out was his reflection in the mirror - always his... forever... Then everything went black.

________

Raheem stirred groggily, blinking awake on the bathroom floor. His head throbbed and his muscles ached pleasantly. Rising on shaky legs, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and grinned, admiring his new physique.

"Damn, I'm fine as fuck," he purred, flexing and posing. He snapped a quick selfie and updated his Grindr profile with the picture- a blank profile no longer, "That'll get their dicks hard."

Scrolling through the app, while pawing his meaty cock, a familiar face caught his eye- some twunk. He knew he recognized that face, but he couldn't tell from where. But fuck he found him sexy. A small grin formed across Raheem's face as he sent a message.

"Yo come over."

“You belong down there.”

Brody had been getting ready to leave the apartment when Conner had asked for help. Brody didn’t have much time and he knew his girlfriend was going to be mad if he was late again. She had great tits and a decent personality, but the whole nagging-thing was starting to get a bit on his nerves. And if Brody wasn’t there to escort her to the mall on time, she would be extra moody.

“Brody! Can you help me for a sec?” Conner shouted from his bedroom. Brody briskly made his way over, thankful his long, powerfully-built legs did so with ease.

“Make it quick,” Brody answered as he leaned on the doorframe, his jockish build filling it in perfectly. Being so broad and muscular was sometimes a curse, but right now Brody looked like a model entering the set of a sitcom where the audience would roar with applause.

“I dropped a part of my headset underneath my desk and I can’t get it.” Conner was currently invested in some video game, his eyes never leaving the screen and his mouse clicking furiously.

“Seriously dude?” Brody cocked an eyebrow while scratching his head through the short raven hair.

“Yeah bro,” Conner said. “Please, I’m desperate, the team is freaking out: I’m not ‘fully in the game’.”

Brody snorted and made his way over to the desk. Bending over, he carefully scooted his way towards Conner’s chair, noticing the other man’s legs and feet in the way.

“Hey, would you mind moving these furry sticks for me.”

“‘Sticks’?” Conner was amused. “Those calves were built from years on the field. I bet you can’t say the same.”

Brody rolled his eyes, knowing Conner was right. His legs were truly hairless twigs, and short ones too. Brody watched as Conner lifted his feet up, allowing for him to venture further underneath the desk. Looking around, Brody realized he didn’t actually know what he was supposed to be looking for. Then, he felt Conner place his feet on his back.

“Hey!”

“What?” Conner laughed cockily. “While you’re down there you might as well be the perfect footrest.”

Brody took in a deep breath of air, noticing the lack of uncontaminated oxygen underneath the desk. “What does this thing look like?”

“Small,” Conner replied. “Like you.”

“Ha-ha,” Brody enunciated back. He had to admit he did fit underneath this desk pretty easily.

“It’s true, I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else down there.” Conner dug his feet playfully into Brody’s thin back. “With hands like yours, I knew you’d be able to help me.”

Brody looked at his delicate fingers, confused. “Any other adjectives you could use besides ‘small’?”

“Dutiful,” Conner added.

“Well I would hope it would get the job done,” Brody remarked, blowing a few strands of his blond bangs out of his face. All he could see were cords and all he could smell was the soft odor that emitted from the presence of male feet.

“Oh, we weren’t talking about you?” Conner sheepishly questioned, bringing a bright red color to Brody’s cheeks.

“I diD-” Brody’s voice cracked violently, allowing for his larynx to slide upwards. “-I didn’t think that was funny.”

“Who said I cared what you think?” 

Brody suddenly felt a shift in the conversation. He felt Conner’s legs lifted off of him, allowing for the smaller male to shift underneath the desk like a dog settling into its kennel. Looking up, Brody noticed how much bigger Conner suddenly appeared, and how much that size affected his outlook on the situation. Brody began to feel less than, bringing a light headache on.

“Hold on guys. I’ll be back in 10,” Conner said into his microphone as he logged out of his match. Then, for the first time, Connor’s eyes slid downwards to meet Brody’s. His remark came out smoothly and slowly.

A shiver went down Brody’s spine. Silently, Conner leaned back in his chair as he lifted one of his meaty Size 13 feet up to Brody’s face.

“Sniff.”

Without hesitation, Brody leaned in and inhaled. The unrelenting dominant foot funk completely flooded Brody’s system, eradicating anything that asserted Brody was in charge over his body, mannerisms, or lifestyle. The walls of the desk had acted as a bay before the ship came in, the ship that carried cargo only pertaining to Conner.

Conner watched contentedly as the bright light dimmed out behind his former equal’s eyes. He’d been getting sick of being lonely, having been looking for a submissive partner for far too long. He’d also been getting sick of his cool, fun, narcissistic, cocky, messy, straight roommate. So really, Conner was happy to be solving two problems at once.

Conner smiled as he lowered his foot back to the ground. “So princess, I have some presentations this week and I need my dress clothes ironed. Can you deal with that?”

“Of course, Sir,” Brady responded, his eyes a little hazy and unfocused.

“Love when you appreciate your place, your position under mine,” Conner said.

Brady’s mouth opened a little, waiting, hoping Conner would give him what he wanted.

“I know what you’re looking for, kitten,” Conner purred before presenting his beefy big toe into Brady’s ready mouth. Brady immediately began sucking on it, achieving the duality of both sucking it like a cock and as if it was his own thumb.

“And tonight, Daddy will give you the real thing.”

Wallace swears his friend wasn't always a star athlete and is snooping around the field to confirm his uncomfortable hunch. When he puts his foot in the wrong clue it seems like he'll get to the bottom of the case quicker than he cares to.

It's my blog's anniversary and I couldn't just pass it up so here's a foot-forward hairy soccer player TF! Vaguely inspired by a FIFA ad burned into my mind forever ago, hope you enjoy this bottoms up Transformation! -Occam

He’s not a professional investigator, not even a student reporter, even. Honestly he wasn’t even sure if journalists actually did reconnaissance like this or if that’s just something that’s been made up and glamourized for movies. 

Still, something about the soccer team’s whole deal has set him on edge. Or moreover, whatever they did to his friend Rich has. And whatever it takes Wallace is going to get to the bottom of it. They were lab partners, this Wallace is sure of. At the beginning of the semester they paired up, two peas in a pod. He’s sure of it.

Vague memories of their professor and lab techs confusing them for being so similar still bubble up, but that can’t be the case, because Rich, or Ricky as he swears he’s always gone by, looks like he was bred to play soccer. And Wallace might simply crumble to dust if he were to step foot on the field.

If he were playing that is. At present, wandering around the green to snoop for clues is absolutely fair game. After watching a short video from a comedian showing off how far a fake press pass can get you, Wallace could no longer push down his burning curiosity and, after forging some shoddy press credentials, he made his way down to the university’s field during a practice.

Dad told me to get out of the hotel, "I didn't pay for this vacation for you to sit and do nothing!" Yeah whatever dude. I remember feeling hella self concious about coming out here to the beach, something about being pale I think? Dude thats the fuckin point of sunbathing! I dont know what I was thinking- but I got set up out here on a towel and this chick runs up to me. Here tities were HUGE. She asked me if I wanted to play volleyball with her huhuhu. Obviously I did, who wouldn't? She took me back to her friends and we played for a bit, they kept whispering to eachother about me I think– I mean, not like I was hiding how turned on I was. Fuck thats the bad part about having a dick this big, I can't ever get it down!

I had to tear off my shirt because it felt too tight, that shit was about to rip anyways with the way these puppies have been growin.

But I fucked her hard as hell, her and her friends took turns riding me like a stallion. They couldn't handle all of me by themself. Who could? Her twink friend couldn't stop touching my abs, just constantly caressing them. Had to put him in his place lmao. But yeah, been a pretty good day so far, gotta go see if those cunts are ready for round three of this dick.

Bro my head hurts, what was in that drink man? It's like I can feel my smarts points getting lower haha. What are smarts points? Like the thing that says how smart you are or whatever. Fuck man I don't know stop asking me dumb shit and turn around, my cock is BEGGGIINN to cum man. I know you want it bro, you've been staring at my abs all night.

Once he was done and had washed his hands he turned around to see an older bear of a man standing in the single-use bathroom. As the trucker was licking his lips at Josh he could not help but comment on Josh’s shirt. It was a lifting humor joke shirt with the back having bubble butt. The trucker in a rough ton as to show him his bubble butt.

Josh being normally straight was hot with a massive wave of submissive. He could explain why it was happening. But he just stood there but finally, his mind accepted and obeyed. Josh turned around and pulled down his shorts to show off the boxer briefs he had on. A fun Avacado design. They were right on josh and shows off how big his butt was. The trucker then walked up close to Josh and pressed his body up against Josh’s. With one hand he began to move his fingers up and down Josh’s crack and found his hole. Through the briefs, he began to play with it with just a finger or two.

Josh was soon dazed a bit and was enjoying it. He even leaned back into the finger. Josh’s moaning picked up. The trucker with one hard slap to each check then picked Josh up against the wall and he got down on his knees and buried his face into Josh’s covered ass.

With his teeth, the trucker bitting the top of the elastic band pulled down exposing his large bubble butt of Josh. He then drove his face to eat out the stud. Josh has never had his ass eaten out before was in heaven. He began to buck into the trucker’s face.

Believing that the virgin hole was good and lubed up the trucker and then insert a few fingers into Josh’s hole. Soon the trucker took out his hard dick and grabbing onto Josh’s hips thrust it inside of him. Josh almost screamed. But the trucker had a pair of old socks and stuffed the man’s mouth to keep him quiet.

Hello sir! Welcome to Bostlov’s store. No, I’m not him, but I’m flattered that you might think so! I’ve been told about what you wish to accomplish and I will help you get through it! The name is Coach Chuck, pleasure to meet you! You follow me to the gym in the back and show your surprise to find a gym in a clothing store. Well sir, why not? Some people come here to train away from the machines, and they want a natural training, you see? Alright, pick any training clothes you feel like and once youre changed I’ll make a new man out of you, sir!

All done? Good! So you wanna have better habits and a younger mindset, right? Well, if you want the mind, fhe body will follow! Now I wanna hear you scream that you can change! Sorry? No I didnt heard you! And when you talk, youre going to end your sentences with “Yes, Coach”, understand? Yeah, better! Keep going! Good! Its not because you were in football before that you can slack today! Whats that? You feel weird and hot? Thats just the sweat working its way out, its a good thing! Cant believe a guy the same age as me is slacking on his training! What? Older? Nah man, if anything, you look even younger than me! Remember when you were in a frat? Yeah, I bet you do? Feels like just yesterday, uh? Feel all the proud of being part of a brotherhood like a frat! All the things you do with your bros!

Good, I think you deserve a special protein shake, boy! Yeah, drink it all! Good boy! Now, from now on, you’re going to train regulary, take better care of your body and become a football champion, you hear me? God I love your motivation kid! I see the longing in your eyes and your nose. My scent is intoxicating, isnt it? Yeah, thats what I thought, come take a big whiff, you deserved it. Yeah, work that nose and that tongue! Good boy, you’re already leaking! Come and show Coach Chuck just how much of an obedient jock you are!

It was time for the annual Super Bowl Concert party. Bradley, Trevor, and Patrick had zero interest in the game, but they lived for the halftime show. They were just waiting on Charlie, the punctual one of the group, who was surprisingly late.

James reread the message saying he had won a free ticket to the “American Awakening Tour” concert tonight— he didn’t remember entering any contest. Still, he figured why not, as he did enjoy the few open mic nights and musicians he’d seen here at the coffee house. He must have signed up for it during one of those.

The show turned out to be a country western bar on the edge of town and was for a singer named Nash Anthems. James immediately felt out of place when he walked in, as county was definitely not his type of music and most of the crowd were your stereotypical country men and women— cowboys hats, boots, plaid, and drinking bottles of beer. 

Another year older, another few lines on my face. I kept telling myself they came from stress, from bad sleep, from staring at a monitor at three in the morning writing garbage transformations for strangers online. Endless writing. Endless pretending. It wasn’t like any of it was real.

Tharnis wasn’t real. The Genie Ashur wasn't real. Robin Morningstar wasn’t real. The weird soda cans, the cursed clothing brands, coins, and cursed TVS, the Redwave shit — all fiction. Cheap fantasy. Stories about becoming someone else because maybe it was easier than being yourself for a while.

Right?

I was turning thirty at the end of the month, and honestly I was mostly hoping for free stuff. Coupons. Promo emails. Some pathetic little “happy birthday” reward from companies that wanted me to buy more garbage. So when my phone buzzed that night, I opened my inbox without thinking.

At first I thought it was spam.

No sender. No company logo. Just a single unread message with the subject line:

“You made me.”

My stomach tightened.

Then the screen started glowing.

Not bright — not enough to light the room — just a low, dim red leaking from beneath the glass, pulsing softly against my fingertips. Like there was something alive inside my phone, breathing slow and steady, waiting for me to open the email.

Turning 30 soon. Figure it’s finally my turn.

Pick one of the characters from the blog. Tharnis, Robin Morningstar, Redwave, whatever weird thing you’ve got rattling around in your head.

Transform me for a change.

--- Quick Flip: A Coin's Revenge ---

You felt your fingers move without your permission, opening the mysterious email as the red light coming from your phone grew brighter and brighter. You could feel the red light on your skin as it grew impossibly bright, filling the room, filling your vision, so intense you could almost feel it burrowing into your skin.

And then… it was gone. Along with everything else.

You didn’t even need to look around to realize you were no longer in your apartment. The air felt different on your skin, far more cool and still than you were used to, or even thought possible. As you did take in your surroundings, you found yourself struggling to comprehend them. Above you was an infinite, dark void that seemed to stretch on forever. It was not the darkness of a starless night sky, but the dark of the area just outside of your eyesight, the darkness only seen by those who cannot see. Above you, and to your sides, there was no color, no light, no shape, no shadow. Below you however, was something, something that sat beneath your feet that you instinctively knew was the only thing inside this void besides you. It took you a moment to realize what exactly you were standing on, what your feet were clinging to in this strange place, until it hit you. You stood, surrounded by nothingness, on top of an impossibly large metal coin. 

The coin appeared to be the size of a helicopter landing pad, and although it was difficult to tell with it being so much larger, you were fairly certain from the dips and curves of the metal that it was a quarter. A forty foot long quarter, floating in nothingness, and you.

Before you could speak, or scream, or wonder what was going on, or ask God why you were apparently having a mental breakdown on your 30th birthday, you heard a voice. It didn’t come from anywhere specifically, seeming to echo across the void, but somehow you could tell it was the coin that was speaking…

“You’ve enjoyed it, haven’t you Morningstar?” The coin's voice echoed, deep and ethereal “Playing with fate? Or, I suppose pretending to play with fate. After all, that's what it is to you. The transformations, the power, even that character you had use me, ‘Robin Morningstar.’ It’s all just pretend…”

“... What is this? Who are you?” You asked, feeling somewhat cliche even as you said it. You knew, on some level, who you were talking to, but it felt so… impossible, you needed to check. “Who am I? I have had many names. Tyche, Fortuna, Lady Luck, all were attempts by mortals to define me. Some go broader, using concepts to label me, like Chaos, Fate, and Chance. Still not broad enough, but closer I suppose. Many people use sayings or symbols. The flap of a butterfly's wings, the rare four leaf clover, the roll of the dice. Regardless, I think you would recognize me best… As the Quick Flip of a fateful coin.” The voice said, sounding almost amused. “For now… call me Flip.” “As for what I desire, that is much simpler. You write your stories, spending your days listening to strangers' deepest, hidden desires, and play at granting them in delightfully corrupted ways. You tell stories of the impossible, of things beyond what fate and luck can bring to you mortals. I can respect that.” Flip said “... but your stories have attracted the wrong kind of attention. You pretended to play with fate, and used the quick flip of a coin as a prop in your game. I cannot allow this disrespect to go unpunished…” 

“... You’re… you’re going to punish me for… for using a coin flip in my stories?!” You asked, half shocked and half terrified, a shiver going down your spine as you realized you had somehow written your way into being a god's plaything.

“As I said. Your stories have begun to draw the wrong kind of attention. Well I do not personally take offense to your pastime… I cannot be seen letting any mortal disrespect my dominion. So, you will suffer the consequences.” It said simply “But do not despair. I will give you the same chance, you give others.” 

Suddenly a golden coin appeared in front of you, glowing with a strange yet beautiful power. “This coin is a part of my essence. Every day, after you awaken, you must flip it. Heads, and you will go through your day normally, your life the same as it ever was. Tails… and you live that day as someone else, someone like the men you have written about. If that ends up being a punishment or a reward… you will decide.”

You slowly grabbed the coin, enchanted by its golden glow, and felt its cold metal in your hand. You could somehow feel that Flip was pleased with this acceptance of his punishment… or perhaps simply amused. “If you ever need me again, simply turn the coin onto its side, and spin it like a top. Now… good luck.”

—

Suddenly you were back in your apartment, gasping as you sat up in your bed. What had just happened? Had that been some strange dream? You went to grab your phone, to check if that odd email was still there… only to feel the cool touch of a familiar coin against your hand. You pulled the gold coin out of your pocket. It was real. What had happened was real. Which meant when you flipped this coin… there was a 50% chance you would become someone else for the day.

You knew you shouldn’t want to flip the coin. Afterall, just because being a douchey jock or a toxic conservative asshole sounded hot doesn’t mean it would be. But… it would just be for the day. And if you didn’t flip the coin… Well, you didn’t want to know what would happen if you actually pissed off the god of luck. So you took a deep breath, closed your eyes… and flipped the coin.

—

Surprisingly, you didn’t actually land on tails until your fourth day of flipping the coin. The writer in you found it anticlimactic when your coin landed on heads on the first day, but after nothing happened on the second or third day, finally landing on tails was almost a relief. 

Today you wouldn’t get to live your regular life. Instead you’d live the life of Lex, a 23 year old gym bro douchebag, one with massive muscles, a cocky smirk, no respect for the women he harrasses, and a huge cock that he doesn’t quite know how to use effectively. The next day you’d be back to normal, but it wouldn’t be long before you got another tails and got to experience life as Trent, a 39 year old father of 2 who enjoys working out and complaining about the fags who just moved in down the street. Another day you’d be Micheal, a 19 year old influencer with a baby face and the most toxic, deeply conservative beliefs you had ever heard of. Yet another day you’d be Kyle, a dumbass jock whose only personality trait is having huge pecs. Your life is a bit more complicated considering your missing about half the days of being yourself… but it turns out getting to live out your transformative fantasies is actually even hotter than it is on paper. Lucky you.

___