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“Be careful about that truck driver,” you hear your friend say. You’re taking a quick break before hitting the road again, and you can’t help but look over at him. He is standing towards the back of the convenience store looking at a bag of chips. You’re transfixed but the glory of his beard, it’s blond curls shining in the light. All you want to do was touch it. His large, manly frame takes up much of the aisle.

Something comes over you. You’re usually shy, but today you feel the need to talk to him.

You tell him you like his beard. He looks at you and smiles. You tell him you wish you could grow a beard like his, and you couldn’t help but notice his abundant chest hair as well, and his smile turns into a grin.

“Is that so?” He grumbles, a deep voice to match his hirsute exterior. He gets closer and begins to look you up and down. He smells like tobacco and a cologne, and you feel his hot breath on your soft cheek. “Touch my beard,” he whispers and your hand instinctively shoots forward and takes some of it on your hand. The dense hairs are soft in your hands, and for a moment you notice how blue his eyes are.

In a flash, you’re looking at yourself. You see yourself flash a wicked grin and tug hard, and you feel pain as you realize he’s tugging something on your—or should I say his—face.

You’ve given this strange trucker permission to switch bodies with you, and now you’re trapped. Your calloused hands reach up and get tangled in the giant beard puffing out from your new face. He laughs in his new voice and grabs at his—your—package through the khakis you put on this morning. Looking down, you see a dense forest of brown-blonde hair puffing out from a thick flannel shirt. You exhale, feeling the breath shift your huge frame and tickle the bristles of his mustache as it exits your mouth.

Something is strange…you see your old body running off and hopping in the car with your friend, but instead of chasing after him, you’re more focused on rubbing one out. Hiding in the corner of the gas station, you rub a palm over the stiff cock begging to come out of your jeans. You feel ready to burst, but you know you shouldn’t here.

You buy the bag of chips, talking to the cashier with a gravelly voice, before running out the door to the side of the truck you know belongs to you. Fumbling the keys in your hand, you stare that the dense hair that covers your large knuckles. The door opens and you hop inside, exhaling loudly in relief that you have some time to explore your new situation.

The overhead visor flips down in front of you and you stare into the mirror, mouth open in shock as you take in the gruff face you now possess. Thick eyebrows and blue eyes with fine lines, a broad nose and that luxurious beard you marveled at just minute ago, now yours. You finger it again, your fingers unused to such an odd presence on your face. His beard is thick, one of the bushiest you’ve seen, yet handsome.

With a loud rip, you tear open the wooly flannel that covers your chest and begin stroking it. He isn’t in the best shape, but the rug that covers your entire body lights up your nerves at the brush of a finger. Another hand shoots up and now massages your wooly beard, and a manly groan escapes your lips. His body is so horny, so erotic you can’t think straight.

You can’t imagine what a sex-crazed man like him is doing in your body right now. The thought of him in control of your life makes your new bear cock even harder. You mind recalls him rubbing your old crotch in the gas station aisle—a total horn dog.

“Oh fuck yeah!” You holler. “Daddy’s home!”

Muscle memory kicks in and you’re reaching between the seats for the lotion. You’re in the body of a horny trucker after all, and he seems to like getting off on the job. Unbuckling your belt, you slide your pants and briefs down to look at your equipment. Your gigantic hands cup the muscular ass that must be double the size of your old one and you marvel at the fur that covers every inch of it. Standing at full mast is a beast of a cock, half-hidden by an equally impressive bush. Two large hands form a v and you stroke downwards, teasing your new body and stroking through the fur on your thick thighs and groin.

You slather your hands with lotion and begin pumping. Your new cock is much larger than your old one, thicker too. Your knees shake as you edge closer and closer to climax. The interior of the truck begins to get warm as you, the hairy beast occupying it, groan louder and louder. Sweat beads on your forehead and drips down your face. You throw an arm behind your head and stare in the grown man’s face twisted in pleasure in the mirror.

Youre in the wrong place boy, its bear night but judging by your hairless twinky body you didnt know that, did you? Not to worry, he blows smoke in your face, we'll get you fixed up. Fixed up how? You know, help you blend in and get acculturated. Whats that, you dont smoke? Dont worry kid, you will. Here put on this cap, itll look good on you. Oh you dont like beards either? Well thats funny because youre rocking one now. Dont believe me? Look at yourself. He takes off your shirt, rubbing his hands through your fatteneing chest and growing chest hair. Getting hairy too. Bet you want a cigar dont ya, you always were a heavy smoker Daddy. What do you mean you dont smoke and youre not my daddy? Weve been dating for years, youre the one who got me to grow out my mustache too look like yours Daddy. Here, take a hit. If you really arent my daddy, if you really arent a smoker, youll be able to stop after one hit. See! I told you youd get acculturated and remember who you are.

For @mermdom 😉The party seemed as if it happened a lifetime ago now but it was only a couple days ago. The beer tasted funny and you and your bugs didn’t mind at first but then things changed. People started treated the three of you differently. They started pointing and laughing at the three of you. You didn’t know why they were talking about. You look in and see nothing different about the three of you and then someone takes a picture. Then you see it. Slowly while drinking beer the three of you had been changing. Your beer goggles had been on when you looked in the mirror. Or was that glasses or lack there of. The three of you rush out of the party as fast as you can burping and farting along the way as the beer continues to effect the three of you in ways that it had never done before you make it back to the apartment you rent with your friend and struggle to open the door as everything is blurry. As the door opens the three of you rush inside and shut the door. Everything is blurry to you but your two friends seem to be able to see just fine. They are stumbling you can tell. It’s not long before shouts of horror replace the quiet room. And not just any shouts. But the shouts seem to be coming from older men. The air in the room seems smokier as all three of you cough. As you lean back into a chair you can’t help but notice a huge cigar instantly appears between your lip and you start to stuck on it madly as though you can’t get enough. You hear some grunts from your room mates and you can only assume that the same is happening to them. You feel as though your body is swelling by the second and it’s so warm in the apartment. And your getting itchy.

That was a couple days ago. That night things changes. Priorities changes as well your bodies. Someone had spiked the beer that night and made you all bearish older men. You all remembered what life was like. What it should be like. Behind closed doors the three of you are able to act as though you’re still the college frat bro’s you know you are but as soon as someone else enters your presence the three of you are instantly forced to act like overly sexed up bearish men. The three of you are forced to call every man you get than you boy and even though you have tried you can’t seem to wear anything other than a plaid vest. All your shouted haves morphed into the way always having your bearish body on display.

Your change leave for you being the least hairy of your friends. They ended up turning into massively hairy men. But just like then you sport the white bear that is unable to be shaved.

John became so hairy that you can’t even see his skin under the hair anymore. He tried to shave at first but found that it was pointless as the hair grew back. And James didn’t even try.

I woke up that morning feeling something very, very strange. It wasn’t just discomfort; it was as if my body had undergone changes during the night. Still with my eyes closed, I began to notice the difference. I always slept without a shirt, enjoying the coolness of the night on my skin. But at that moment, as I tried to move, I felt something dense, heavy, covered in coarse hair brushing against the sheets. My heart started racing. Something was wrong, very wrong…

I opened my eyes wide and came face to face with a giant shape under the blanket. My first reaction was to pull the blanket away forcefully, and what I saw made me let out a scream. A scream that wasn’t mine. It was hoarse, choked, the kind of sound I never imagined coming from my mouth—it was the scream of an old man.

There was a huge, hairy belly covering my body. My hands, when I looked at them, seemed to be wearing meat gloves. The fingers were thick, swollen, covered in hair. Moving them felt like a herculean effort, as if every joint were rusted. I could barely recognize my own hands. The shock was so intense that I nearly fell out of bed as I got up, feeling every bone creaking under the weight of the body. I dragged myself to the bathroom, each step felt like a test of strength and balance, as if my body were fighting against gravity.

When I finally reached the mirror, I clung to the sink as if I were holding on to the edge of an abyss. And what I saw… God, what I saw. My face, or rather, the face I knew, was not there. In its place was an old, bald man with deep wrinkles, a grotesque double chin, and almost no hair—it was my Grandpa Hank! My hand trembled as I lifted it to touch my head. The skin was rough, and the few strands of hair barely covered the bald spot. My eyes were wide, almost out of their sockets, as I made faces, trying to recognize myself in that visage. Then I turned to the side, my giant belly in the mirror, looking at the extent of the damage that had happened to me—I was enormous! The sensation of carrying all that flesh was strange and nauseating.

My breathing came in gasps, and sweat poured down my forehead, neck, and back. I was sweating like a pig just standing there, feeling the body that once belonged to my grandfather. I felt the weight of the belly with my hand, and it was like touching a ball of soft meat, swaying and bouncing with every movement. It was a nightmare; it had to be. I tried to smile, or at least attempted to, and the teeth I saw were yellowed, misaligned—everything my perfect teeth never were. Suddenly, it hit me: I needed to call someone. But where? Where the hell did my grandfather keep his phone? Everything in that room was a mess, a pile of old things and junk that never made sense to me. I was about to panic when I noticed the television was on. And there, on the news, I saw… The Great Change. I quickly sat in my grandfather’s armchair, trying not to think about the sensation of throwing all that weight against the chair, making every inch of my fleshy body tremble. I could see my reflection on the TV, a sweaty, fat man in just his underwear—it was humiliating. The news showed millions of people swapping bodies, and I was one of those unlucky people. I watched in horror as reports of desperate body-swapped individuals aired, and now I was left with only myself and a belly the size of a beach ball. I think I’m going to cry…

Two years had passed, and the adjustment process was a slow torture. Living in the body of an old, fat man is a prison. Every day was a new battle against the weight, age, and gravity. The belly never ceased to bother me. Sitting was a challenge; the extra weight pulled me down, suffocating me. Peeing standing up? Forget it. The big belly prevented me from seeing anything down there, and I had to learn to pee sitting down, as if that were the cherry on top of this cake of misery. Every piece of clothing I wear now accentuates my grandfather’s enormous belly; I keep bumping into things with it. My brain is still that of a slim man, you know? So it’s very difficult to adapt to this old guy. Besides the unpleasant looks I get, at least the kids still talk to me, asking if I’m some kind of Santa Claus or something like that.

And then there was Dani… My girlfriend, who wanted nothing more to do with me. The old man, in my body, was still with her. And she had the nerve to say she preferred him like this, that he was a better boyfriend. I was arrogant, she said. Selfish. And now, he was kinder, more affectionate. Hearing that was like being stabbed in the chest. The grandfather I always despised was living the life I had built, while I was trapped in this deformed body. I still remember being a child and looking at my grandfather, afraid of ending up like him—fat and bald. And now here I am, holding his belly, living the life he left behind. On my 63rd birthday—which should have been my 23rd—my father, now my son, showed up to celebrate. The tasteless joke didn’t go unnoticed. I was pissed off, upset, and I didn’t want this to be my life. But what can I do? I’m stuck with it.

And the old man, my grandfather, he makes sure to send me messages, asking how I’m doing and helping me with my new lifestyle. But I can’t stop looking at his Instagram, seeing him post pictures with my girlfriend, showing off the muscles that were once mine. Every day I get more pissed off because it’s so unfair… I’ve lost more than half of my life. And now, I’m just an old, fat man, holding the belly I always feared. I relaxed my massive body in the hot tub—the one upside to this change is that my grandfather, feeling sorry for me, left me his fortune and his house. At least here, I can enjoy his luxuries.

Resting in the bathtub, scrolling through my phone while I absentmindedly rubbed my hairy belly, I came across information about a recovery center for people who had also swapped bodies. They kept sending me invitations, but I turned them all down; going to those places felt like accepting that I’d be like this forever. But after some time passed and nothing returned to normal, I decided to go there, driven by curiosity and the desperate need to find someone who understood what I was going through. The place was full of stories and experiences—athletes who swapped bodies with fat guys, girls who swapped bodies with their muscular dads, young people who turned old… but I could only focus on my own misery.

There, I found an old friend, one of the few I had left. He had also swapped bodies, but with a bald, pot-bellied guy in his 40s. He used to be as arrogant as I was before the swap, but now, he was just another middle-aged guy trying to make sense of it all. We talked for hours, sharing our frustrations.

He complained about the endless hair on his body—impossible to get rid of—and how his new body craved greasy food, and he could barely control himself. I understood him well; in this new body, I felt hungry almost all the time. After that meeting, we started seeing each other frequently became my favorite pastime. The strange thing is, as the days went by, I started to realize that he was falling in love with me. Maybe it was some kind of crazy fetish, a result of this cursed swap, or maybe it was just the desperate need for human connection. But who am I to judge? I think I feel the same… I was never gay, but he was the only person who understood my situation, the only thing left to hold onto. Years had passed, and there was no sign of anyone fixing things—it was better for my mental health to get used to it...

Porter was naked, masturbating in his warm studio apartment, when someone knocked at his door. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the boobs of the woman in the video on his phone, but another louder knock shook him out of his daze. He slipped on some clothes, quickly washed his hands in the kitchenette sink, then looked through the peep hole in his front door. He saw Mr. Jacobs, the apartment building's repairman, looking expectantly at the door and wearing no shirt.

Mr. Jacobs was a large and hairy man with a reddish goatee. Porter thought the man was in his late forties, over a decade older than him. Porter hadn't interacted with Jacobs much since he moved in almost a year ago, though the repairman had been over earlier that week to fix Porter's AC unit. He was an odd man, gruff yet friendly, as likely to joke with someone as he was to get irritated at them. Porter felt a bit uneasy with the middle aged man in his apartment the other day, as Mr. Jacobs kept staring at him while he thought Porter wasn't looking. Porter was told that a part needed to be ordered to finish the repairs, and he assumed that must be why Mr. Jacobs was at his door at 9:30 in the evening, though why the man's hairy chest was exposed, he had no clue.

*sigh* "why do I always get the crazies...." I mutter under my breath. "Yeah, I'll go talk to him."

I walk into the other room and close the door behind me, obscuring your view.

"Sir, I can't have you disturbing our customers."

You hear the faint conversation through the door.

"Wait, what are you doing. Sto-"

*Thud*

"Please don't!"

My voice suddenly becomes muffled.

"Oh god, what is happening to me?"

You hear the sound of me stumbling around the room.

"Why does this feel.... So good."

My voice is barely recognizable as it starts to become deep and gruff.

"Ohhh... Fuck yeah, I feel so fucking strong."

All you hear is grunting and growling from the other side of the door. Then, all of a sudden, the door busts open.

I squeeze through the door, struggling to fit my broad shoulders through the door frame. I tower over you, my hairy chest is at your eye level, giving you prime view of my hulking body. As your head tilts up to meet me eye to eye, you see my magnificent beard, it radiates more masculinity than you can comprehend.

"Just had a word with pops back there," I say in a thick southern accent, "since talkin' clearly ain't workin' for ya, he says I get to deal with ya myself."

I grab the back of your head and pull you in. You try to pull away, but I don't budge. I lift my other arm and stuff your face into my armpit. You hold your breath as you desperately try to push yourself away from me, but it's no use, it only delays the inevitable.

"You're gonna have to breathe in eventually boy." I chuckle as I rub your face deeper into my pit.

After a few more seconds, you take a deep breath through your nose. You recoil at the musky smell, but I hold you in for a bit longer and make sure you get a few more whiffs.

"That should teach ya a lesson." I say as I let you go.

You quickly spring backward, stumbling to the other side of the room.

"What did you do to me!?" You yell at me as you struggle to catch your balance.

"You'll see..."

You start to feel a tingle in your face when suddenly, thick hairs begin to sprout above your lip, forming a small mustache. You slowly bring your hand up to your face and brush your finger along the wiry hairs.

"Ah! What the fuck?"

The sensation is quickly followed by an intense itchiness that engulfs the lower half of your face as short hairs emerge along your skin, creating a patchy five o'clock shadow. Then your sharp jawline starts to melt into a soft double chin, making your face look even more unkempt than it was before.

And if that wasn't bad enough, you watch as hair starts to fall from your head in clumps, making your hairline recede a couple inches and thinning the rest.

"There's the family resemblance."

I put a baseball cap on your head to hide the hairline.

"Get used to wearin' these, you'll need em." I let out a hearty laugh.

"This... This... Is..." You stutter.

"It's feels great, don't it. Just let it happen boy!"

You start to groan and grunt as your voice begins to deepen. You grab your stomach in pain, then, your stomach suddenly shoots out into a sizable beer belly.

*Uuurrrrppppp!* You let out a nasty burp while your shirt slowly rides up your gut.

A satisfied look takes over your face as you slowly rub your new belly. You're so distracted that you barely notice when your pecs inflate into round man tits that are barely contained by your tiny shirt.

"Bro... Urrrp... I'm getting so ripped."

You chuckle as you flex your arms, barely showing the muscle underneath a layer of fat. Meanwhile, curly hairs begin to sprout all over your body. You're still a far way away from being as hairy as your older bro, but most men dream to be as hairy as you. Hair starts poking out above your shirt collar and over your shoulders while they spread across your exposed belly. That's not even mentioning the forest of hair covering your back.

"Do ya think these pants make me look fat?" You say with a deep southern twang.

"Quite yer' whinin', they look fine."

I give you a slap on the shoulder, sending you off balance. Meanwhile, your pants are on the verge of ripping. The button is holding on for dear life as your fat ass strains the fabric. It only gets worse when the bulge in your pants starts to grow. You try to adjust it, but it only gets worse as your dick starts to snake down your pants leg.

"Oouuugghhh fuck!" You moan as your transformation slows.

"Now that's a man that'll make this family proud!"

"Y'think so?"