I'm about to go visit my uncle, but he's acting strange. I was thinking of leaving when my uncle called me to come and see something.
Your uncle's vibes had been weird from the moment he invited you to his farm.
The two of you never got along. You were simply too different. Blood relation didn't mean you were going to get along, and as you grew up the distance between you and your uncle only increased.
Which saddened you. In many ways, you should get along with him. Both of you were gay. Shouldn't you two have been able to bond over that? It was a question that had gone around your brain many times as you grew up.
Now, at twenty one years old, it seemed clear the ship had sailed. You simply were too different, and pretending otherwise would be foolish if not delusional.
Uncle Russell, or Uncle Rusty as you've called him since you were a kid, was a big man. Tall, built like an ox, and arguably as hairy as one. He was prime American beef, or so he joked at every opportunity he could. And despite being a tired and spoiled joke, it had plenty of truth in it.
The man was a hot dream. The only reason you didn't thirst after him was because you were related, and... Well, you didn't get along.
Uncle Rusty almost always had a lover visiting his farm. Yet, despite Russell's southern charm, masculine attractiveness and owning a wallet even bigger than he was himself, he had been unable to keep any relationship to last longer than a few months.
While you were a rather average college kid. Good looking, but not specifically memorable. Naturally lean, you never felt the need to work out. And given that you stood between 6'0" and 6'1" feet tall, you would have needed to work out plenty to build any decent amount of muscle tone. And, especially compared with Uncle Rusty, you were fairly hairless. Unable to even grow a decent beard.
You didn't differ merely physically, however, and so you were for quite a surprise when he invited you to his farm. Since you were twelve, you were constantly at odds. You never liked the masculine activities he always wanted to do, as you never understood their appeal. Similarly, he never liked anything you cherished. Any time you were in the same room, it ended up with you arguing. Which often ended with you grounded for talking back to your elders.
Not a word you had sent Uncle Rusty's way since you went away to college. Thusly, him inviting you to spend two weeks on his farm felt extremely confusing. Was he trying to repair your strained relationship? Or was there something else going on?
You were betting on the latter. Especially since your uncle had acted weird from the moment he picked you up from the airport in his trusty red truck. Veiled insults to your lack of masculinity came almost as soon as you sat down, as well as Uncle Rusty's frustrations about his love life.
What did I get myself into? You thought repeatedly as he drove you farther and farther from civilization.
"So, boy," He said, as you were close to his farm. "Let's use this chance to build ya some muscles. It ain't right a fella like you to be this much of a beanpole. Nah, it ain't right. Gotta build your muscles up. Work 'em on the field with trusty Uncle Rusty. That way, the both of us will be prime American beef. Ain't that right, son?"
Regret was so intense you wanted the earth to open and swallow you whole. But you kept your the emotion from your face with great struggle and nodded weakly.
"You ain't right, boy. The two of us may be fags, but a fag can be a real man too, ya know? I'll show ya, you'll see... You'll see, boy, I promise you that."
It was going to be some long two weeks, wouldn't it?
As he promised, the first day was full of labor. A type of work you simply weren't made for. You had never built the farm boy strength that so easily came to Uncle Rusty.
So, that, added to your already complicated past with your uncle, as well as his very strange behavior, you were seriously considering leaving early.
Uncle Rusty was looking at you in such a way that was seriously giving you the creeps. Which was heartbreaking. For all the issues you had with him, Uncle Rusty had never been a creepy uncle. So for him to act this way...
You were on the guest room. Your room, during your stay. The backpack and suitcases you brought singing to you like mermaids. Nothing would be lost if you left, right? This wasn't what you wanted, nor expected. The healthy thing, the reasonable thing, is to leave, right?
"Son, come here a minute. Need to show ya something."
Your heart almost left through your throat, as you leapt in surprise. At your door, there he stood. Uncle Rusty. A wicked smile on his bearded face. Logic told you to refuse. Yet the idea of rudely refusing him was so repulsive to you, there was no other choice but to obey and follow him.
He brought you to the attic. Dust everywhere. Cowebs at every corner. Old furniture and boxes coveted with white sheets. You couldn't help but recall a movie you watched way too young: The Skeleton Key. Praying you wouldn't share the protagonist's fate seemed like a right idea, even though you didn't truly believe your uncle would do something like that to you.
Magic doesn't exist, after all, right? Right?
"Straighten your back, boy. Walk like a man. And don't look at me with that sour face. I'm sure you'll like this surprise."
Before showing you anything, however, he made you sit. The dusty sheet covering the chair wasn't the most appealing surface to sit on, but what could you do? You sat, despite your wishes.
Uncle Rusty took from a table a figured covered in white fabric. He's being careful not to touch what's underneath, why?
"I truly believe you'll be thankful, boy, for this gift I've prepared. You ain't a bad kid, but you're not a kid no more. It's time you become a man. I'm so tired of being alone..."
He gave you the figure, taking the fabric with him. Thus, you were touching the small statue with your bare hands.
It was a strange statue. At first you thought it was a bad plaster copy of a classical sculpture. But a closer look revealed that wasn't the case. Indeed, the sculpture didn't look right because the proportions differed from the classical ideal, not because they were badly executed.
The small figure was one of a man. Greatly muscular, covered in very detailed sculpted hair. A bomer pointing forwards. The face was handsome, yet foreign.
Become a man. Be a man. You are a man. Grow. Grow. Grow.
You shivered. What was that? A deep, resonant voice was speaking in your mind. Mouth dry as you realized you couldn't look away, despite wanting to. Unable to drop the sculpture, unable to move. With no choice but to look and listen.
Become a man... Be a man... You are a man...
Despite yourself, you were mouthing the words. Your voice barely an audible whisper.
It was your hands. Those pale, long, delicate hands of yours. Hands of an artist, of a pianist. That was what everyone told you. They were changing.
Your fingers, that held the figure tightly still, were thickening. From slender to sausage-like. And not just that, but you could see dark copious hair begin to grow.
"What... What's happening?" You asked, interrupting the chant you were mouthing. Your voice full of terror.
But that wasn't my voice...
Indeed, it was not. It was rougher, lower. Huskier. As if you had just woken up, despite being wide awake for hours now.
In the meanwhile, the changes had progressed. Your hands had grown massive. Masculine hairy paws. Calloused, thick. The hands of a man who worked with his hands. Hard, physical labor. Hands that were powerful. Hands that were manly.
Hands that weren't yours, and yet, were attached to you.
Forearms had followed suit. They looked ridiculous on you. Too long, too muscular, too hairy. As if someone had edited your arms in Photoshop, but in real life.
You threw the statue away. But it didn't break. Instead falling on its base, intact. Uncle Rusty quickly covered it with the same sheet of fabric of earlier.
"What did you do to me?" You yelled. The changes had not stopped because you weren't touching the statue anymore. No, as you looked at your uncle, your biceps were inflating and your shoulders broadening, all while getting covered by more and more hair.
"I told ya I was makin' a real man out of ya, boy. Work wasn't workin'. Wasn't goin' to work. I needed to fix ya up, boy. I had no choice but to use a little magic."
Eyes wide, you stood up from the chair and stepped back. Your uncle had betrayed you. Anger filled your chest, teeth clenching, hands turning into fists.
As legitimate as your wrath was, however, you soon got distracted. For your pecs, that had always had been flat and underwhelming, suddenly popped in your chest. Growing, and growing outwards. Heavy, making themselves present. And thoroughly covered with dark hair.
"This is not me! I didn't want this!" You cried, your new massive hands holding your head with desperation.
Yet, you stopped dead. Why could you see your chest? You were... Weren't you wearing a shirt, just now? Looking around you, shreds of fabric laid uselessly. You hadn't even noticed when your shirt had been destroyed.
The path of hair and muscle continued. You felt your spine lengthen as your abs popped, strong and defined. Yet their definition was almost completely obscured by black hirsute hair.
I don't want this... I don't want this... Why is this happening to me?
You've never wanted to be a hairy beast. Never. You were perfectly content with who you were...
There was not much time to think about an answer, for the transformation reached your crotch. And... No man would be able to think of anything after that. Indeed, your cock, your familiar friend, was changing.
But it wasn't simply changing as the rest of your body had. No, no. First, it grew hard. Familiar on its full size. Then, you felt your pants ripping apart. Magically, you stood naked. Merely wearing your shoes. Your cock throbbed, as hirsute hair surrounded it. Covering your balls and the base of your cock. Plenty of inches covered by your wild, abundant pubes.
At last growth. The base grew thicker first. Then, in a constant wave, your cock grew thicker from base to tip. As it did so, you saw it lengthen. Longer, and longer. Until it was so big you couldn't even believe it.
Maybe the changes aren't so bad, after all!
You shook your head. You didn't want this. You really didn't. Just because there was a positive didn't mean it was... Even if it wasn't all bad it didn't make it...
Again, you shook your head. Why was it so hard to concentrate, now?
Your cock finished growing. One inch over a foot. Thirteen inches of pure masculine glory.
"Oh, fuck yeah! You're turning good, boy!" you heard your uncle say. "The statue is finally makin' you a real man."
Ignoring him, you felt the changes reach your ass. Cheeks growing rounder, bigger, pushing outwards almost furiously. An ass that was perfectly built with muscle and fat. An ass you could only dream of, until today.
Hair began covering it as soon as it began growing. Your huge hands immediately reached for them, cupping your ass cheeks as if they were a sacred relic. As you did so, the hair began growing on your thighs. That were also growing and growing. Thicker, longer. Strong like a real man's thighs ought to be.
To be virile it was to grow. To be manly it was to be big. To be huge. And hairy, and strong.
A smile appeared on your face.
Changes hadn't stopped. Hair went down your knees, taking hold of your calves, of your ankles. Muscles growing, thick and mighty. Finally, your feet. They grew several sizes, destroying your footwear as if it wss made of sea foam. None of the shoes you had ever own could ever fit you again. Hair covered your feet, including your now longer and thicker toes.
They look like Hobbit feet, you thought with amusement. They're so ridiculous huge, so hairy...
From tthe neck down, you were unrecognizable. You had grown taller. Easily 6'5". Maybe more. Yet, your increased height had been more than balanced by the significant amount of weight you got. All pure, virile muscle. Every inch covered by dark hair.
Your neck changed next. It thickened. Your voice, that had already deepened, dropped some octaves again. You were even to low to be a baritone. You could easily be a bass.
You wasted no time on testing your new manlier voice:
"This wasn't just to make me a man, was it? Tell me, the truth reason you did this."
No trace of fear or despair could be found on the sound of your voice. Your uncle, perhaps for the first time, looked like the unsettled one.
That's when you realized you were now taller and more muscular than him.
"I... Boy, that's no way of talkin' to..." Uncle Rusty said, his baritone voice titubating.
One step forward, and Uncle Rusty realized he had no choice but to answer you.
"Look, boy... 'm so very lonely... I thought... Two birds with one stone... Makin' a man out of you... And gettin' my own sex toy... Love has made clear it ain't for me, yet I yearn for someone boy. For anyone..."
Until that point, your wrath had subsided. But your uncle's words ignited it back to new heights. He wanted to make you his living sex toy? His own very nephew?
Your hand was about to turn into a fist. But, the changes hadn't stopped.
Unlike previous changes, these hurt. Your whole face began to change. It wasn't simply that it was reforming into a more masculine version of yourself. It was being remade entirely.
As this happened, you saw your hands change again. From pale, to tan. From tan, to bronze.
Yet as your skin tone deepened, you were only thinking about your face. With difficulty, you stumbled. Looking for a mirror to see what had happened with you.
At last, you found it. Pain had ceased. Your skin waw almost entirely bronze now. Only your cock was still white, but as you took the sheet covering the mirror, your dick was consumed by melanin. A huge, girthy, cut cock.
A huge arab cock. If the mirror was to be believed...
A stranger was at the other side of your reflection. A middle eastern man. Thick dark brows over deep black eyes. A full beard framing your wide square jaw. Full, kissable lips. Handsome, manly. An ideal of masculinity made flesh. Huge by every measure. Undeniably hairy. A real man.
You were a real man. And no one could control you.
You slowly turned towards your uncle. The look in your eyes could freeze hell over. Your irises so dark not a thought could be perceived behind them. If there were any...
"Boy, you're scarin' me..." Uncle Rusty said, more honest he had been since he invited you to visit.
Silently, you stepped towards him. No, stomped towards him. You were a man, heavy with muscle. You would stomp everywhere you went from now on.
"I ain't a boy no more, Rusty," you said, with a smirk. "I ain't even your nephew. I'm more of a man that you'll ever be. So thanks for changing me."
Your huge hand grabbed Rusty's jaw. Holding him still. Despite the man, your former uncle, being still big for most... He was weak compared to you.
"Sorry, man. But I ain't no sex toy. You on the other hand..."
Rusty trembled, yet your free hand found his crotch. His massive erection (although not as big as yours) revealed his true feelings. Another smirk drew on your face at the knowledge.
Perhaps you wouldn't need to use your fists to punish him. Or reward him. You surely weren't mad anymore about becoming someone else entirely.
"My name's is Mutaz, old man," you growled, the new name settling on your mind with permanence. Inherent to your new self as your former identity was completely forgotten. "And I'm your new master. Now, get on your knees, and show me what that mouth can do."
Indeed, from that day on, you became your former uncle's master. What was meant to be a visit, ended up with you making a home of his house. Taking his bed as yours. Taking his money at yours. For you were the new man of the house.
And he had no choice but to obey.
As for the statue? Neither you nor Rusty were able to find it again. It may have found a new home, for a new victim to touch it. For a new man to be reborn...
Note: the use of images, as well as some plot points, were agreed upon privately.
