The Dark Prince

Some guys want to be transformed. And some guys, like Andrew?

They need it.

The college student spent every waking moment obsessing over himself, or rather, who he needed to be. His tall, slim frame, which would've been more than enough for most guys, left him wanting, well, needing, so much more.

He wanted the same short, dark hair that sprouted from his head to cover every inch of his body: a thick, bristly beard and a trail from his chest down, and down, and down. Enough hair to trap all that sweat from the gym and brew it into a rich, deep, manly musk.

And he wanted there to be more inches of him, more thick, corded muscle bulging underneath his skin covered in all that hair.

He knew what he needed: Big, dumb, hairy, musky, sweaty, manly.

The thought crept into his head during every lecture, every study session, every late night spent cramming for an exam.

His mind wandered, and so did his hands, touching and tracing and stroking and pumping to the thought…

Big, dumb, hairy, musky, sweaty, manly.

"Can you help me?"

I don't know what he had in mind by help, but he got it. I can't count how many of protein shakes I crammed down his throat, or the number of supplements and vitamins and minerals for muscle and hair growth I packed into each I made him slurp down.

He started cutting class (my idea, well, order).

I don't know if there was a formula, but I can tell you his grades slipped further and further with each extra pound he benched in the gym. He stopped thinking, and just started being.

He was such a good bro, and the way his face lit up when his chest hair started coming in? Perfection. And when he told me he was dropping out? Words can't describe it.

I pushed him hard and fast, and he obeyed better than I could have expected.

And now Andrew's big, dumb, hairy, musky, and sweaty. He's a man.

He thinks he's dominant, and around other bros? Oh, he's the alpha wolf. But around me…?

Well, every wolf is a pup at some point.

Shit, man, what time is it? 

I was just gonna take a quick nap, and then I was out. Don’t even remember what I was doin’ before. Studyin’? Yeah, real funny, dude! That don’t sound like me - it’s all bullshit, anyway.

What am I listenin’ to? Uh, it’s one of those ASMR videos, or whatever. Like, they talk all quiet, and you’re supposed to relax. This dude’s saying, “You’re a bro, you’re a bro, you’re a bro” over and over. Like, yeah, fuckin’ obviously, I know I'm a bro, haha!

Guess it worked, though. Made me feel all warm n’ tingly, just super chilled out. Even fell asleep with the Pods in, hat on. Kinda funny...

Whose hat is that? What's with all the questions, dude? You already know it’s mine. I got a buncha them. Wear 'em around, bring 'em to the gym n' shit. Why, you wanna borrow one?

Bro, why are you lookin' at me like I'm crazy?

Just relax, dude! And hey, I know the perfect video to help 'ya...

Giving me free range? That’s a very brave move. Some might even argue foolish. But each to their own. A change is what you want so a change is what you’ll have. And now I think about it, my friend was after a new personal trainer who’s more willing to ‘bend over backwards’ for clients. So let’s get started.

In a flash you find yourself stood in a gym. The heavy clanks of weights and grunts of people lifting. Even the smell of sweat hits you like a brick. Looking around you see a man come up to you. It takes you a second to register it’s me, but before you can say anything I run my hands through your hair. It’s odd, once I’m done it feels like your head is itchy. You pull a strand down to your eyes to see it changing colour. Lightening and becoming a warm orange. You’re becoming ginger. Your skin pales slightly and freckles start to appear on your back and arms.

Now we’re done with that part you see me admiring my work. You’re about to interject when I give your stomach a hard slap, almost winding you. It’s like a chain reaction as you feel your whole body tense like it hasn’t tensed before. I start ripping your clothes off you to get a better look. Slowly, your stomach is forming abs which start to grow thicker. Your pecs begin to fill out. Same with your arms and thighs. Soon it looks like you’re in the best shape of your life.

But it doesn’t stop there. You feel your spine and feet begin to crack as your grow taller and your feet lengthen to accommodate. Soon your pushing close to 6”5. Your body continues to swell with muscle and thicken all over. Where there was once an average guy is now a hulking muscular man. Before you know it you have thighs the size of tree trunks and anacondas for arms. Your pecs are so large they’re practically plates and your abs are almost like cobble stones. Even your neck has thickened with muscle! You can feel a stirring in your groin and your member pushes and lengthens until it’s 8 inches soft. And trust me, you’re a grower too! Your balls grow thick and heavy from testosterone until you’re my perfect ginger bodybuilder. Even your veins are thick.

Now it’s just time for the finishing touches. You see me gesture you to lean down now that you tower above most people. Once you do I give your forehead a soft peck. As I pull away, so do any complex thoughts you once had. Any stress, worries, anxiety. You’re way too dumb to worry about anything now. All you know is lifting and how to fuck. Like the perfect personal trainer. Just look at that cute dumb expression on your face, even scratching your head as you try to recall what you just lost. It’s okay big guy, thoughts are for smart people anyways.

Before you know it o chuck you a uniform for your new job. Now you’re going to be my friend’s PT and trust me they’re quite demanding. You’ll have to really push them, but don’t worry it shouldn’t take too much brain power. And make sure you show them a good time in the showers after their session. I trust that you’ll take good care of them big guy. Don’t worry about payment, you’ve already spent most of your IQ on this change. I’ll just come in from time to time and you can show me what that body can really do.

[Thank you to @mindyourbod for contributing the first image, @occamstfs for contributing the second, and @rowdy317 for contributing the third.]

Greg Andews had the Midas touch. Every property he flipped turned to gold. He had the perfect body, the perfect job, and the perfect home. And why wouldn’t his home be perfect? He flipped it himself.

His day off started out great. After a nice, relaxing six-mile run and a long shower, he went to wipe the fog off the mirror so he could admire himself. But with every swipe, the glass grew grubbier and harder to see into. Weird.

Without looking, he grabbed a washcloth to clean the mirror, but as he raised it to the glass, he noticed the fabric was grimy and threadbare. Had an old cleaning rag made its way into his washcloth basket by mistake? Whatever.

He decided to just let the weird moment pass and start his post-shower routine. He grabbed his facial scrub and turned on the sink, but the second his hand touched the tap, the metal became battered and worn. The basin of the sink faded from a greenish marble pattern to a yellowish off-white hue, flecked with hairs and calcified globs of toothpaste.

And his facial scrub was nowhere to be found. In his hand was an empty bottle of generic-brand 3-in-1 shampoo with goo crusted on the lid. He threw it into the wastebasket with a look of disgust.

What the fuck was going on? He decided to forego his normal post-shower routine and get as far away as possible from whatever the hell was going on in the bathroom.

Whatever the hell it was, it followed him. When he opened the door, the pristine paint cracked and peeled as it swung. When he grabbed a pair of Calvin Klein underwear, it transformed into black briefs that were riddled with holes. Same with the next pair. When even his laundry day Hanes transformed into baggy, wrinkled, red-orange briefs, he gave up and put them on. At least they were clean. 
The same wasn’t true of his socks. No matter what pair he grabbed, the second he touched them, they became grubby, smelly abominations in an unappealing spectrum of colors ranging from dark grey to full-on black (they had all clearly started off as white). He put on the least disgusting pair and decided not to touch any of his other clothes. This… situation would probably stop just as quickly as it started. Right?

It didn’t. He spent the rest of the afternoon confined to the living room, trying not to panic as everything he touched turned into something foul and slovenly. Like his framed Ansel Adams photograph, which became a battered image of the MTV logo that was clearly printed out from the Internet. Or his leather sectional sofa, which was now a dirty, folded-out futon. Even his light switch was not immune. When he touched it, his lovely chandelier became a set of string lights that had been haphazardly hung up on the wall.

He became so overwhelmed by all the changes, by all the exhausting effort that it took in order to not touch things, that he decided to just sit as still as possible while he waited for the situation to subside. He wanted to make sure not to accidentally touch his suit, which was still hanging up. He needed that for a meeting tomorrow, and this curse would definitely be fixed by tomorrow. Definitely.

He put on the news, so he could occupy his mind while he waited. It didn’t work. He threw on some old episodes of Family Guy instead. That enthralled him for several hours. It enthralled him so much that he didn’t notice his abs slowly but noticeably getting less rigid as he absent-mindedly drummed his fingers on them. Or his thighs inflating ever so slightly whenever he scratched an itch. Or the fact that he had forgotten to put on deodorant was causing him to gently reek.

Eventually, hours passed. Evening fell. He didn’t notice. He was first alerted to the time when his perfect boyfriend, Fredo, showed up at the front door, having stopped by on his way home from the gym after his shift at the fire station.

He was so excited to see Fredo that he hugged him. That was the wrong move. But as he clutched his head, staring in horror at the man his lover had become, new thoughts began to blossom in his head. Maybe a new, lower-effort life wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Greg Andrews had the Midas touch. And his life would never be golden again.

Judah had always loved the nightlife , the pulse of music vibrating through the floor, the neon lights that flickered like a secret code, the way the crowd moved as one living thing. Being out at the club was like stepping into a world where he could be entirely himself, with no filters, no judgment. His sharp eye for fashion, his effortless charm, and his genuine confidence made him stand out in the best possible way.

Tonight, Judah wore a fitted black shirt , paired with dark jeans and polished boots. His face carefully made up with a "no-makeup" makeup look that emphasized his bright eyes. When he laughed, the whole club seemed to light up. His friends had drifted off to dance somewhere else, so Judah decided to take a quick break and head to the bathroom to freshen up.

As he pushed open the heavy door, the sudden change in atmosphere hit him immediately. The bathroom was stark and fluorescent, a far cry from the colorful, throbbing energy outside. Judah wrinkled his nose as a strange smell hit him , pungent, sour, something almost sickening. He frowned and moved toward the sinks, but then caught sight of something he absolutely wasn’t expecting.

Near the far corner, a very straight-looking guy was standing over a passed-out young man sprawled on the floor. The “straight guy” looked like he had stepped right out of a fraternity recruitment poster, baseball cap worn backward, a plain white T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, a cocky grin plastered on his face. Judah blinked, confused.

Then, without warning, the straight guy lifted his leg and let out an enormous, loud fart, a rancid greenish cloud that rolled directly into the unconscious guy’s face. The passed-out young man didn’t stir, but the smell was so foul that Judah felt himself gag.

“What on earth?” Judah whispered, staring in disbelief.

The straight guy noticed him. His grin twisted into something darker. “Well, well,” he said, locking the bathroom door with a sharp click. “Looks like you saw something you weren’t supposed to.”

Judah stepped back, hands raised defensively. “I don’t want any trouble. I just… I don’t understand what’s going on.”

The straight guy, Brock, narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna forget you ever saw that. Got it?”

“No,” Judah said firmly. “I’m not forgetting anything. What you’re doing is ridiculous.”

Brock smirked, reached out, and grabbed Judah’s arm. It was surprisingly strong. “You don’t have a choice.”

Before Judah could react, Brock shoved him to his knees and, without hesitation, unleashed another loud blast right in Judah’s face. The rancid green cloud rolled over him, making Judah gag and cough.

“Huh,” Brock said with a cruel grin. “Usually, your kind passes out after the first one.”

Judah wiped his eyes, gasping. “Your kind? What does that mean?”

Brock didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes flicked toward the passed-out guy on the floor. Slowly, Judah noticed the guy’s body beginning to shift. His limbs grew bulkier, his posture straightened, and the soft features he’d seen moments before melted into the stereotypical image of a meathead jock , square jaw, thick neck, muscular arms.

Judah’s head spun. This was insane. “What’s happening?” he asked, voice trembling.

Brock chuckled. “It’s a little transformation. Some people just need a reboot.”

Judah’s mind raced. He tried to stand, but dizziness made him sway. “No. I’m not part of this. I’m not going to… change.”

Brock crouched down in front of him, the smirk never leaving his face. “Oh, you’re already changing. You just don’t know it yet.”

Judah swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to lose control. The smell thickened, curling around his senses like a dense fog. His body felt strange , his muscles twitched involuntarily, his hair seemed less styled, his face felt different, less sharp, less him.

“No,” Judah whispered fiercely. “I won’t let this happen.”

Brock’s eyes gleamed. “You can fight it all you want, but it’s gonna happen whether you like it or not.”

Judah’s heart pounded as the reality sunk in. He was trapped in this bathroom with a guy who seemed to be some bizarre agent of change, a guy who believed Judah needed to become something he wasn’t. The smell, the shifting sensations, the dizzying fog , all working together to erase who he was.

But Judah refused to give up. He gritted his teeth, pulling at the parts of his mind that held onto dance routines, fashion magazines, and everything he loved. He focused on the faces of his friends, the pride he felt in his identity.

“No,” he repeated, voice shaking but resolute. “I’m not giving up on myself.”

Brock only laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

Judah’s stomach rumbled, and despite his efforts, a sudden burst of foul gas escaped him, filling the bathroom with the same rancid green cloud. He closed his eyes in humiliation but refused to let the transformation win.

His muscles twitched again, feet feeling heavier in his boots, his armpits prickling with the first signs of coarse hair. His brain fogged as simpler thoughts pushed forward , football games, barbecues, hanging out with “the guys.” Yet somewhere deep inside, the vibrant Judah clung on.

He was determined to fight. To resist. To be himself , no matter what.

Judah blinked rapidly, trying to clear the thick haze clouding his mind. The rancid smell still lingered, wrapping itself around the cramped bathroom like an unwelcome fog. His throat burned from the earlier blasts, and every breath felt like inhaling something heavy and toxic. But more disconcerting than the smell was the strange feeling creeping over his body , like his muscles were tightening on their own, his hair losing its carefully styled shape, and a dull fuzziness settling into his normally sharp thoughts.

He shook his head, gripping the edge of the sink to steady himself. “This… this isn’t me,” he muttered fiercely. “I’m not… changing.”

But his reflection in the grimy mirror told a different story. His features looked subtly different,less defined, more rugged. His usually stylish hair was tousled in a way that made him look unkempt. His eyes, though still bright, seemed clouded with confusion and exhaustion.

Judah swallowed hard. “I’m not giving in. Not to this.”

But the fog inside his brain was relentless. Memories of the latest runway shows, intricate dance choreography, and the friendly faces of his closest friends began to slip away, replaced by flashes of football games, the smell of fresh-cut grass, and conversations about beer brands and barbecues. These new thoughts crowded his mind, simple and repetitive, like a playlist stuck on loop.

He tried to push them out, but each time he fought back, the new thoughts grew stronger, as if his brain was rewiring itself without permission.

Judah groaned and sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Why is this happening to me? I’m not like them. I’m me.”

The green haze in the room thickened, almost pulsating, as if alive. Then, without warning, his stomach gurgled fiercely. Before he could stop it, a sudden, loud burst escaped him , another wave of that unmistakably foul gas. Judah’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration.

Brock, standing nearby with arms crossed and a smug grin, chuckled. “See? Your body’s already working with it. The mind’s just gotta catch up.”

Judah shot him a glare. “You think this is some joke? This is humiliating.”

Brock shrugged. “Life’s messy. You can fight it, or you can learn to roll with it.”

Judah clenched his fists, unwilling to accept this strange new reality. His body was betraying him , muscles growing heavier, feet feeling awkwardly larger inside his shoes, his skin prickling where rougher, darker hairs were beginning to sprout under his arms. Yet his heart still beat defiantly.

“I’m not done fighting,” Judah whispered.

The transformation was more than physical. He could feel his thoughts rearranging themselves , the complex tapestry of his interests unraveling thread by thread, replaced by a simpler, more primal mindset.

But Judah refused to surrender. He forced himself to recall his favorite memories , the joy of a perfectly executed dance routine, the thrill of putting together a flawless outfit, the warmth of friendship and acceptance. Those memories anchored him.

Suddenly, Brock stepped forward, looming over him. “You know, it’s easier if you just give in. The world’s simpler when you stop overthinking.”

Judah looked up, eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t want your world.”

The tension in the air thickened, but Judah’s resolve burned brighter than the fog suffocating him.

For now, the fight was far from over.

Judah sat on the cold tile floor, his back pressed against the wall, trying desperately to hold onto who he was. But the thick haze swirling in the cramped bathroom seemed to seep into his very bones. His limbs felt heavier, his once nimble fingers clumsier. Every breath was laced with the rancid scent Brock had unleashed, and it clung to him like a second skin.

The transformation wasn’t just physical,it was a slow erosion of everything Judah cherished about himself. The sharp fashion sense, the quick wit, the joy in dance and creativity,all now muffled beneath a growing fog of simpler, more primal thoughts.

He clenched his jaw. “I’m not giving up. Not like this.”

But the moments of resistance grew shorter, weaker. As the greenish cloud thickened, Judah’s mind began to betray him. Memories of football games, grilling in the backyard, and easy camaraderie flashed unbidden in his thoughts. He shook his head violently, trying to push them away.

“No. This isn’t me,” he whispered fiercely.

But even as he denied it, a strange part of him found comfort in the simplicity of these new images,the ease of belonging, the camaraderie, the straightforwardness. It was like a dull ache that begged to be soothed.

His body betrayed him next. His arms, once lean and graceful, felt fuller, muscles twitching with unfamiliar strength. His hands looked larger, coarser. His hair, once carefully styled, now lay in a rougher, messier tangle. He caught a glimpse in the mirror , the reflection looked like a different man, someone less familiar, someone stripped down.

His armpits prickled, and he realized new hair had begun to grow, thick and wild. A faint, earthy scent rose from his skin , raw and unpolished. He grimaced but couldn’t deny the strange sense of grounding it gave him.

Judah’s stomach rumbled fiercely, and before he could stop it, a sudden blast of foul air escaped him, thickening the green fog even more.

He lowered his head in shame. “This isn’t me.”

Brock approached, his grin wide and triumphant. “You’re starting to get it. You feel it, don’t you? The clarity beneath the fog.”

Judah shook his head. “No. I’m losing myself.”

Brock’s voice softened, almost coaxing. “Sometimes losing a part of who you are lets you find someone stronger.”

Judah wanted to scream. Instead, he just sat, the fight draining out of him like water slipping through clenched fingers.

Inside, a part of him was terrified. But another part,the part Brock was nurturing,was beginning to accept. Reluctantly.

He looked up, eyes glazed but still defiant. “I don’t want this.”

“Not yet,” Brock said. “But soon, you’ll see it’s not so bad.”

The transformation was no longer a distant threat,it was happening. And Judah was caught in the middle, torn between who he was and who he was becoming.

Judah’s world grew smaller , shrinking down to the hazy, stinking bathroom where the green fog clung like a living thing. His body felt heavier, slower, but it was the creeping shift in his mind that terrified him most.

The thoughts he’d once treasured , intricate fashion details, dance steps memorized after hours of practice, witty banter with friends , all began to fray at the edges, as if a slow eraser was wiping away the delicate layers of who he was.

Instead, his brain was filling with simpler, cruder images: the rhythmic pounding of a football on a grassy field, the crackle of a grill fired up for a barbecue, laughter echoing around a bonfire with “the guys.” The complex patterns of his past interests dissolved, replaced by straightforward, often repetitive thoughts.

Judah caught himself staring blankly at the mirror, watching as his face lost its familiar contours, settling into a more rugged, square-jawed shape. His eyes , once sparkling with vivacity , now held a duller, more focused gleam.

“No,” he whispered fiercely, fists clenched tight. “This isn’t me. This can’t be me.”

But the fog pressed harder, like a tide washing over him. Images flooded his mind: conversations about yard work and beer, memories of long afternoons spent shooting hoops, a deep sense of brotherhood and belonging he had never known but suddenly felt he needed.

He fought to push the memories back, to hold on to his old self, but the new thoughts came with a strange warmth, a pull he could not deny.

Judah’s stomach churned violently, and before he could stop it, a sharp release of the foul-smelling gas erupted again, thickening the fog. He gagged, his face burning with shame.

Brock leaned close, voice low but insistent. “Let it go. You’re not losing yourself , you’re shedding what you don’t need. The mind is a garden. Sometimes you’ve got to pull the weeds to let the strong roots grow.”

Judah’s eyes stung with tears of frustration and fear. “I don’t want to lose who I am.”

“You won’t,” Brock said. “You’ll become something new. Something real.”

The battle inside Judah raged fiercely, but the fog was winning. His memories scattered like leaves on the wind, replaced by simpler, more primal scripts. The mental tapes that once played his life’s passions were being overwritten with a new soundtrack , one of simplicity, strength, and belonging.

Judah’s voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m still me… I have to be…”

But the green fog swallowed his words, filling the space with the heavy scent of change.

The green fog hung thick in the bathroom air, a tangible presence now , a heavy, suffocating cloud that wrapped itself around Judah like a shroud. His breath came shallow, each inhale filling his lungs with the sour, pungent stench that seemed to seep deep into his skin. His body felt both heavier and strangely numb, as if some vital part of him was slipping away with every passing moment.

Judah stared into the mirror, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. The reflection no longer looked like him. His face was broader, rougher; the sharpness and finesse that once defined him had softened into something altogether different. His posture was sturdier now, less poised and more grounded, his muscles bulkier under the fabric of his shirt.

Inside, his mind teetered on the edge of something irreversible.

All the beautiful complexities of his identity , his passions, memories, hopes, and the very essence of who he believed himself to be , began to dissolve. Like shards of glass falling away, his old self fractured, scattering into the dense fog.

He felt a deep, agonizing emptiness , an identity death. The bright, creative spirit that had danced through life was fading, replaced by something primal, simple, and raw.

A voice echoed in his head, indistinct but insistent, whispering of football games, weekend barbecues, hanging out with the guys, and the straightforwardness of a life stripped down to basics. The tangled layers of choreography, fashion, and artistry were unspooling, replaced by rough laughter and the easy camaraderie of a super straight jock world.

Judah’s stomach churned violently again, releasing another thick cloud into the stale air. He gagged, but this time there was no fight left in him , only surrender.

His body moved with new confidence, clumsy but assertive. His feet, larger and heavier, planted firmly on the tile floor. His arms flexed unconsciously, muscles standing out like armor. Coarse hair sprouted thicker under his arms, and the earthy musk rising from his skin was undeniable.

And yet beneath it all, a faint ember of the old Judah smoldered , quiet, distant, almost forgotten.

Brock stepped forward, a knowing smile on his face. “Welcome to your new life. It’s simpler, stronger, and real.”

Judah’s lips parted, but no words came. Instead, a slow, idiotic grin spread across his face.

Judah took a deep breath, the stench still putrid but now a part of him. In this strange new form, he found a peculiar kind of freedom: the freedom to be uncomplicated, to belong, to start fresh.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The bass thumped through the club like a second heartbeat, lights flashing in a chaotic rhythm. Judah pushed through the crowd with easy swagger, a loose tank top stretched over thick arms and a backwards cap perched low on his head. Gone was the carefully styled hair and polished look of the past , now, his tousled hair and rough stubble gave him the unmistakable vibe of a bro who owned the room.

He laughed loudly, slapping a guy on the back as they navigated toward the bar. “Bro, did you see that tackle last weekend? Total beast mode.”

The group around him erupted in cheers and hollers. Judah’s voice was booming, filled with confidence and just a hint of arrogance. His old self , the thoughtful, stylish, sensitive Judah , felt like a distant memory, buried under layers of bravado and muscle.

He caught sight of a few familiar faces from his old crowd. They looked at him with a mix of surprise and something else , pity, maybe, or disbelief. Judah didn’t care. He tossed back a shot without hesitation and grinned.

When a group of guys started talking about a party later, Judah was the first to jump in. “Count me in, boys. Let’s tear this place up.”

The scent of sweat, beer, and that unmistakable musk clung to him , a badge of the life he’d fully embraced. No more glitter, no more curated perfection. Just raw, untamed energy and the simple pleasures of the “bro” world.

As the music pulsed around him and the crowd surged, Judah raised his drink and shouted, “To the squad, to the night, and to never looking back!”

And with that, the old Judah was gone for good. The club echoed with his booming laughter, the sound of a new man who’d found his place, loud, proud, and unapologetically himself.

Did this based on a short scenario outlined out by PupDon! 

Think about smart.  Smart is intelligence, right?  Its how much you know.  Or is it how fast you can think, or how deep you can think.  Well, you can think deep about anything, can’t you?  Deep is how far down you go, and you can think deep about muscles and fitness, that’s its own kinda smart, isnt it?  I mean, you can think deep about other stuff, but you just havent been doin that so much lately.  I know I haven’t.  It’s not like I can’t I guess it’s just more like I don’t wanna.  Or maybe it’s not like I don’t wanna so much as I just don’t.  I just kinda skim over the top of it.  Just skim right by it, like driving past something that you can tell it’s a library but it’s just kind of a blur because you’re driving by so fast because you’re late to meet your trainer at the gym.  Or youre late to your bro’s house to watch the football game and you don’t wanna miss kickoff.

But youre smart, right, no one would call you dumb, not persay, I mean, you can work and go to school or whatever.  You have friends who call you smart and sometimes they even bandy about the word ‘genius’ and inside you’re just kinda like oh jeez yeah right cmon guys.  I mean admit it.  It does feel kinda good to be called a genius sometimes but it just makes you think: man, now imagine if they were talkin about my muscles.  Like if I was a muscle genius.  And when you think about it, it kinda starts up a little fire inside, a little rage fire, not a big one, just a spark, just a little kindled, and once it starts, it doesn’t go out.

Oh yeah and muscle reminds you all the time that youre workin on muscle.  Youre a lil sore kinda all the time, not like painful, but like just a dull ache, sometimes in your arm, sometimes in your chest, your abs.  The best is in the legs, because when you walk (and you walk almost everywhere now) you can feel it, and you cant help but kinda tense the muscle a little bit, just like an experiment, just a little, a little bit of well, you might as well say it, flex.  And it might be somethin way down inside the muscle when you flex that makes you just immediately, well, kinda grin, like the two are connected by sinew and cord, flex and grin, grin and flex.  And the bigger the muscle the bigger the flex and the bigger the grin.  Basically, muscle reminds you all the time that youre workin on muscle.  It dont stop when you leave the gym, its with you all the time.  You change your whole life, you sleep more, you eat better, you drink less.  I lost a few friends already but I dont think they were really my friends not really anyway.  It only takes a few times repeatin somethin, too, before it becomes a part of you, you know, and you can even count the number of times you go to the gym, once a day, five times a week, just like reps at the gym, three times of 10 up and down or push and pull.  You can count the number of eggs you make in the morning for your big protein breakfast.  You can count the number of steps you take and the number of pounds you lose or the number on the measuring tape as your biceps go from 10″ to 11″ to 12″ and more and more until your whole head is full of numbers, reps, sets, measurements, and then all you’re talking about to all the people you know is numbers and BAM, just like that, youre a fuckin muscle genius bro.

And the other stuff just kinda turns to smoke, kinda hazy, like a real foggy morning, and you’re just kinda walkin through it, almost over it, like an airplane climbing through the clouds.  And you can choose what you like, you can choose what you want to have inside your head, and you know what you’re gonna choose, and then the pressure in the cabin just pops in your ears and then everything just gets kinda clear and the fog dissipates and youre grinnin ear to ear, because you just flexed bro, and you didn’t even notice it, but you know what?

Everyone else did.  And theyre lookin at you and theyre maybe not sayin it but theyre sure as fuckin hell thinkin it, wow.  That guy is a fuckin muscle genius.

Something weird happened the last time  my roommate and I smoked pot. He got so sweaty and hot, and I get so horny. 

“I gotta get out of these clothes, bro,” Miles slurred, completely stoned.

“Do what you have to,” I said, staring as he pulled off his shirt and his pants. He was drenched in sweat, his skin shiny and slick. He was wearing just a pair of blue briefs now, and I could smell the sweat soaking into them.

“Could I, um,” I licked me lips. He glanced over and saw me staring at his sweaty junk. He laughed. “You want it, dude?”

I sniffed the air, and leaned towards his crotch.

“Hold on, bro,” he said. “If you want it, you gotta get on all fours.”

I obeyed, sliding off the couch onto the floor to kneel before him.

“Now beg,” he said. “Like a pup.”

I whined, tongue hanging from my mouth, and stared up at him with my hands balled up like paws.

“Good pup,” he laughed. “You wanna be my sweat pet? Get my stink all over your face?”

I nodded. I could see his dick getting hard.

“Okay, pup,” he said. “Get in there.”

“Ugh, clean?” I said, shielding my face. His body odor was overpowering – the sweaty smell filled the room as soon as he walked in. He must have just come from the gym. “I can’t keep doing your laundry for you dude,” I said.

“Come on, just throw in a few of my things with yours,” he said, picking up some crumpled underwear from the ground as tossing it at me. Instinctively, I caught it, and then regretted it. The stink of his musk filled my face.

“So gross, man,” I said. “No, you gotta clean your own stuff.”

“Or maybe we’ll just stop cleaning altogether,” he said.

What? What was he talking about? The smell of the underwear in my hand was making my head swim. “We can’t … stop …” I said, feeling floaty.

“Smelling dirty isn’t so bad,” he said, staring me down. “You might like it.”

“No, I don’t … come on, man, just clean your, um,” I looked down at his underwear. Why did it smell so strong? It was so weird. I sniffed a bit and felt the stink of his sweaty balls invade my nose. “Just need to wash your…” I couldn’t finish a sentence. The smell was just too powerful. At least, I think it was the smell. I raised his underwear to my face and took a whiff. Oh God, yes, the smell was so strong, so powerful, so intense – I couldn’t think of anything else. I just wanted to be close to it, enveloped in it. I pressed his underwear against my face again and took as deep a breath as I could.

“Good boy,” he said. “You love it.”

“So good,” I murmured, licking the salty sweat from his crumpled briefs.

“Come get it fresh,” he said, yanking down his underwear to let his cock and balls flop out. The musk was like a magnet, and I fell to all fours to crawl to his crotch and bury my face in his damp pubes.

The guys should have known better than to fool around in the pigsty. But they were horny and dumb and couldn’t resist.

“Fuck that feels good,” Tom gasped as Eric stuck his finger deep into the farmhand’s ass. Tom was crouched before Eric, pants pulled down, and he opened his mouth to swirl his tongue around Eric’s dick.

Eric grunted in satisfaction, rubbing Tom’s back. He’d been waiting for an opportunity to sneak off and fool around for days, and Tom had needed very little persuasion.

Neither one of them noticed at first that Tom’s ass was starting to grow. Swelling up, plumping, getting thick and fat. At first Tom thought it was just the pleasure of getting finger-fucked, but something felt different. He shifted his weight from one knee to the other as he sucked and felt an unfamiliar jiggle in his ass cheeks. There was a tightness, like his muscles were throbbing and pressing against his skin with each breath he took.

That’s when Eric noticed the change as well. Looking down, he saw that Tom’s whole body had become softer and larger. His muscular friend was becoming huge and fat. Eric rubbed Tom’s softening body, grabbing a handful of the new fleshy lovehandles.

Tom looked up from his blowjob. “What’s going – OINK!” he snorted. His nose felt tingly, electric, and as he gazed up at Eric he felt his nostrils flare and swell, pulling his face forward like invisible hands had gripped his nose. He grunted as he saw a snout swelling in front of his face, and he reached up to touch his new pig nose to confirm – it was real.

“Oh shit,” said Eric. “Look at you, dude – you’re turning into a pig!”

“Get help!” Tom said. “Fuck, we gotta – OINK! We gotta find some way to SNORT reverse it!”

“Don’t worry, man,” said Eric, standing up. He felt woozy. Something was wrong. Why was he dizzy all of a sudden. “Just wait here. I’ll go get HEE-HAWWW!”

Come and smell, piggy. Get your face in there. Take a long hard breath. Feel the sweat invade your nose, make you dizzy, make you horny and dumb. You’re a beast now, a dumb creature, a stinky pet, obsessed with sweat. A pig. Go on, snort. Be a pig. Let it out. The more you smell, the more you transform. You’re gonna be a grunting stinking pig from now on, with your piggy snout in every hairy sweaty wet pit you see.

Luis had been having the worst luck recently.  First he got in a car wreck, then his girlfriend kicked him out before taking up a new lover the next day , and worst of all he lost his job at the firm and had to take up bussing tables for a living.  Luis was lucky in that he didn’t have to look long before finding an affordable place to live, unfortunately that place was just a second bedroom at this weird guy’s apartment.  He was glad for a place to stay, but his crowded into one small room he didn’t have much space to unpack, and everything looked like a mess as a result.  

The roommate’s name was Frank and he mostly kept to himself.  He was just an average working guy with brunette hair and a constant 5 o'clock shadow.  He wasn’t really out of the ordinary, and was decently in shape.  Luis couldn’t help but compare his toned latin physique against his roommate.  Luis worked out enough to make sure the women always stopped to stare, and he wasn’t sure, but could have sworn he caught Frank checking out his body on a few occasions.  Luis didn’t want to blow up at his new roommate cause he needed a place to stay, but out of disgust tried to avoid ever being anything less than fully clothed around Frank. Things were going well for a while until Luis’ bad luck kicked in and once more he lost his job.  Unsure how to afford just base rent, Luis started searching the web for a job, and rather quickly got distracted looking at pictures of girls showing off their breasts before he was struck by an idea.  The next day Luis dipped into his meager savings to buy a camera and set up an account as an amateur porn star.  Luis was awkward for the first few videos, but it seemed people liked his body well enough to tip. The tips would spike when Luis would strip down and reveal the monster between his legs.  It seemed to drive the girls on the site wild to see him work his dick.  

Gradually his fan base grew and so did his openness with his body.  He started taking requests and once he was making almost as much as he made at the firm, he was certain he could ride this out for quite some time.  Luis was ecstatic when paying his rent and noticing how much he had left over.  Frank seemed pleased for the rent and flashed Luis a strange smirk that made him want to retreat back to the safety of his room away from Frank’s gay roaming eyes.

For @justcheckingthingsoutbigley

Judge H. Quinlan Tubbs. The name strikes fear into any poor unfortunate soul walking into the Honolulu District Court, and for good reason. Since Judge Tubbs was appointed, 154 young adults were thrown into jail for any matter from minor drug possession to burglary, and no matter what the defense was in any case, without fail he always sided with the state. His sentences were notoriously harsh, often times exceeding the expectations of the District Attorney, who routinely would request leniency only to be met with an excessive and cruel punishment for an often times minor offense.

From inside his chambers, Judge Tubbs grimaced at the picture of Makoa and Kai Keohokaii. This was their third time in the District Court for criminal trespass. As much as Tubbs loathed what he saw as millennial insubordination, he loved the pretrial frightfest he forced on these young kids. It was tradition for Judge Tubbs to meet with the defendants just after arraignment, and in an attempt to expedite the process would subject them to a cavalcade of obscenities, screaming, and threats. The goal: to terrify each and every individual entering his courtroom. He thrived on it, more than any adjudicator ever should. For him, the Keohokaii boys were just another pair of delinquents to be thrown into detention. Tossing back his cognac, the Judge prepared himself for his pontificating. 

“Miss Talbot, send them in.” Judge Tubbs directed his secretary much as he directed his defendants- with a malicious sneer and a crass sense of moral superiority. He hung up the phone and stared out the window at the bustling city below. To him, each person walking by needed reprimand. Each individual was guilty of something and it was his responsibility as a moral, upstanding man to give a punishment, be it just or not. Hearing the door creak open and close, Tubbs didn’t so much as turn around before beginning his tirade.

“Do you two know how long I have been on the bench?” The silence spoke volumes to him. “Thirty Seven years. From Kansas to Arizona, I’ve been elected time and time again to adjudicate cases of miscreants like you. Do you know why?” Silence. “It’s because what I do works. It’s because I cleanse the streets of human waste like yourselves. I have…” Before the judge could continue, he was interrupted by the snickering behind him. He whipped around, casting a menacing glare at the source. Kai Keohokaii, the younger of the two, smirked with a defiant grin at his would-be intimidator.

“You think you’re gonna scare us, old man?” Makoa Keohokaii spoke with a comparable fervor; not intending to intimidate Tubbs, but rather to accentuate his own strength of will. “You have no idea who you’re talking to, and I’d reconsider trying to strong arm any sort of grovelling. Let’s get right to it.” Tubbs stood livid, infuriated at the gall of the insolent surfer boys. 

“Yes, lets. You’re both charged with Simple Trespass. I guess you stayed past close at one of the beaches. You’re clearly not going to adhere to the rules as stated in the statute, so I’m prepared to have both of you remanded and thrown into jail. It shows here, you’ve never been incarcerated before. Mostly misdemeanors and the like. And yet, it would be such a joy to see you both locked up in that jail, and to see the looks on your faces when you realize just who sent you there.” Tubbs grabbed the cigar on the edge of his desk, placing it to his lips and taking the inaugural puff. As he let out his first breath, he scowled at the taste. This was different from the Mayan Sicar he’d bought months ago. It had a spice, or an earthy timbre to it that he’d never experienced before.

“That’s an interesting take, Quinn. But I think I have a better idea.” Judge Tubbs took another puff from the bizarre cigar, before realizing just what it was he was inhaling. “Is that… Weed you’re smoking, sir? I don’t think good people of Honolulu would like to hear that their ‘crusader of justice’ was caught smoking the devil’s plant in his chambers, now do you?”

In the back of his mind, Judge Tubbs knew inherently he should toss the fat blunt into the faces of these two buffoons and yet, each puff of it relaxed and calmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. H. Quinlan Tubbs had been cursed from a young age to be brilliant. While to most it seems a pathetic complaint, Tubbs felt constantly surrounded by lesser people. No one ever understood who he was, for no one was on his intellectual level. His entire life, he’d have people roll their eyes at him, scoffing in frustration at his every correction and lecture. This relentless, incessant need to be right had driven away friends, family, and even colleagues. However, for the first time in his life, a puff of smoke helped to quiet his screaming mind. It helped to dull the anxiety. It helped to embrace relaxation. For these reasons, he took another puff. 

“Ahh. Seems like Quinn likes it! Makes him feel young again, I bet.” Kai chuckled earnestly. For the brothers, it was a joy to indoctrinate; especially when it came to figures of authority. They loved introducing them to ‘the lifestyle.’ Judge Tubbs would be one of the biggest success stories yet, and they were excited to see how he would turn out. “C’mon. Take another puff, Quinn.” 

The Judge absentmindedly obliged, inhaling the smoke for a fourth time. He could feel the smoke travelling through his throat, into his sinuses, and seemingly into his brain itself. The fat old man began to feel weightless, as if his body was becoming lighter and lighter with every ounce of smoke entering his lungs. To him, it was only a sensation. To the two boys watching, it seemed to any wayward eyes that Judge Tubbs was deflating. His bulbous body shrank to less than half his former 400 pounds. The sagging skin hung from his now limber body like cloth. Tubbs jovially continued to puff on his blunt, completely unaware of his sudden physical loss.

“Whoa! Look at that man! It’s so saggy!” The two brothers began to fiddle with the excess skin hanging from Tubbs’ frame, joking and laughing the entire time. Tubbs began to laugh at the absurdity of the situation himself, going so far as to fall into a hiccup spell. Each hiccup lightened and heightened his voice, as if helium had snuck its way into his lungs. What used to be a tired, raspy old leather boot of a voice became youthful and jovial- a permeating aire of slow-wittedness flowed freely from the brash new vocal cords.

“Haha yeah man. Look at it jiggle!” Tubbs wiggled his arm, watching the skin sway from side to side before slurping it’s way back into tightness. Within moments, he was lean, fit and donned an unblemished, youthful glow. The Keohokaii boys stood by, thrilled at the regression and simultaneously eager for the next phase. Tubbs took yet another puff of the blunt, and his normally dull brown hair began to lengthen and wisp downward past his shoulders, all the while lightening to a sunkissed golden blonde. 

“Huuhh huhh huhh, bruh love the luscious locks.” Tubbs flipped his hair back in an uncharacteristically cocky and lackadaisical manner. His brows furrowed, his lips plumped, and within seconds Tubbs was unrecognizable. This face was the face of a nearly braindead surfer dope; strikingly handsome though he was, it was evident very little was going on upstairs. All the while, downstairs, he felt his endowment grow from the euphoria of the experience. Inch by inch the member grew to an impressive length and girth before tearing through the confinements of his pinstripe suit. 

The boys wasted no time in getting on their knees to help expedite the process. Taking turns rotating from balls to cock, they worshipped, sucked, sniffed, and licked every surface of Tubbs’ growing groin. The former judge sighed in contentment, leaning back in his chair and smoking his blunt as his feet burst through his wingtip shoes. Physically, even genetically, this was no longer Judge Tubbs. This was Quinn, just as the two had predicted. 

The tattered remains of Tubbs’ suit were tossed aside, as Quinn pulled Kai into a passionate, albeit sloppy kiss while Makoa continued on his engorged cock. Thrusting his sensitive branch deep into his bro’s throat, he knew the end was close. A rapid frenzy of moans, cries, and gulps followed the tsunami of cum which rushed out of Quinn’s cockhead; with it, went the very last remnants of H. Quinlan Tubbs. The judge’s reign of terror had ended in the best way possible.

“Whoa, fuck man. You sure do know how to suck a cock don’t ya.” The two brothers tossed him a duffel bag filled with their hand-me-down clothes, perfectly sized for a surfer bro of their stature. After a quick change in the bathroom, three dumb, dopey surfer bros walked out of the Honolulu Courthouse toward the beach; all of which were finally free.

Maybe this is my last, maybe it isn’t. But this one is for me. This one, this is mine. It’s my dream, it’s my hope, and it’s what I needed to write goddamnit.

Alone at the bar, I sat there. Running over in my head all the things I could have done, and dwelling on the regrets and emptiness. Being told by people you trust that you were an embarrassment, that you were no longer welcome, for trying to be who you truly were… I can tell you from experience it’s earth shattering. I reached out to anyone that will listen, but ended up feeling just as hollow after being comforted as I had been before.

So, there I sat, on my fifth shot of cheap, shitty vodka- hoping beyond hope that some drunk blur would help suppress the emptiness. It was in this dingy, hole in the wall bar that I was approached by an unexpected guardian angel. He had been sitting in the corner, watching my pitiful, pathetic display for a while now, and in my half-drunken stupor, hadn’t noticed him. I downed my latest shot, and before I could beg the bartender for another, his inked hands were offering me a drink.

“Hey, man. I got you. You need this more than me.” He gestured to the bartender, and he knowingly went off to clean some tables- leaving us sitting alone, side by side at the bar. “You look like you’ve had the shit kicked out of you man.” I looked at the man offering me his half-drank Jager Bomb. He was tall and slender, tattooed from head to toe. He was shirtless, as most of the inked guys around there were, and had a pungent smell of sweat which emanated from him. A joint sat nonchalantly on his pierced lips, making me remember just how badly I needed a toke.

He was a gutterpunk. And ironically, the type of person I admired most. Suffering so many sideward glances and casual prejudice to entirely embrace everything they love about themselves. Showing their beauty not only on the outside, but letting the inside shine out. In that part of town, it wasn’t uncommon to come across these bohemian beauties, but they certainly kept to themselves. So you can imagine my shock when unprovoked, he came to my squabbling aid.

“Yeah. It’s been… a day. I guess.” I took the glass from his hands, taking a sip of the drink and the ashy backwash that subtly cut through the red bull.

“You live around here? Can I call someone for ya? Or an Uber or something?” I cackled at the thought of my situation, and how to respond. It seemed that I didn’t need to explain much more to him, as he looked at me with an understanding glance. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do ya?” Embarrassed beyond belief, I hung my head in shame, shaking my head in affirmation.

“Not anywhere that particularly wants me around, man.” I felt his arm around my shoulder; a side hug that was desperately needed. “Came out to my family a while back. They didn’t take it too well. But tonight they went fuckin’ crazy and made me throw out a bunch of my clothes because they were ‘immodest.’” He sighed, letting out a big cloud of smoke from his blunt. He offered me a hit, which I eagerly accepted- quickly snatching the roll from his inked fingers.

“That’s fucked up, man. I’m sorry.” I inhaled the weed, feeling immediate relief wash over me. I handed it back to him, and he placed it right back in it’s corner mouth position. “What did they find that set them off?” Perhaps it was the drinks setting in, or maybe I truly was comfortable enough with this stranger to really divulge some secrets, but I spilt the beans on everything.

“They found a pair of like, latex underwear that I had. Then when they were tearing my room apart, they found some toys n shit… Some tattoo ideas I had been sketching… But it’s all gone now, so. What I got on is all I have right now.” He sat there in silence, as if he were contemplating what to say, what to do. But the genuine compassion in his eyes spoke more than words.

“Listen, man. My name’s Royce. I know we just met and all, but my boyfriend and I have space at our place. You shouldn’t be going back to a place like that. It’s nothin’ special, and we don’t have much money, but you can stay with us as long as you need. Like, if you wanna sober up and think about it, that’s cool.” I introduced myself in return, and shook his hand. He pulled me in for a full, warm hug.

In that moment, all that I could think of was the life I had lived, and all the pain and misery that came with it. I thought of who I truly was and wanted to be, and how impossible it would be to come into my own on my expected path. It took me until the end of the hug to accept his offer.

From the bar, it was a solid ten minute walk to their place. The entire time, we talked about my repressed self expression, and who I wanted to become. He told me about himself and his boyfriend, how they work as tattoo artists and paint on the side to make ends meet. How it’s not easy, but it’s such a real and amazing life, and how hard it was to become the guy he truly was. Royce was such an incredible guy, and I was so thankful to be taken in by someone like him.

The apartment was just as he said it would be. The shotgun house looked neglected, and the windows emanated a cool, green glow. He opened the door, and his boyfriend was lounging on the couch, exhaling his own cloud of smoke. The place was a mess, with clothes, books, posters, sketches and games strewn about the floor. The place smelled, in a similar manner to Royce, like musky, age-old sweat and reefer, mixed in with foot stink and patchouli. The green string lights made the place seem, aesthetic in a way- like some obscure renaissance painting.

“Here we are, man. Sorry about the mess. This is my boyfriend, Gage.” Gage gestured a hello, and invited me to sit next to him on the grungy couch and hit the bong he was smoking. I obliged, plopped down, and lit the bowl.

“So you got kicked out, huh? Well, you can stay here as long as you need, man. We both been there before.” I exhaled the smoke, and lay backwards.

“You guys have no idea how much this means to me. Like, you two are exactly the type of people I want to be like, inked, relaxed, and just comfortably happy.” Royce sat down on Gage’s lap, and touched my shoulder.

“Yeah, he and I were talking about it on the way here. And, man, if you want to let the real you out, we can help with that.” I looked at them, both hopeful and skeptical that they could accomplish something like that. But they had done so much for me already, and gone out of their way to comfort me, and help me… I once again accepted Royce’s offer. The two brought me back to the bedroom, and laid me down onto the stained white sheets of the bed. They scuffled around the room a bit, pushing old sneakers and ripped jeans aside to locate their tattooing equipment.

“Just hit this joint and you’ll be fine.” Gage handed me an old blunt from the ‘drug box’ any smoker has, and I took my first deep breath. The buzzing of the tattoo gun whirred in my ears, as the first little sting of the needle tore against the skin of my fingers. Royce’s gentle hands helped curb the pain significantly. As he worked like a man possessed, Gage got to work helping me undress. He ran around the room, picking up assorted dingy and dirty clothes, trying to find a decent fit for me.

He settled on some ripped up jeans, old black briefs, and a pair of absolutely rank, trashed, all black Vans for my new look. You could tell the two were putting in their all, and though they didn’t have much, they wanted me to feel strong and empowered. 

“Damn, I’m doing some amazing work on you. You’re gonna freak out.” I looked down at my tattooed hands and fingers, and something was… different. They looked stronger, bigger, a little bit of dirt under the nails… they weren’t mine. But they felt so right. They felt as if they had always been my hands. As Royce kept going up my arms with his stinging tattoo gun, Gage started to help me into my clothes. 

“You’re looking better already. For real.” The crusty underwear and stained, ripped jeans let just enough skin show to reveal amazing linework on my thighs and feet. Royce hadn’t even done that yet… had he? He slipped the Vans onto my feet. “These are my old ones. Real beat up, but comfy as hell. Not to mention, pretty sexy.” They were dingy, they smelled, they weren’t my size… Wait, they fit… perfectly! Something strange was going on, but I didn’t give a rats ass. This is who I was. The inside coming out, the real me. 

Gage stared at me for a solid minute, looking me up and down, and subtly grabbed his growing bulge. I nervously looked back at him, his boyfriend permanently changing me… Yet, I somehow felt drawn in by his demeanour. That sexy, nonchalant swagger that defied words. I knew, inherently, that Royce not only didn’t mind, but enjoyed sharing- and would likely join in. Thus, when Gage slowly unzipped my pants, lowering my cum-crusted briefs, and started sucking my pierced, uncut cock… It came as no surprise that Royce started to kiss me on the side of my inked neck. We laid down on our bed, reveling in our true selves, our authenticity, our goddamn sexiness.

The night felt like endless bliss… Kinky fucking for hours only to stop and keep tattooing, then Royce would sniff the rank musk of my feet and have to go for round two… And three… And four… Fuck, by the break of dawn, we emerged in a haze of weed, sex, and ink. When Gage showed me the mirror, and I saw myself for the first time… It was… Me. It was that man I loved and grew so fondly of. That man that was hiding within me all along. A bit grungy and rebellious, but so unapologetically real. Im finally the person I was meant to be. Thanks to my boyfriends, and a new home, life now can flourish.