A little fucked in the head, but people still seem to like it~

The world seemed so silent as you looked out, unaware that your thoughts had vanished. The air seemed so fresh, almost as if your sense of smell had improved a thousand times, able to smell things you had never noticed before.

That’s when you felt an itch suddenly start spreading all along your back, growing more intense as it spread across your body and down your arms. You started vehemently scratching before you felt a hand on your arm, your friend motioning to pull your shirt off. You threw it over your head, the cool air doing little to placate the itch when you felt his fingers begin grazing your back and starting to pull at your skin.

You had never felt more relief than when his fingers were scratching at your back, the touch sending shivers across your skin and soothing the itch.

“Good boy,” he said, the words settling heavily in your head feeling so satisfying to hear. A sense of belonging welled up inside you, simply being with him combined with his hand on your back making you feel in place. The sense of being without your shirt began to fade from your mind as you sat beside him like a loyal pet.

The day ended without any action, so you stood off to the side staring vacantly as he packed up. You followed him back out of the forest, staying diligently by his side, feeling so good being obedient.

“Up” He said once you reached his truck. You tried to pull yourself up into the bed, only to find something hindering your legs. You attempted several more times as your friend laughed from behind you, watching as your pants had fallen wrapping around your knees.

“Let me help you with that boy” He said, pulling the garment off of you.

Johny and Cash sat on the worn-out couch of their cluttered student apartment, surrounded by the familiar comfort of NASA and sci-fi posters. The room, usually filled with the frantic energy of upcoming exam stress, felt different tonight. Johny had just returned from his travels across the Middle East and laid out on the coffee table was his prized possession: an ancient, ornate blue water pipe and a rustic, weathered tin of tobacco he had bartered for in a hidden corner of an old bazaar.

With curious excitement, they set up the antique hookah. The charcoal glowed a deep crimson in the dimly lit room as they prepared to test the mysterious blend.

Cash reached out and took the heavy wooden hose first. He inhaled deeply, pulling the thick smoke through the bubbling water. The moment the vapor hit his lungs, he gasped. The sheer, intoxicating strength of the tobacco rushed through him, washing away his thoughts. It tasted of rich spices, ancient earth, and desert heat; for a fleeting second, he could vividly feel the vibrant heartbeat of the Arabian world.

Smiling through the rush, Cash exhaled a dense, white cloud of smoke and handed the hose over to Johny, who took a long, deep drag of his own, instantly mirroring Cash's dazed, euphoric expression.

The Pelt

Emil had known the legends and sought the truth in them for years. He would swim up and down this isolated lake every summer, looking for it. The old lore said the ritual, as much as it could be said to be one, was simple. Dive into the lake before dawn, swim the length of it, and the light of new dawn would reveal the pelt.

The stories were not always clear on what it looked like, what animal the pelt was from, or why it existed. All the stories agreed that it would appear somewhere on the shore, revealed by the morning sunlight.

Emil had been swimming in these waters for two years. Cold even in summer, diving into the lake was bracing. He'd made it a habit, at least two times a month. Emil didn't really believe the legends anymore, but it was a great swim.

Emil loved swimming, and had even done it competitively in school. He had the perfect build for it. Emil was tall and slim and naturally had almost no body hair. That combined with his frequent cardio exercises had made him a powerful swimmer, and he had maintained that ability and fitness in adulthood.

It was that total lack of any serious body hair that got Emil to reading about the pelt. When he was younger, he had fantasized about looking more "manly" and as he watched his friends develop more body hair, he had started to feel some envy. He knew that most people would actually prefer his "low maintenance" hair level; it was perfect for a swimmer, but as they say, the grass is always greener on the other side.

The legends said that the mysterious pelt had the power to give people body hair. In his imaginative youth, Emil had dreamed that he could find the pelt and use it to give himself thick and impressive chest hair. In his dream his friends would always be very impressed with it, but now that he was older he realized that no one else was worrying about these things the way he was.

Luckily, he also had gotten over it and was ok with his body now. Earlier than that little bit of maturity, he had stopped thinking magic furs on lakeshores were a thing just because he wanted it to be true so badly. He still always came to swim in this lake though. One thing he had learned was that it could be very peaceful to swim alone out in nature like this.

Today the waters had been particularly chilly, but it just encouraged him to speed up his pace. When the welcome rays of dawn finally started falling on the water of the lake, Emil was grateful for the warmth falling on his back, however slight.

Even with the sun going, he kept a good pace. Today was turning out to be a good swim and he thought he might push himself and do a little extra. Maybe if it warmed up enough when he was done he could sit in the sun for awhile to dry off on the shore. Just as he was thinking what a long way back to his starting point, he noticed a glint on the rocky shore to the side of the lake.

Curious, Emil changed direction, and swam toward the shore. As he approached, he could see there was something different sitting on the gray rocks. A piece of clothing? Maybe some animal or plant?

As he got closer, Emil thought he must be seeing things. It looked like...a piece of fur...a pelt. He thought it must be his eyes playing tricks on him, there was nothing but forest and rocks on this side of the lake for miles. As he entered the shallows he found a place to climb up onto the rocks, being careful to avoid any sharp rocks with his bare feet.

He walked on the large rocks on the shore and on top of one of the rocks, like it had been gently laid out, was what appeared to be a fox pelt. Impossible thought Emil, there was just no way that...that this could be what he thought it was.

He tried to remember if he had ever told anyone about his former obsession. If he had overcome the embarrassment and talked to someone about how he swam in a lake because he heard there was magic there. No, he'd never mentioned it to anyone. He'd read about it on his own, thought about it on his own. Even in his days as a teenage fantasist he knew that telling people you believed in magic animal furs would be met with endless teasing.

Despite there being no way this was a joke or any sensible reason this nice looking fur pelt was sitting here...there it was. Emil noticed how the sun glinted off it, a reddish gold sheen. It was beautifully brushed and looked very fluffy and soft. He reached out his hand and touched it.

He felt something as sudden as a static shock. At first he thought it was a static shock, but there was no pain, and a warm feeling began flowing up his arm.

Emil noticed that the nearly nonexistent hair on his forearm seemed to be darkening and thickening. As the strange warmth spread into his body he began to feel it in all parts of his body.

A visible shimmer, very similar to the shimmer from the pelt as it reflected the sun, passed over Emil's body. In the wake of the shimmer, his body was covered in hair. In seconds it was over, and Emil was looking down at his body as he had never known it, absolutely covered in body hair.

It was real...the magic pelt was real, and it had been very effective. Emil had barely brushed his hands through the soft fur of the pelt. As he examined his body, he was covered in hair. His arms, legs, chest, stomach, shoulders, even his entire back were completely covered in hair. He could tell there was also more hair in the places he couldn't see under his swim shorts.

Emil was amazed and elated. Firstly, magic was real, but he'd also gotten what he wanted and it had been him, Emil, who'd had the devotion and spent the time to find it.

The one thing that was a little strange, in all the legends the pelt was handled and slowly added more body hair. This had been more sudden and immediately went to what he assumed was the maximum body hair a typical human being could have.

Perhaps Emil was the only person to find it in years...maybe hundreds of years. Had the pelt slowly built up magical energy somehow over the years? Had it sat so long unused that when it had a chance to use it's magic it discharged it violently like a charged up capacitor?

Emil was reluctant to touch the pelt again and see what happened. He couldn't possibly imagine any good coming from more magic happening to him, and besides, all the legends said you were supposed to put it back where you found it when you were done. Emil said a quiet thank you to the pelt and slipped back into the water, swimming directly back to the access point.

As he swam he noticed it was a bit more difficult. No longer sleek and hairless, he was feeling all the drag of the water passing through his body hair. They really weren't lying about that being useful. He realized with a start I'm going to have to shave my body if I want to continue to do serious swimming. The thought seemed so ludicrous that Emil swallowed a mouthful of water as he suddenly barked out a laugh at the thought.

Eventually he made it back to shore, walking onto the soft soil of the beach at the inlet. His body hair was dripping with water; all the extra surface area for water to sit was so different than when he'd gotten out of the lake earlier. He could actually feel the additional weight of water that the hair carried.

As Emil walked over to his towel, he noticed a man coming off the dirt road on a bicycle. Based on his binoculars, Emil assumed he must be a bird watcher or something like that. The man looked at Emil and raised a hand in casual greeting, then did a double take.

The man openly stared at Emil for a few moments until Emil broke the tension by saying "Good morning!".

"Good morning", the man said. He then hesitated for a moment before saying "I hope you don't find it rude....but you may be the hairiest man I've ever seen."

The young man had been walking by the old abandoned circus behind the town's parade grounds. He was never sure how long it had been there, but it had always been a moldering heap as long as he could remember.

This is why, as he walked by he was surprised to see that a few of the lights around the big tent were on. He hadn't even realized there was electricity out here; he didn't hear any generator. As he stepped off the path to get a better look, the lights on the gate to the big tent illuminated, CIRCUS was spelled out in the amber glow of ancient incandescent light bulbs.

The young many decided to investigate. Obviously someone was doing something in there. Maybe this wreck was finally going to become something again? He curiously walked along the muddy path past various carnival-type ephemera from years gone by.

Parting the vaguely-damp tattered curtains, he entered the big top tent. Surprisingly, the area was lit, unsurprisingly it was as filthy and as run down as it had looked from the outside. Random platforms, fallen trapeze equipment, and even what looked like some discarded clothing littered the floor.

The young man stopped, he had almost tripped over an old barbell. It was the kind that just had metal spheres on the end instead of adjustable weight. When had they even used things like this? It must have been a part of some kind of strength performance.

Wondering who had turned on the lights, the young man said "Hello? Is anybody there?" into the cavernous old tent. There were shadows all around, and many places someone could be standing, out of sight.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a clown appeared. The clown appeared as dirty and worn-out as the circus. His sudden appearance and disheveled appearance gave the clown a profoundly sinister presence. The young man started at the clown in confusion.

"So...here to join the circus?" said the clown, "We've got a lot of positions open, but I know just what you're looking for."

The young man started. Somehow the clown was suddenly behind him, gripping his shoulder and leaning forward as if to confide some secret. The clown squeezed his bicep.

"Yes, I think you have a lot of potential. You just need a little practice" whispered the strange clown.

The clown placed something on the young man's face and pressed it on. A fake moustache? In some context that might be funny, but in this context, with no audience, it was just unexpected and frightening. He had to get away from this strange clown and out of this circus tent.

The young man started to say something, but the clown picked up the large rusty barbell from the floor, like it weighed nothing, and placed it into the young man's hands. Suddenly, the clown was gone. 

The young man was shocked again by the clown's disappearance, but his more immediate concern was the impossibly heavy weight now in his hands. Although the clown had handled this object with ease, the young man was almost pulled to the ground by the heavy iron. Even though the rusty metal was pressing into his hand, he found himself unable to drop it. In fact, he felt his hands gripping it tighter the lower he held the barbell.

He understood that if he could get the weight high enough, he might be able to let it go. It seemed impossible, but he was able to hold the weight without falling to the floor, maybe he could force it if he really tried.

Straining, he tried to lift the weight up. It seemed impossible, but each time he hefted it, he tried to control his breathing a bit more, be calm and slow about it. He realized he was holding it in place, he was beginning to lift it!

As he lifted the weight higher, his arms began to tremble. A drop of sweat rolled down his face and, annoyingly, got caught in his new moustache. Just a bit...further. His arms were trembling with strain, but he knew if he lowered it now he'd have to start all over again. He grunted with the strain and inched the bar higher.

He was so intent on lifting the bar, that he barely noticed his body beginning to expand with muscle. He noticed the sleeves of his shirt tearing as his biceps swelled outward. The straining muscles were rapidly leaving “average” behind and started to approach bodybuilder proportions. He was so intent on lifting the weight and the concentration required to keep it balanced, that he didn't have the time to try to understand why his shirt was suddenly so tight.

As his arms grew, the weight slowly inched upward, until finally it was at eye level. Still feeling some alien force holding his grip on the metal, he realized he'd have to get it higher. With his new strength, he skillfully adjusted his grip on the weight. With one last grunt he suddenly felt a burst of strength and lifted the weight high above his head, tearing the remainder of his shirt to ribbons. The remains of the shirt fell away from his body as he triumphantly held the weight.

He held the weight there a few moments, victorious. He had done it, he'd beaten that clown and did the impossible. He felt powerful. I wish someone had been here to see that performance! he thought.

Suddenly he remembered the whole reason why he had started lifting the bar in the first place. Bringing the bar down, he found he was now able to release it from his grip and let it fall to the floor. He did so carefully, and stood there panting.

After a few moments of recovery, he looked down at his body and was startled by what he saw. He knew his shirt had come off, but he wasn’t expecting what the shirt falling away had revealed. His torso, previously trim, but only slightly toned, was a rippling field of muscle. His arms had gone from unremarkably average to those of a heavy lifter. Luckily he’d been wearing shorts with an elastic waistband. The waistband was now taught over his dense midsection, but the legs of the shorts were what really seemed in danger of ripping, as formerly loose legs were stretched tightly over his tree trunk thighs. As he was starting to wonder how all this was possible just from lifting one weight, he felt a tingling over his skin. He noticed that his formerly smooth muscles now had tiny wispy hairs growing over them. The coating of peach fuzz rapidly darkened and thickened into dense body hair that spread its way over his new muscular form.

He looked down at his hairy muscular form in awe. Had the clown somehow done this? He thought maybe it was that fake moustache. He reached one of his enlarged hands to his upper lip and gave the moustache a tug. It was firmly connected to his face and felt like real hair. As the palm of his hand brushed across his chin, he could feel a roughness. Even though his chin was clean shaven, he knew that he was now capable of growing a thick beard. 

He ran his hands across his chest. Where it had once been smooth, he now felt his fingers dragging through thick chest hair. His hand reached his bicep and he gripped it. His hands looked like they had also expanded and thickened, but even under his large hand his bicep was thicker than many men’s thighs. As he was trying to understand how this was possible, he felt his shorts shifting.

His shorts transformed into a woolen singlet before his eyes. It was form fitting and left little to the imagination. As the straps extended over his shoulders, he felt a wide leather belt snake around his waist and pull tight.

He looked down at this obvious magic with awe, unsure of what to do for a few moments. Then a strange feeling came on him. His eyes glazed over and looked far off as he began to think about his new body.

He loved this body! He had worked hard for it and needed to show it off. Even more importantly, he had to show people his strength. He knew he could now dazzle people with feats of strength he had never dreamed of before. A euphoric quiescence descended onto his thoughts, as his concerns were replaced with a devotion to performance, and a desire to return this circus to its former glory.

The Circus, having gained a new performer, started to look a bit less grimy, less shabby. It was still obviously abandoned, but it went from looking like it was only fit for demolition to simply looking damaged and neglected.

A burnt out light bulb suddenly returned to life, spilling light on a painted panel. Peeling paint adhered itself back to wood. The design became readable again: See the Strongman! with an old fashioned circus painting of a muscular fellow with a moustache. 

As the new strongman walked over to the panel, his wool singlet changed to a red one and his shoes transformed into calf-high leather boots. He struck a muscular pose, filled with feelings of showmanship and bravado. 

Deep in the shadows of the abandoned circus the clown's lips formed a smile. Even in the shadows the clown could tell he was a little less dirty, a bit stronger. And why shouldn't he be? His circus had a brand new performer.

Visiting your local salvation army you find the most unusual tree. One from the local state penitentiary. This is one is placed for prisoners who don’t have family to celebrate the holidays with. You look at the tree in Amazement at the wonderful sentiment that it brings to try and get help to those who are incarcerated. You decide to try something different this year and you pick one. You enjoy how different it is because someone clearly had a sense of humor because instead of it being Angels it filled with different holiday characters. You picked the one that stood out to you, the Krampus. Flipping it over you seen it belonged to an inmate named Eric. Reading down the list you see that he asked for basic supplies : socks, underwear, some snacks. Nothing out of the ordinary. But on the last time it said “I don’t have family so it would be nice to have a meal with someone” then out beside it mentioned some ingredients to bring such as sage oil, some salt, and then some funny ingredients you couldn’t pronounce but had the name of the store you could get them and beside it said “for religious purposes”. Such a strange request you thought. But walking out pf the store you decide to go to another to stock up on the the wishlist supplies you need for Eric.

You got size large underwear for him. But he left off the shoe sizing for socks so he just quested and bought a pair that would fit your own size 11s. Unsure of the reasoning behind the spice mixture you found it hair to find the particular oil you needed. Then going to the store listed in the note you you handed the clerk the list who cocked her eye brow at the list and then at you. “Are you sure about this ?” And you just responded. “It’s for religious purposes?” And she shrugged not interested in getting in the middle of this scenario and gathered the supplies together and soon you were on your way.

————-

Showing up At the penitentiary on the 25th of December was not something you thought you’d ever be doing but here you were. Being wanded. Buzzed through multiple guarded doors. Multiple searches of the gifts you brought Eric and many laughs and aide eye stares you received even after showing showing the karampus tree ornament as proof that you weren’t joking. The finally, you released into the dining hall where other inmates were there eating with their families. One of the guards led you to a table in the corner and told you wait patiently while they went to get Eric. While waiting you could hear the other prisoners and their families quietly talking. It seemed nice. Cheerful even.

Soon, the door closest to your table opened up and a man in a tank top walked through in shackles escorted by a guard. Every inch of skin you could see was covered in tattoos. A thick beard. Combed back hair. And he was lead directly to your table where he was sat down across from you. “Hey I’m Eric.” He said in a deep scented voice. One you couldn’t place. “I imagine you got my Christmas Krampus?” He half heatedly laughed. And you nodded your head and introduced yourself.

Eric was shackled to the hook on the floor to prevent him from leaving and shorty after a meal was served at the by one of the guards. “Thanks for joining me for Christmas!” He smiled. “I’ve never had a visitor”. The two of you took some time to introduce yourselves more. You found out Eric was in prison for grand theft larceny, drugs, grand theft auto, and there was some other pending charges still sitting on his roster. He claimed he wasn’t proud of what he did. “But when in Rome.” He laughed at cliche. You offered him the Christmas gifts and you he took them thanking you for them. “Underwear! Just what I wanted ! And socks!!! A bit small for my size 16s but I’ll make them work! Good thing they aren’t ankle socks!” And you got the herbs from the store !!! They go with this”. He produced a small bottle had concealed on his prison garb. “I thought I’d make is some toilet wine. Sounds nasty. I know. But I needed to bring something and this makes it taste right”. When the guards weren’t looking he dropped all the ingredients in the wine and shook it. “There we go.” You were about to eat when he said “oh before we eat. Can we pray? It’s a religious thing for me..please?” And he held out a heavily tattooed hand. You held hands with him while he said “alright now just repeat after me..” and as he spoke in his native tongue, you followed suite. The light above your table flickered slightly. When he was done he raised his glass of wine and so did you and you both toasted to it and drank at the same time.

The room spun. The light above your table continued to blink. And then the power went out in the whole cafeteria. Emergency lights came on and guards rushed into the room.

“Prisoners back into the cells immediately!” You hear the guards shout as families cry as they are being taken from their families. You feel yourself being rushed out of the cafeteria. Poor Eric. Everything on the one Christmas he had a visitor. Everything was hazy in the emergency light and you couldn’t barely see. The wine was really hitting and everything was spinning. But something wasn’t right. Then darkness.

When you wake up your head is pounding. You look down and see bars at your much larger feet. You sit up quickly and notice that tattoos cover every inch of you skin. In the mirror an across from you on the wall you see Eric’s reflection staring back you. “Wha is going on!” You yell in his perfectly accented voice. You go to stand up.

But step on the back that had the Christmas Krampus presents in it. Lifting large tatted foot from the bag you look inside. The socks. The underwear. Socks that were definitely too small for this body. Underwear that you found out were barely big enough to handle the equipment you now had to carry around. And a simple little note from the real Eric that said “thanks for helping me escape.”

You now sat I his prison cell. Waiting for the day to get out which was years off. The sad part is that you still can’t figure out how to undo what Eric did. But you know it had something do with the changing and the herbs. That’s why the woman gave you that look that day. And you didn’t even know if could be undone ? But deep down. Did you want it undone ? You looked at yourself in the mirror. The tattoos. The massive cock. The massive feet. The masculine of this form. You knew deep down that you loved this. Using what little money you managed to save, you reached out to your body. Not even sure if you get a response.

But then the day came and Eric showed up. For the requested visit. “You requested your conjugal visit with me ? Don’t you find that weird?” You tell Eric it’s the only way to get a secret convo without guards and cameras. When the doors are shut. You make him confirm everything you thought was correct. “And you’re not mad?”

You admit “I was mad at first. Pissed off. Living your life in prison. This tattooed body. You ruined your future. But now that I’ve been in this body for a while…..I…”

“You what?”

You get quiet. “I don’t want to go back”.

Eric grins in your old body. “Is that so? You know what you’re asking for them right ?” And you nod your head. “Then let’s make it so we can’t swap back” and he begins to undress. As you and Eric came together he made you chant with him. A sealing ritual. Binding you both to your new bodies. And when you both swallowed the seeds of your old bodies Eric laughed. “Now you’re just pathetic tattooed criminal. You know that?”

“Well why don’t get over here and blow this pathetic tattooed criminal again before the guards come and put me back in prison? I only got 15 minutes left with your sexy ass before I’m back behind bars where I belong “.