Ex Jocks Are Hot

The hairy red-headed man, Frank leaned in over Jason's shoulder as he looked over the list of drinks and specialties. It was hard to believe he'd been perhaps three times Jason's age when he first entered the bar. Now the man looked to be about Jason's age.

Jason looked up at Tina. She'd gone back to handing out drinks to the other men and women (and variations thereof) around the bar. Jason spotted Andrea and the wolf-man laughing together. They seemed to be having a good time. Perhaps too good of a time as Andrea rubbed a hand through the fur on his arm. Of course, nothing escaped Tina. She snapped her fingers at the pair like a parent might do with a misbehaving child. "Hey! You know the rules. No hanky panky in the bar."

Andrea laughed. "Oh, Tina. We were only talking."

Tina raised an eyebrow and scowled, unconvinced. "Cute, Andrea, but don't think that I don't know you. If you want to have sexy times, do it at your own place. I don't want any baby making happening in this building. It makes a mess."

The wolf-man's ears pinned back in embarrassment, but Andrea continued to snort and giggle at Tina's comments. "That was just one time, Tina."

Tina handed a pair of fizzing drinks to a man and a woman before turning back to Andrea. "At least twice. Next time it happens, I'm spiking your drinks with Ken's Crotch Polisher. Three guesses as to what that does."

Andrea playfully glowered at Tina, leaning in over the mirrored bar. "You wouldn't dare."

Tina leaned on the bar, her face inches from Andrea's. "Oh, would I?"

There was a brief second where Jason was positive Tina was going to lean in and snog the other woman. But then Tina's straight face broke into a grin and snorting laughter. The two fell back from each other, laughing like old school friends. The wolf-man looked mildly confused, and merely watched the two break down into giggles.

Frank sighed. "Women. Be glad you ain't one, lad. They're perhaps the most confusing beast on this Earth." Then he leaned in and tapped the Mountain Man entry on Jason's list of drinks. "Go full-on man, lad. You're but a twig of a thing. Get a feel for what it's like to be a big, strapping bloke for once in your life!"

Jason shrugged, unsure. "Yeah, but Tina said-"

Frank tossed his hands up dismissively. "Bah! What does that lass know about what you can and cannae handle? Now are you a man, or you a boy?"

Jason nodded, considering Frank's advice. "Alright. I'll try it."

He looked up and saw Tina was already standing in front of him, an inscrutable expression on her face. In her hand was a tall glass of a dark, foamy beverage, looking to all the world like any other beer. She set the glass on the bar in front of him before smirking. "One Mountain Man, with all the fixings. Enjoy, Paul Bunyan." She turned to face Frank, her wry smirk now set in an annoyed sneer, the expression looking unnatural on her usually smiling face. "Whatever happens is on your head, Frank."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Easy, lass. The kid deserves to-"

Tina held up a hand, quieting him. "It's fine. Just keep an eye on him will ya? I've got a full house tonight. Keep him out of trouble." She turned, making her way to the other side of the bar and taking orders.

Jason looked down at the drink, the Mountain Man, sitting before him. He experimentally sniffed it. Oddly, the smell reminded him of a camping trip he'd once gone on as a kid. He had not enjoyed it, but had always liked the woody scent of the pine forest. He brought the glass close to his lips and glanced at Frank, who was watching him eagerly. "Here goes nothing, I guess." He took a drink.

It tasted just how it had smelled. It was like he was drinking a pine tree. But, somehow, it wasn't unpleasant, though it did have a bite to it. Jason grimaced and shuddered as he put the glass down, feeling the liquid slither down his esophagus. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Jason was about to try another drink before he felt a pulsing sensation throughout his body. It was akin to feeling his own heartbeat, but he could feel it pulsing from the center of his stomach, outward to the ends of his fingers and the bottoms of his toes. He held out and hand, and saw his slender digits subtly thicken. The fine hairs on his knuckles darkened in color and grew longer, as did the hair on the backs of his hands and up his arms.

"Woah," was all Jason could manage.

Frank laughed. "You like that, lad? Go on, have some more! Feel what it's like to be a real man!"

Harry, the teen turned middle-aged man from earlier caught wind of Frank's commotion. He leaned in over the bar to watch Jason's own transformation.

Jason took another drink, deeper this time. He set the glass down and looked down at his body, ready for the changes to continue. And continue they did. The hair on his arms dramatically thickened, just as his arms followed suit. His twiggy extremities filled out with muscle, his biceps quickly filling out the sleeves of his shirts. His chest also barreled out as a powerful itching engulfed his torso as new body hair began to fill in. Jason looked down at his reflection in the bar's mirrored surface, a look of wide-eyed wonderment plastered onto his face. His sorry excuse for facial hair darkened and thickened, much like the rest of his body hair. Scruff began sprouting from the rest of his jaw to join his chin, quickly forming and thickening beard. It wasn't just any beard, either, but a true mountain man's beard, long and thick. As Jason watched his face, he noticed the skin begin to weather, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, and lines etching into his enlarged forehead. Yes, his hairline was also receding, slowly but steadily. Jason ran a rough, calloused hand through his rapidly thinning hair, feeling a bald sport form on the back of his head. He also felt his jeans become uncomfortably tight, before snapping as his waistline bloated out with a belly. He certainly looked like a man who didn't skip out on his meat and potatoes. Without realizing he was doing it, Jason took another drink of his beer, as he had apparently been doing. Still, his jeans were beginning to tighten in a different area. The crotch of his pants became uncomfortably tight as the Adam's Delight portion of his drink kicked in, enhancing his masculine qualities.

Frank must have noticed Jason's look of discomfort. "Turn around, lad. Let me help you with that." Jason held out his legs and, after some tugging, Frank pulled the changing man's pants off, revealing his thick, hairy thighs and legs.

Jason looked down at himself. He was a very well built man, with thick muscles and a wide back. He had something of a belly, and a thin layer of softness seemed to cover his body and round out what was visible of his face, but he was certainly a powerful man. His hair had thinned dramatically, leaving only a thin strop of hair running across the top of his head, barely separating his receded hairline from his bald spot. His jaw was covered in a large, bushy beard and mustache, with flecks of grey in among the forest of dark brown. He looked to have aged a good twenty years or so. He traced the lines on his face with his thick, calloused fingers. He had the hands of a working man, someone who only rarely didn't find himself swinging an ax or carrying a load.

Jason tugged uncomfortably at his tight shirts. His graphic tee was only barely holding itself together, having ridden up his midsection as his torso had expanded, revealing his round, hairy stomach.

Frank looked the new mountain man up and down. "Looking good, lad. You'd make a fine man of the woods."

Jason was still admiring his thick, hairy arms, not used to being anything other than a beanpole. "Uh, thanks." He was surprised at how deep and gravely his voice sounded.

"Looking sharp, man."

Jason turned to face the other voice. It was Harry, the teen turned middle-aged man. He was grinning at Jason's new form. "Pretty brave for a first drink at Tina's."

Jason glanced over at Tina. She was still at the other end of the bar, passing out drinks to a thirsty crowd. He had no idea what to do next.

Jason stared at the man in the mirror, the reflection that couldn't have been his own body and yet it was. The wide, muscular man with the small gut. The hairy, balding man with the thick beard. The majestic, middle-aged outdoorsman. It was the complete opposite to who he used to be, and it was a lot to take in. He no longer felt timid and anxious about his life, he was a confident and overzealous man now, someone proud to be who he was and wasn't going to take any flack from anyone. He looked down at the graphic tee that was just barely holding it together across his wide chest and shoulders. He grunted and ripped it straight off his body with no effort at all. He leered at his accomplishment, flexing his plump pecs in the mirror. He'd never felt so strong, so powerful before. And he wanted more. "Another..." he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" Frank asked.

"Another!" Jason roared a little too enthusiastically.

Frank's eyes widen and he said "Another Mountain Man? Don't you think one is enough? You're already more than man enough as you are now. At least have the individual components instead of the full drink. A Muscle Toner or a Fuzz Muster by itself would do even more wonders to you but another Mountain Man'll ruin you!"

Jason's hands balled into fists as he felt an uncharacteristic rage build within him."What? Are you saying I can't handle another drink? That I'm too weak?"

Frank stammered "Aww jeez... No, I mean..."

"He doesn't want you get to get old and fat like he was". Jason turned to see Harry had moved up the bar to a seat nearer to him. He still looked as burly and hairy as he did earlier yet it wasn't as impressive to Jason now that they were similar ages and now he was manliness personified. "But what does he know? He doesn't appreciate his age and maturity like we do. He's in here every night getting a Youthenizer, trying to capture the lost days of his youth"

Frank spat back "That's pretty rich coming from a snot-nosed kid who feels that artificially aging himself to a mid-life crisis somehow makes him more superior and mature when he's just immature like everyone else his true age. And that's not the main reason he can't have another. This drink is one of the few that increases a person's aggression. I can't let you be getting all mad over nothing. Tina trusted me with your safety and I ain't letting her down again".

Harry rolled his eyes and said "He looks fine to me. And he'll look even better after another Mountain Man. I say you should trust your gut and have another one"

Jason nodded at the man's words. While he had noticed he felt less patient and more aggressive than he normally would, the rush of power and confidence he felt kept him in check. Besides, it was his choice after all, he didn't have to listen to a man who was insecure enough with his age to use potions that kept him young. Tina had managed to find time between getting drinks for other people to come and check up on Jason. She whistled loudly as she walked down the bar. "Hooo boy, check out our mountain man! That is very impressive for a first timer's drink. How does it feel?"

Jason grinned at her reaction, his mouth just about visible through the mass of hair covering his face. "I feel incredible, magnificent even! I never dreamed I could be so large and hairy, nobody in my family even looks like this"

"I did have my doubts but you seem to be taking it well. You up for another order? Maybe some Head O'Hare to bring back your former mane? Or is that enough change for the night?"

Jason stood tall and confidently said "As a matter of fact, I'll take another Mountain Man"

Tina gave Frank a horrid stare, who shrugged his shoulders and said "Don't look at me, I told him not to have another. It's Tom Hanks over there who encouraged him with his yammering on about the wonders of maturity and what not. Bah! Let 'im have it, then he can see why I'd rather be his age instead".

"You know that's not what I'm worried about Frank. It's the fist fights, meltdowns, and hyped up sex drive that comes from too much TestosteGrow. And I can't just leave it out, one missing ingredient and the ratios are thrown off-balance. Who knows what'll happen to him then"

Jason was getting quite irritable and ticked off with how everyone assumed he couldn't handle his drinks. He slammed a palm down on the bar and said "I don't care about what's in it, just bring me another Mountain Man now!"

Tina's eyes narrowed as she coldly stared Jason in the eyes. "You should know it's not wise to treat your bartender like that. The one who could quite easily slip you a glass of Medusa's Stare and turn you to stone before you even knew what hit you". Jason felt a chill up his spine and realised that his overconfidence wasn't helping matters yet he didn't back down, giving her his own death-glare.

After half a minute of intense, awkward eye contact, Harry grabbed Jason by the shoulders and pulled him away from Tina. Jason snarled at the interruption and almost lunged at him until Harry said "I'm sorry, I didn't realise he would get so uptight over this but if you let him have the Mountain Man, I promise I'll take good care of him and we'll both leave the bar in peace. Hey, wait a minute..." Harry stroked his grey, stubbly chin. "You can't remove drinks due to messing with the ratios but you can replace them right? Don't you have some sort of calming, peaceful drink knocking about?"

"You might be onto something there..." Tina turned and shuffled through a pile of bottles before yelling "Aha!" and slamming a pink bottle on the table. "I've had this Hippy Dippy laying about for quite a while. It's potent but it would definitely make him less aggressive. It might even make him more of a nature lover too".

Tina slid down the counter and began to prepare the drink, expertly mixing the multi-coloured liquids together in a large glass, precise to the very last drop. Soon she was finished and dropped the mug down in front of Jason. It was as dark and foamy as he remembered it looking, but there was something different about it. The scent was still like a pine forest, now combined with a pungent undertone of some sort of incense. He shrugged his shoulders and took a big gulp, finding the mix of pine tree and pot-pourri strangely enticing. After downing a quarter of the glass, he slammed the mug onto the bar and felt the changes begin again. His well-built body frame managed to pack on a few extra pounds of muscle, his arms swelling larger and his chest expanding wider. This was quickly followed by some extra pounds of fat that seemed to all be added to his stomach that bulged outwards more. And with it, there was a feeling of calmness hidden under his short temper, something that had earlier been pushed aside and now trying to break free.

As Jason continued to drink his altered Mountain Man, His already dense body hair managed to get even thicker and spread further across his body. Dark hairs snaked up his upper arms, joining a dusting of hairs that began to cover his upper chest and shoulders. The hairs slowly but surely slipped around his torso to coat his back. While he grew a few inches taller, he also continued to pile on a large amount of weight, that slowly shifted from mostly muscle to mostly fat as he continued to age. He still had a powerful, muscle-bound frame that was impressive for a man of any age. Only now it was covered by a soft layer of fat that hid any toned detail. His small belly had taken on the bulk of weight gain as it had expanded like a furry beach ball, joining his love handles in sagging over the waistband of his extremely tight boxer shorts. His pectorals had grown massive, the two hair-coated breasts drooping down lower onto his tummy.

More grey hairs flecked through his increasingly bushy beard until it reached a point where it could be said it was a white beard that was flecked with brown hairs. The same could be said of his body hair as white hairs replaced the dark ones that coated his chest, leading a white trail down his bloated stomach like a skunk's stripe. Meanwhile, the wide strip of thinning hair that remained on top of his scalp quickly faded until the top of his head was clear of any hair at all. The remaining, greying hair on the sides grew slightly longer, matching the unkempt nature of his beard. He rubbed the smooth skin atop his head. It felt strangely comforting under his rough, meaty fingers that had taken on various cuts along with their thick callouses. More bruises and scars appeared on his arms, legs, and torso, hinting at a reckless and adventurous life led outside. His face had only gotten craggier, deep lines penetrating the dry skin around his eyes, mouth and across his forehead.

Throughout his time drinking and changing, he found that his aggression was disappearing. It wasn't long before he couldn't even remember why he was angry at in the first place. It was replaced by a calmness, a love of all things and a deep longing to protect Mother Nature. As he swallowed the last drop, he quietly placed his glass on the counter and looked across at the mirror to see the man he had become. He squinted slightly and knew he was definitely older, probably comfortably at retirement age with a wrinkled, weathered face that could tell tales. Yet most of his face was taken up by a massive, white beard that grew long and wild, hairs sticking out everywhere along the frizzy mane. His head was surprisingly smooth compared to the rough, blotchy skin he had elsewhere on his body, with a messy fringe of salt and pepper hair around the sides. His once muscle-bound body had been overtaken by a wave of bulk that softened every inch of him. His furry stomach was round and voluminous, sticking out close to a foot beyond his waist. His boxers had finally given out moments ago, yet his stomach was more than big enough to hide his shame from the bar. To top it all off, a dense coating of mostly silver hair covered every inch of his body from his arms to his legs, his belly to his back. All that was missing was a pair of round spectacles to perch on top of his bulbous nose and improve his eyesight. He looked like a wild, old man who had lived in the forest for decades, and he felt like one too.

Frank had a look of disgust as he slapped Jason's large belly. "You had the perfect body and ya blew it on this thing! You best be glad it'll be gone by sunrise since you'd never want to stay like that for long". He grumbled to himself and walked to the other end of the bar where Tina was serving a lovey-dovey couple a pitcher filled with a fluorescent yellow liquid to share.

Harry also patted Jason's belly, but in a more supportive gesture. "You did good man! You look amazing, like the ultimate nature guy. I think you're a mountain man through and through"

Jason smiled at his support. "Thank you. It's definitely grown on me". He laughed at his lame joke and sighed. He felt content with his life, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and freeing him from its clutches. All that mattered to him now was being one with the world. He stared dreamily at his aged reflection, curling his beard between his fingers.

"Now I did promise Tina I'd look after you, even though that aggression's gone. I was thinking of heading out myself, but it's up to you"

Hey, im a 19 year old, chubby latino guy. Ive always fantasised about how it feels to be older, maybe reaching my 40s. Ive always fantasised about becoming and older guy overnight, and im working on becoming the best version of myself in the far future. I ordered a special protein shake in the mail, and its supposed to help me "achieve my goals", hopefuly it does

Apparently when that protein shake said it would help you "Achieve Your Goals Overnight" it was being very, very literal. In a night, you've skipped over twenty years of grueling work, and become the man you always wanted to be. You're a muscular, distinguished latino DILF whose got a successful career, a loving husband, and a few very cute kids who look at you like you're a superhero. It's still 2026, but now you have vague memories of being a teenager in the late nineties. It's a strange feeling, having this sensation that you've skipped all the hard work and toil and made your way to the good part, but also having memories of the hard work you had to put in, of the time you spent at the gym, dates with your husband, adopting your eldest son. It may take some time to get used to your new self… but you wouldn't trade this life for the world. And going forward, you're going to make sure you don't miss another second of it.

---

Hey I found this weird baseball cap while I was on the commons at college as I was on my way to the library to study for my finals. As a 22 year old geeky guy I know this has to belong to one of those jocks but how would I look with this on? Maybe I should wear it backwards

… I have to ask, whats with people putting on strange, random pieces of clothing they found? This keeps happening, and I don't get it. Aren't you guys worried about, like, germs and stuff? I don't get why this keeps happening… and I really don't get why it keeps working! I mean, look at you! Transformed into a totaly frat boy stud! Fucking hell should I start wearing random clothes I find hanging around? Seems like the most efficient way to become a sexy jock these days

… wait, you have an extra? Well… I guess I could try it on…

---

When I was on vacation there was a band that played pretty much every night and these guys were all gorgeous. Is there a way to turn me into a hot hunky rock star like them?

Turns out the band you hand spend all vacations not so secretly lusting after was looking for a new guitar player! You knew you didn't have much of a shot, since you don't know anything about music, but you just felt like you had to try. You got up on stage, started playing… and the music just flowed from you naturally as you went through an incredible transformation. Now, you're part of the band, which also turned out to be a very sexy polycule. have fun with your 3 hunky rockstar boyfriends!

---

I'm a 21-year-old guy, slim, with dark hair. I recently started lifting weights… but every time my uncle sees me he says I'm not getting any better and that I'll never look like a real man like him… even though to be honest, he has the body of a hairy bear but not the muscular one I aspire to. Can you do something to stop my uncle from bothering me anymore, please?

It turns out your uncle has been up to some shady stuff. Specifically, he's been stealing your muscles, and not just the ones you've been getting recently. You're actually a fairly naturally athletic guy, but your Uncle had been draining your muscles since you hit puberty. The only reason he's a bear and not a bodybuilder is because he takes terrible care of his body. Now, the ward I send you should stop him from stealing any more of your hard earned muscle, but if you want to get what you've lost back, you'll have to use the other thing I sent you, the potion. Just drink the potion right before you touch him, and you'll be able to get back what he's stolen… sort of. See, because he's treated his body so badly, you'll end up with some of the effects, meaning you'll become a beefy bear like he is instead of a muscular jock. Luckily you should be able to work off that extra weight if you keep exercising like you have been. I hope you can get the body you want one day, and you enjoy watching your uncle go from burly to weakling

---

With the world cup going on, everyone's wearing their soccer shirt. Someone forgot theirs in the locker room. Seems to be brazilian, but not from any team I know… maybe a college one?

You put on the mysterious shirt you found (Seriously what is it with people wearing found clothes?) but it didn't stay on your body for long. A Brazilian stud like you can't keep the goods hidden for too long after all! Now you're shirtless, sauntering your way through campus, heading to a party to get drunk, show off, and watch the football game with your manos from the team. have fun!

Thank you to Sir @redpilledredneckdad for this prompt.

Tony knew the night club from back to front. Behind the bar, the staff rooms, even where the money was stored. He did not work at the night club–he had just been railed in every part of it. Employees and customers alike loved his bubbly nature and forward behavior. When he asked if they would be interested in topping, no one passed the opportunity up. So it naturally came as a surprise when one night, he found a new bartender tending to the drinks.

“When did you start?” Tony leaned up to the counter and got straight to the point.

The bartender chuckled. “Just today. You’re Tony I presume?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow, “How’d you know?”

“I was warned about you,” the bartender joked. Tony wondered what he had been warned about. That he was a very cute and attractive twink? That he got rave reviews? That outside of his nightlife, he had a doctorate in French Literature, attended Pro-Choice rallies, and hosted a bake shop on the weekends? 

“Really?”

“I was told you were a menace.”

Tony guessed the bartender was in his thirties, somewhere between an otter and a cub. Hot, but not what he was looking for tonight. “Who said that? Danny or Jake?”

“I took a blood oath.” The bartender took one hand to his heart as if to illustrate. “I swore to God himself.”

“Fair, fair.” Tony was surprised by how much personality the bartender had, given he was clothed in a polished, yet standard suit. The bartender stuck out in the night club; he was an Adam in the garden after he had eaten the apple.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“A daddy.”

The bartender’s casual smile twisted slightly. “I can get you one of those.”

“Really?” Tony liked where this was going. Although instead of pointing out another customer like Tony had expected, the bartender assembled a quick drink. Tony turned away to scan the dance floor after the glass disappeared under the counter. Tony was momentarily distracted by the sound of a zipper but remained focused. Once he turned back around, the finished product was placed right in front of him. It was clear with a yellowy tint. 

Tony reached into the pocket of his skin-tight slacks for his credit card. The bartender shook his head in response.

“No need, it’s on the house.”

Tony frowned. “There’s never been free drinks here before.”

“It’s my first day, don’t you wanna celebrate?” the bartender quickly replied.

Unconvinced but not enough to reject a free drink, Tony brought the glass down and clinked it onto the counter. He then took a cautious sip, surprised by the icy condensation that sprinkled onto his bare chest. The dance music and rainbow lights behind him dulled, as if the world was focusing in on just Tony.

The bartender watched closely, his grin widening. “Thoughts?”

“It’s shockingly sour,” Tony winced slightly. “Is it a cider?”

“Not quite. Why don’t you have another taste?”

Tony took another swallow. The drink stung the back of his throat, digging its nails through his flesh. Tony's eyes began to water.

“Holy Father…” Tony coughed, then paused. What had he just said?

“That’s better.” There was something strange about the bartender’s voice, a new color lurking within it. “I think you should have some more.”

Tony’s arm moved on its own, sloshing the liquid down into his system. This time though, the drink went down easier. His body was already familiarizing it, like it was something Tony had had thousands of times before.

The bartender, satisfied, decided to move the conversation forward. “Don’t you find clubs like these depressing?”

Tony gulped. “Why would I?” His voice sounded off. Too American, too starchy.

“You know, all this sin.”

Sin. The word bounced around the walls of Tony’s skull. At first, he did not understand what the bartender was referring to. He scanned the floor once more. Men sliding up and down against each other. Sticky sweat and the smell of pheromones. One guy holding his partner up, kissing him roughly on the lips.

Sin. 

Tony felt something flicker inside his gut. A twist of something rotten. Disgust.

“You see it now, don’t you?” the bartender questioned. “It’s all so garish and vulgar. They look so depraved.”

Tony’s stomach turned as he went in for another sip. Although the room was dark, he could catch a bit of his reflection in the glasses stacked behind the bar. His face appeared tighter, the lavish soft qualities that countless men had admired had hardened into something more rigid, more demanding. Tony did not even register the drink sliding down his throat anymore. The burn felt good, right.

“This country used to be respectable,” the bartender said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Tony’s bangs receded slightly, pulling out of the top of his vision. The tropical air of the room begin to coat his forehead as his hair withdrew farther and farther back. It thinned as well, mocking the luscious curls he formerly had and transitioning Anthony's haircut into a relaxed but well-conditioned Ivy League. A look that said “See, I can have a little fun.”

“I mean you seem like the kind of guy who has seen things.” The bartender’s voice slithered into Tony’s ear. “You remember the good ‘ole days of America.”

A solid line engraved itself into Tony’s exposed forehead. Then another, then another. More appeared around his eyes and carved themselves into his cheeks. Tony’s skin, which had undergone daily treatments since he was in high school, constricted, weathered over the years into something more leathery. There was a history to his body now.

“When were you born, anyway?” the bartender asked. 

Tony moved the glass away from his mouth, “1973.”

What?! No, it was 2003! He was not 53 years old!! Tony had been born when Bush was in office, the second Bush. That was only 23 years ago. Wow, had it been that long already? It felt like just yesterday that Tony Jr. had been born. Wait, who was Tony Jr.?

“You grew up during the Reagan Era?” the bartender asked. “Fuck, I’m jealous.”

“Language,” Tony’s voice snapped on its own, robust and authoritative. Why did he say that, who cared what anyone said anymore?

“Sorry man,” the bartender backed off, although he could not hide his amusement. “Why don’t you tell me what it was like? Being a kid of the ‘80s.”

Why would Tony know? He could not even imagine it. All he knew about the 80s was the arena rock and how every other person he knew had a mullet. There were the movies too, huge blockbusters featuring new ideas and technology. He was practically raised on Saturday cartoons before growing into drive-in theatres. Tony remembered hearing about…learning about the eruption of Mount St. Helens. Watching the Berlin Wall come down on TV, or was it on the internet?

“And the Evangelicalism too,” the bartender added. Had Tony been speaking aloud this whole time? “I bet you were big into that.”

The bartender nodded to Tony’s chest. Tony looked down, surprised to find a thin gold cross resting in the valley between his two fur-dusted pecs. Had he not shaved before coming here? He was always clean-shaven. And why was his dress shirt white? It had been black before, right? No, his suit coat was black, the suit coat he had received for his 50th birthday. Perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and the right taper for his sculpted legs. Caroline had gifted it to him, how could he forget? Who the hell was Caroline?

“You married, sir?”

Tony did not recognize the bartender’s subtle addition. He took another swig from his glass. “Yes.”

He was married? The more Tony questioned it, the clearer the images became. Met in college, engaged after graduation, first kid around…right, 2003. Tony coughed into his drink. A kid? Was he married to a women?! No, that could not be true! He had to stop drinking whatever the bartender had given him. Tony was a homosexual, through and through. He was not straight, he was not-

“What’s her name?”

“Caroline.”

Good Lord she was beautiful. Tony thanked God–no he did not!–he thanked God everyday for blessing him with such a beautiful wife. And providing him with his career and-

“Kids?”

“Three of them, all strapping young lads.”

-three handsome young men. Anthony “Tony” Jr., 2003, was the oldest, pursuing a Master's in Political Studies at the most prestigious university available. Matthew, 2008, was captain of the soccer team and president of his preparatory school’s Young Republicans. And Donald “Donny”, 2015, named after a close friend of Anthony’s, was applying for his gun license and worked as a Sunday School mentor at their local church.

Suddenly, from a corner of the club, a group of gay men hollered out, cackling like hyenas. The bartender openly scowled in their direction.

“Degenerates,” Tony said. “Their perversion is abhorrent.”

The bartender smiled. “Would you prefer to be somewhere more traditional, sir?”

The scene around the pair warped and twisted. The neon lights softened, gathering into an orange glow. The harsh metals sturdied into hardwoods, the patrons clothed themselves in attire more fitting for the real world. To Tony, the scene became more normal; it had straightened itself into something he could feel comfortable in. The bartender–and as he now realized, himself–fit into this new reality. The reality where drinks were poured and discussions about economics, religion, and occasionally women were held.

“Much better,” the bartender commented. “Wouldn’t you agree, uh…”

“Anthony,” Ton-...Anthony replied. “Anthony Spencer.”

“The Republican representative?” the bartender asked. “Well had I known I was serving such an esteemed man, I would have offered you a second drink!"

Anthony chuckled, “The Lord and I are not stopping you from doing so now.”

The bartender nodded and prepared a glass, pulling out the most expensive bourbon available. A man of Anthony’s standing would certainly appreciate it. Hard and unforgiving, just as he was. A man dedicated to making his country great and straight again. A man who was not afraid to promote the union of church and state. Anthony had lived through decades of corruption: Hilary Clinton, the Obama administration, Obergefell v. Hodges. It was not until Trump’s first term that Anthony realized he ought to do something. And in Trump’s second that he could–he ran to represent his state and won.

Anthony remembered the day fondly, standing in front of his humble McMansion and announcing his victory to the press. The journalists and crowds swarmed his gates, curious to hear what he had to say.

“It’s obvious that the people are not looking for another politician promising them progress,” he had said. “They wanted a defender of this country’s most sacred values. A husband, a father.”

Behind him stood his beautiful Caroline, the woman who had been by his side since day one. Who had found him his first job out of college through her father’s financial firm, who had birthed not one, not two, but three of his offspring. And now, as they had just discovered, would in less than a year be bringing him a fourth. 

“My campaign is not about protecting the everyday American, but the traditional American family. Protecting the faith that guides our laws and the people–the good white, Christian people–that uphold them. 

Anthony’s sons filled out the picture, the epitome of young masculinity. He had raised them to be the best men they could be. Red-blooded Christian Americans who would fight for their rights and their country. 

“It will be my duty to create the legislation that sanctifies our marriages and strike those down that contaminate them. To oppose policies that promote unsightly ideologies and support those that crucify them. I will fight against the ‘woke’ agenda and Make America Great Again!”

The response from the crowd had been unanimous: a roaring applause. With a smile, Anthony was returned back to his current conversation as a second glass was placed in front of him.

“Thank you for all the work you've done to defend this country, Representative Spencer,” the bartender said. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Anthony took a sip, lavishing the alcohol on his tongue. “This’ll do for now. If there’s anything else I need, I’ll let you know.”

You’re sitting alone in the student safety office late in the evening, staring at the latest memo from your staff administrator with growing disgust. “Encourage breeding… promote traditional family values… natural gender roles…” It’s all complete bullshit. You’ve poured real effort into this org for years. You’re handing out free condoms, running consent workshops, pushing responsible drinking campaigns, and actually trying to keep people safe. You’re the reliable progressive guy on campus, the one everyone trusts. You mutter under your breath, “If this doesn’t change back soon, I’m fucking done. I’ll quit.”

The door clicks shut behind you. You spin around to see the administrator standing there, a tall, calm man with an unnerving smile. “One last try,” he says smoothly, pulling out a tablet from his bag. “Before you make any rash decisions, just watch this short video. It explains the new direction better than any memo could.”

You roll your eyes but humor him, figuring it’ll be quick and you can quit right after. He sets the tablet on the desk in front of you and hits play. The screen lights up with a swirling spiral pattern, soft colors pulsing slowly. A deep, resonant voice begins narrating—calm, authoritative, repeating phrases that sink into your ears.

“Relax… let go of old ideas… real strength comes from dominance… breeding is natural… family values mean taking what you want…”

At first you scoff, trying to look away. But the spiral holds your gaze. Your body feels heavy, warm. The voice gets deeper, more insistent. “Good boys obey… progressive lies fade away… you crave conquest… pump and dump… real men breed without regret…”

The heat builds. Your muscles start twitching. The administrator watches with satisfaction as your resistance crumbles. He leans in, murmuring reinforcements: “You’ve been wasting your time with all that safe-sex nonsense. Deep down you know the truth. Feel it taking over. Let the new you rise.”

Your mind fogs. Progressive ideals start dissolving like they’re being erased frame by frame. Consent lectures, harm reduction, equality, all dissolved like nothing. New thoughts rush in, hot and aggressive: Chug beer. Smash pussy. Brag about it. Never settle. Get them pregnant with your alpha DNA and ghost. That’s real power.

The physical changes hit hard while the video loops. Your shoulders broaden dramatically, ripping the seams of your neat button-up shirt as it turns into a casual tank top. Thick, gym-honed muscle explodes across your chest and arms, pecs swelling into firm slabs, biceps peaking with raw size. Abs carve into a shredded six-pack, and your legs thicken into powerful athlete’s thighs that strain your jeans. You grow taller, posture shifting from polite to cocky swagger. Your face transforms as well, jaw squaring into that perfect arrogant line, cheekbones sharpening, hair styling itself into a messy, faded fuckboy cut with highlights. Light stubble dusts your chin, giving you that effortless “I just fucked someone” look.

Your cock surges violently, thickening into a fat, veiny 9-inch tool designed for conquest, throbbing painfully against your zipper. A wave of pure, toxic horniness floods your system. The old respectful you cries out faintly… then vanishes completely under layers of douchebag confidence. You already don’t miss it.

The administrator turns off the tablet. You blink, then turn towards him, grinning a wide, shit-eating smirk. “Fuck… that video was fire, bro.”

He chuckles. “Welcome to the winning team, Chad.”

You’re fully him now. Chad. A loud, jacked, entitled toxic frat king. All that “good guy” history feels pathetic and distant. A nightmare you can barely remember after you’ve woken up.

You storm out of the office and head straight to the frat house that now feels like home base. By that night you’ve completely rebranded the student safety org. No more condoms. You order kegs, funnels, and tank tops that say “Breed Responsibly.” Your first “Safety After Dark” party is chaos—loud music, girls everywhere, zero rules.

You spot a cute sophomore in a tight top. Old you would’ve offered water and an Uber home. New you? You flex your big arms, flash that cocky grin, and within twenty minutes she’s bent over in an upstairs bedroom while you rail her raw and deep, no protection, grunting shit like “Take this load, babe. This is what you really need.” You finish balls-deep inside her, slap her ass hard, and tell her not to text unless she wants another round. She leaves dazed and leaking. You’re already eyeing her roommate next.

The corruption spreads fast. You turn the org into your personal hunting ground. Weekly events become legendary ragers. You keep a public scoreboard in the office: “Weekly Body Count” with your name always dominating. Different girl every week—sorority blondes, quiet bookworms, athletic girls, party sluts, even professors—you don’t care. You fuck them loud and rough, post vague brags on Snapchat, ghost them the next day, and laugh about it with the boys. The other former weaklings and betas you and the administrator improved.

You’ve never felt better. Every morning you flex in the mirror, admiring your jacked body, and laugh at how lame the old version of you was. Why hand out condoms when breeding a new conquest raw so much fucking better?

At the next meeting you stand at the front in a backwards cap and tight tank top, announcing with a cocky laugh, “New rules. Get drunk, get laid, make mistakes. The only safety worth knowing is how to take a real man’s dick. That’s college, baby.”

The guys roar in laughter and applause, already plotting which chicks to pick up at the next frat party. You just stand there proudly, knowing how great life is for a guy like you.

January 16, 2026 - July 16th, 2026

The university was legendary for its football games. Win or lose, attendance alone could boost your grades. That was why Simon showed up every Saturday, even though he had zero interest in the sport-or the team. Especially the team. A squad full of white, straight, MAGA jocks who made his life miserable when they noticed him.

Halfway to his usual seat, Blake grabbed his arm and yanked him into a shadowed alcove beneath the bleachers. Blake was everything Simon quietly resented: tall, broad-shouldered, cocky, and unapologetically MAGA. Yet Simon had always played nice with him. It helped the bullying.

“Blake? What the hell? Shouldn’t you be on the field?” Blake’s eyes were wild, sweat already beading on his forehead. “Bro… you don’t understand. I need you to take my spot tonight.” Simon laughed nervously. “I don’t even know the rules. And look at me—”Before he could finish, Blake slammed his own helmet onto Simon’s head and ran off, saying “This should be enough for now, the team will do the rest after the game.”

The world tilted. A heavy fog rolled through Simon’s mind, thick and syrupy. Thoughts slowed to a crawl. His body, however, did not. Muscle surged beneath his skin, shoulders widening, chest barreling outward. Arms thickened with power. Legs lengthened and hardened, calves and quads cutting sharp definition. Abs etched themselves into a solid six-pack. His jaw squared, features sharpening into something unmistakably masculine. His clothes rippled, reforming into full football gear that fit his new, powerful frame perfectly.

Through the thickening haze, new instincts pushed forward:

Win the game.

Make the team proud.

You’re good at this.

You’ve always been good at this.

The old Simon flickered, distant and fading. Jack strode out of the tunnel and onto the field, only knowing to be the best during the game.

In the locker room after the team won, Jack sat on the bench, helmet still on, staring at the floor. His mind felt underwater. His goal was complete, and he couldn’t think of what to do after. He could sense something important slipping away, memories just out of reach. He reached for them, grasping- A hand lifted the helmet away. Before the fog could clear, a bright red “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN” cap dropped onto his head. His thoughts immediately became clear again.

Jack blinked, then grinned. Memories realigned, sharper and stronger than before. He’d always been MAGA. Always known Trump was right. Always understood that ICE was necessary, that borders mattered, that the country belonged to the people who built it. Libtards were delusional—weak, wrong, and destructive. Real men were strong, straight, and unapologetic. White men especially had a duty to stay that way. He stood up, stripped off the pads, and changed into gym clothes that hugged his new physique. Before leaving the locker room, he snapped a quick selfie in the mirror, cap tilted just right, smirk confident. Jack flexed once, satisfied, and headed out into the night. Game days were the best.

The Gummy Bear Smoothie

Noah had watched Ethan Vale’s transformation live.

At first, he had assumed it was an elaborate stunt. Influencers faked everything—relationships, apartments, surprise gifts, even entire personalities. Transforming from a polished fitness model into an enormous bald bear during a livestream seemed only slightly more ridiculous.

Then Ethan posted the morning-after video.

There were no filters. No prosthetics. No convenient camera cuts.

Ethan stood in his kitchen with a colossal beard, a hairy chest and a belly that pressed against the counter. He spoke candidly about the Cosmic Bears, the sudden changes and his decision to stop searching for a cure.

Noah watched the video three times.

He was not sure whether he was horrified, fascinated or jealous.

Probably all three.

Unlike Ethan, Noah had never built a career around his appearance. Still, he was proud of his smooth chest, clean jaw and thick black hair. He spent far too much money on skincare and regularly complained when a haircut exposed even half an inch too much forehead.

But there was something undeniably attractive about Ethan’s new form.

The beard. The size. The confidence.

Ethan no longer looked like someone trying to appeal to everyone. He looked like someone who had finally stopped apologising for taking up space.

Late that evening, Noah noticed an advertisement beneath one of Ethan’s videos.

GUMMY BEAR JUICE — EXPERIENCE YOUR TRUE FLAVOUR

The bottle contained a deep purple liquid. Cartoon bears danced across the label.

Noah stared at the screen.

It could not possibly be related.

He clicked.

The bottle arrived two days later.

There was no return address.

No ingredient list.

No nutritional information.

Only a colourful label reading:

GUMMY BEAR JUICE

Below it, in very small letters:

One sip reveals the first truth. The whole bottle reveals everything.

Noah held it up to the light.

The liquid shimmered faintly.

“This is how people die in horror films,” he muttered.

He opened the bottle anyway.

The scent was intensely sweet—blackberry, cherry and warm cinnamon. Beneath that was the same strange leathery aroma Ethan had described during his livestream.

Noah hesitated.

Then he took a small sip.

The drink was delicious.

Thick and cold, like a melted gummy bear blended with fruit juice.

He swallowed.

Nothing happened.

Noah waited another minute and laughed at himself.

“Of course.”

He took a longer drink.

A pleasant warmth spread through his chest.

Noah lowered the bottle and smirked.

Perhaps it was simply strong alcohol disguised as candy.

He checked the label again.

There was still no information.

The warmth travelled upward into his face. His jaw tingled. Noah scratched his cheek and felt the faint rasp of stubble.

That was odd.

He had shaved less than an hour earlier.

He walked toward the bathroom but stopped when he passed the hallway mirror.

A visible shadow covered his jaw.

Noah leaned closer.

The stubble darkened while he watched.

“Oh.”

Fine hairs emerged across his chin and upper lip. They thickened quickly, growing from an evening shadow into several days of beard growth.

Noah touched his face.

The sensation was real.

His heart began beating faster.

“No, no. That’s not possible.”

The bottle remained in his hand.

He looked at it.

Then at himself.

Then back at the bottle.

Instead of putting it down, Noah took another sip.

The change accelerated.

His stubble became a proper short beard, dense and dark around his jaw. A patch of hair appeared in the centre of his chest and slowly spread outward.

Noah stared down.

The smooth skin he had maintained for years disappeared beneath a widening pattern of dark curls. Hair travelled over his pectorals, down his stomach and across his shoulders.

His eyes widened.

“So it really is the same stuff.”

He should have been frightened.

Part of him was.

Another part remembered Ethan flexing beside his ruined gaming chair, grinning beneath his beard while the internet celebrated him.

Noah took another drink.

The bottle was already half empty.

The hair on his body thickened immediately. His forearms became visibly furrier. The patch on his chest expanded into a dense covering that continued down his abdomen.

His beard pushed outward from his face.

Noah raised his phone and opened the camera.

A stranger looked back at him.

Not an unattractive stranger.

A rugged one.

He turned his head from side to side, watching the beard sharpen the shape of his jaw.

A reluctant smile appeared.

“Okay,” he whispered. “This part isn’t terrible.”

A prickling sensation began across his scalp.

His smile vanished.

Noah ran his fingers through his hair.

Several strands came away.

He stared at them in horror.

“No.”

He touched his temples.

The hairline had moved backward.

Only slightly—but it was unmistakable.

“No, the beard can stay. The hair stays too.”

More strands slipped loose.

His forehead appeared broader. The corners of his hairline receded, forming deepening arcs above his temples.

Noah rushed into the bathroom.

Under the bright lights, the change looked even worse.

His thick black hair was thinning at the front. Pale scalp showed between the strands. His beard, meanwhile, continued growing fuller and longer.

The contrast was cruel.

Hair vanished from the one place he wanted it while multiplying everywhere else.

Noah grabbed the bottle.

“You could have mentioned that.”

The cartoon bears smiled cheerfully.

New writing appeared beneath them.

EVERY BEAR PAYS FOR HIS BEARD.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He should have poured the remaining juice into the sink.

Instead, he took another drink.

His beard surged downward.

Dark curls spread over his throat and formed a thick mass beneath his chin. The hair covering his chest became extraordinarily dense, joining the beard at his neck and travelling across his stomach.

Noah watched the transformation with a mixture of panic and fascination.

His shoulders broadened.

His arms thickened.

His chest pushed outward beneath its new covering of hair.

He was not becoming enormous like Ethan—not yet—but his previously lean frame was gaining solidity. His pectorals became heavier. His neck thickened. His hands looked broader and rougher.

Noah placed the bottle on the counter.

“That’s enough.”

The warmth continued.

Apparently, enough had stopped being an option.

His hairline retreated farther. The front thinned into a sparse island. The crown began opening behind it, revealing more scalp with every passing second.

Noah grabbed the remaining hair and tried to pull it forward.

There was no longer enough to disguise anything.

He looked decades older from the forehead upward and aggressively masculine everywhere else.

His beard now covered the lower half of his face.

His chest resembled dark fur.

His eyes remained unmistakably his own—wide, blue and increasingly alarmed.

Noah stared at his reflection.

“I look like I own a motorcycle.”

His voice had deepened.

He swallowed.

“I sound like I own three motorcycles.”

The bottle tipped by itself.

It rolled toward the edge of the counter.

Noah caught it before it fell.

Only a mouthful remained.

The purple liquid shifted inside the bottle, glittering under the bathroom light.

Noah remembered the words:

The whole bottle reveals everything.

He should stop.

He knew he should stop.

But stopping now would leave him halfway between two versions of himself—too transformed to return to his former life, yet never knowing what waited at the end.

Noah raised the bottle.

“To bad decisions,” he said, borrowing Ethan’s words.

He drank the final mouthful.

Heat exploded through his body.

Noah gasped and gripped the sink.

His beard became enormous, extending several inches below his chin in a dense black mass. Hair erupted across his shoulders, upper arms, back and stomach until scarcely any smooth skin remained.

His torso expanded.

His chest became broad and heavy. His arms swelled with thick muscle. His waist widened, losing its narrow athletic shape and becoming sturdier.

His scalp tingled violently.

Noah watched the last substantial section of hair on top thin into almost nothing.

Within moments, only a sparse covering remained across the crown, surrounded by short dark hair at the sides.

He looked almost bald.

“No!”

He pressed both hands against his scalp.

The remaining hairs continued shrinking and receding beneath his fingers.

His forehead seemed endless.

Noah stared into the mirror, mouth hanging open.

The man looking back was broad, bearded, heavily furred and visibly balding. He looked older, rougher and far more physically imposing than Noah had ever imagined becoming.

Then his stomach growled.

The sound echoed through the bathroom.

Noah looked down nervously.

His abdomen pushed outward.

Not dramatically, but enough to soften his waist and create the beginning of a round belly beneath the dense hair. It settled naturally against the waistband of his shorts.

Noah placed both hands on it.

“You too?”

His reflection looked appalled.

Then, slowly, something changed in his expression.

He straightened.

He pulled his shoulders back.

The transformed body filled the mirror with a heavy, masculine presence. His beard framed his face. His broad chest and arms made him look powerful. Even the receding hair no longer seemed accidental. It completed the image.

Noah turned sideways.

The belly was unmistakable.

He rubbed it once.

Then again.

A reluctant grin appeared beneath the beard.

His phone vibrated.

A notification from Ethan’s channel appeared.

ETHAN VALE IS LIVE: COSMIC BEARS Q&A

Noah opened the stream.

Ethan sat behind a reinforced desk, enormous and relaxed, answering questions from thousands of viewers.

Noah typed:

I found Gummy Bear Juice. I drank the entire bottle.

The chat immediately responded.

SHOW US

NEW BEAR

VIDEO OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN

Ethan noticed the message.

His expression became serious.

“Whoever just said they found the juice, don’t drink—”

A second message appeared.

Too late.

Ethan stared into the camera.

“Of course it is.”

Noah switched on his own camera and sent Ethan a photograph.

The reply came almost instantly.

Well. The beard is magnificent.

Noah laughed.

It was a deep, unfamiliar sound that filled the bathroom.

Ethan sent another message.

Welcome to the den.

Noah looked at himself one final time.

His old appearance was gone: the smooth chest, clean jaw and carefully styled hair had all disappeared. In their place stood a broad, hairy man with a colossal beard, a retreating hairline and the beginnings of a proud bear belly.

He was shocked.

He was nervous.

And, to his own surprise, he was smiling.

Noah returned to the livestream and typed: