Griz Cub's Erotica Repost

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

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

Beached.

At what point is a fat 'yote considered more of a whale than a canine?

Rob wanted to go, badly, but every time he looked down at himself, he felt like he’d been invited by mistake. His face was smooth. His chest was bare. His arms and stomach looked almost untouched. His look wouldn't fit the party.

Everyone knew hair tonic worked now; it wasn’t some weird underground thing anymore. Guys used the standard version before dates, beach trips, costume parties, even just a night out. Rub it in, wait a few minutes, and the first growth came through right there in the mirror. It was like make-up for men.

But Rob hadn’t bought the standard version. He’d paid extra for the overnight formula—the one marketed for men who wanted deeper, fuller, more permanent-looking results. The directions were simple: apply generously, massage into all target areas, sleep, and allow eight hours for maximum activation. So that night, with the pool party invitation still glowing on the bathroom counter beside him, Rob stripped down and went all in. He rubbed the tonic over his cheeks, jaw, upper lip, throat, chest, stomach, shoulders, arms, and legs. He didn’t want a little stubble or a polite dusting of hair. He wanted the kind of body that would walk into that party and belong there immediately.

At first, the change felt like a subtle heat under his skin. His jaw prickled. His chest tingled. The smooth skin over his stomach seemed almost too sensitive beneath his fingers. By the time he checked the mirror again, only minutes later, the overnight tonic was already giving him a preview. A dark shadow had formed along his jaw and upper lip, and faint curls were beginning to push across his chest. His body looked stronger somehow with the new hair sprouting, more solid and athletic, as if the tonic was improving the whole presentation while it prepared the real transformation underneath. He went to bed staring at the ceiling, feeling tiny sparks of growth across his body, wondering what he would look like by morning.

That night, while Rob slept, the changes continued apace. Hair sprouting on his chest, his beard growing in denser and longer, hair developing on his arms, and shoulders.

When he woke, he barely recognized himself.

His face had filled in with a dense beard and a heavy mustache, rugged and deliberate, the kind of facial hair that made his old smooth face seem like a forgotten draft. His chest was no longer bare; it was covered in a thick dark pelt, densest across the center and spreading over his pecs, down his stomach, and into a heavy trail. His arms and legs had grown coarse and masculine, and his shoulders—where he had applied extra tonic twice—now carried visible hair too, making the whole result look natural, powerful, and unmistakably intentional.

By the time he arrived at the pool party, towel over one shoulder and sunglasses on, he didn’t feel nervous anymore. He saw men glance at his beard first, then at the heavy hair across his chest and shoulders, and for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was trying to keep up. The invitation had promised confidence, but the tonic had given him the body to match it. He stepped into the sun, smiled under his new mustache, and knew he had used exactly the right amount.

I have been having lots of fun with Ai and have been creating lots of transformations but don't have time to write so I thought I would share one that I made, with a very quick caption. These were inspired by a very old story I read, that has always stuck with me.

Clive had been going to the gym for months now and had seen barely any results. Instead he only found himself getting sweaty and getting sniggered at by other patrons around him. That's when he decided to hire Payton, he had the body of a god. Defined abs, big biceps, cute round bubble butt and thick muscular legs, he was the whole package and he knew it. Often he would strut around shirtless and the women would swoon and the men would stare enviously. He had worked for a best part of a decade to achieve his body, but Clive didn't plan on working for that long. Payton barely even looked up at his phone as Clive approached him in the locker room. "Errr Payton. I wanted to get a body like yours. I would be willing to pay?" Payton didn't even look up "300 dollars for -" Clive didn't even let him finish before exclaiming "Deal!"

Your father always said you needed to learn how to change a tire but you always laughed at him. Now you werent laughing. Your car is stock, all four tires blown after driving over something sharp in the road. Its mid day but the closest sign of civilization is miles away, you need to start walking now if youre going to find anyone before it gets dark and the creatures come out. Youre not built for this, youre a classic 20something twink, thin, weak, long hair, and no body hair. Youve spent years of your life getting laser to remove any sign of stubble. Youre smart, an academic, and a big beard or hairy ape arms dont go well with the imagine youre trying to potray. You want to look civilized, smart, not like these blue collar long bearded country guys. Theyre only good for one thing, the occasional hookup. After walking for a bit you come across a cabin surrounded by a few small sheds. An older man is sitting on his porch smoking a pipe. Great, hes one of those blue collar guys, big beard, pipe, baseball cap. His beard is mostly white with streaks fo brown still holding on by the cheeks and upper lip. Theres no visible skin on his lower face, no lips, nothing, everything is drowning in thick wire hairs. If the context were different youd think about trying to hook up with him but better not to, some of the guys out here are homophobic.

"Hey kid! You lost?"

Kid? Youre not a kid. "Im 26!" You say.

"26?" The guy laughs. "You don't look it. Where's your face fur?"

The word 'face fur' makes you shiver first with ick and second with something else... something nice? No. "I broke down! Can you help out?"

"Didnt your daddy ever teach you how to change a tire?" He asks. He taps a chair next to him on the porch. "Sit with me while I finish this pipe and Ill get you fixed up." You, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, join him. "Want a pipe?"

"No, Im good thanks."

"So youre a stogie man?"

"No."

"Cigarette?"

"Nothing."

The porch reeks of tobacco from the man's pipe. You sit with him and he asks where youre from, you tell him the city. You try not to gag on the smell but the longer you sit with him the more you get used to it. You're getting hotter too so you take off your jacket leaving you in just your tank top.

"At least you broke down on a nice day." The man says.

"Yeah," you say, "could be worse." Does your voice sound different? Does it have a bit of an accent? Does it sound deeper? More manly?

The man leans in. "Sure you don't want to smoke anything?"

His face is so close to yours, you cant stop looking at his beard. Its so long, you wonder how long it took him to grow it. Your dick begins to harden in your pants. The man notices.

"Getting excited, big boy?"

The words 'big boy' shoot through you like a shot of vodka. It makes you feel great. You get even harder. Then you realize where you are and try to move to hid it.

"No, no," the man says, "show daddy." He smiles and you get harder.

"Can we just," your voice is defiantly different, it catches you off guard, "uhhh."

The man smiles. "Hard to think?"

"No! No! I'm smart!" You say, but you dont sound smart... you sound dumb. You look at the mans pipe, his beard.

The man holds out the pipe. "Take a hit, big boy. You think so hard, you should take a rest." The smoke tastes manly. The man is holding you as you smoke, one hand scratching your chin, one around the throbbing bulge in your jeans. "That's it, big boy."

You just make grunts, stupid pleased sounds like an animal. You dont notice the hair growing your arms, or the way they inflate turning into solid trunks of muscle. You realize how the sound of the mans scratching changes. When he first started scratching your chin it sounded like flesh on flesh but now it's different. You bring your hand up to your chin... is that hair?

"What are you doing to me?" You stand up, your voice deep and accented now. "Stop it!"

The man smiles. "Come on Big Boy, you love your beard." He points at a window where you can see your reflection. Its your pride and joy."

You don't recognize the man looking back at you. His expression is so dumb. His face has lines from working in the sun, his hairline is receding, and a thick bush of a beard spills out covering the lower half of his face. Its thick, dense, with a mustache covering his upper lip. Only his lower lip, your lower lip, is visible. You bring your hand up to touch it, to make sure it's real. It is. This is you. Your face is drowning in beard. You want to scream, to fight it, but with that same dead fish eyed look you watch as your hand rubs your bulge. You want to fight it, your brain wants to fight it, but your body only cares about one thing, sex.

The man, your new daddy, smiles. "Good think I put those jacks out on the road. I didnt think Id catch such a wonderful big boy. Youll be perfect." Your last memory before you fully give in is of your rubbing your bulge, looking at your new self with a dumb expression, and saying "Thank you Daddy."

One was particularly bad, permanently ingraining you with the need to drain a man once you saw their cock. He'd invited all his friends over once the conditioning was set, each one pulling their tool out after the next. You couldn't stop yourself from spearing your head on each man, your new instinct taking complete control without the ability to stop. After the programming was made, it could only be removed by the master, and there was no chance he was ever going to do that.

You moved on since then, taking greater care in selecting your partners. You thought you were safe until one day you walked in on your roommate sleeping naked on the couch. He'd been fit at the time, toned muscles wrapping around his body. He had a built chest, arms, and ass from working out every day. Despite this, he never seemed to get any action.

Once your eyes locked on his limp member it was too late. You couldn't look away. You couldn't stop yourself from stepping forward, kneeling down between his muscled legs, your mouth quickly drawing saliva.

Your roommate jolted awake when you brushed against the inside of his thighs.

"What the fuck?" He asked, frozen in shock.

You opened your mouth to respond, only to end up allowing a flood of spit to escape from your lips. It dribbled down your chin only to drip onto his tool. He flinched at the cold sensation, but his soft cock jumped, stirring up to stiffen.

It didn't need to be hard for you to start working. Your roommates shaky breath hid the hint of his moan as you started sucking.

"No" was your last clear thought as a blanket of numbness took your head. Your mind entered a trance. You could only pay attention to the cock in your mouth as it swelled, stretching past your tongue and hitting the back of your throat. Your mind blocked any gag reflex, prioritizing swallowing and milking his shaft over your own breath. The brief inhales through your nose took in his scent, emphasizing the taste of his precum spread across your tongue.

Your jaw was locked open as your head moved back and forth, his thick meat dragged through the cavity of your skull. Spit dripped down the length as you thoughtlessly worked needing to do nothing but please. Your body was encouraged by the moans your roommate couldn't hold back, his body gasping as you drew the cum from his balls. He let loose the pent up load he'd been storing for days with a grunt, a torrent of white cream racing down your throat. You needed every last drop, your mouth forced to work until all that was left was your saliva on his tool.

Since then, your roommate stopped trying to stay in shape. He had a bitch at home for whenever he felt. You'd walk in to find him laying naked on the couch, waiting for you semi-hard. Your programming would take over.

Eager to be anywhere else after the third snowstorm this spring, Mitch finds his mind keeps wandering to the sunny shores of Rio. Accidentally manifesting a new beach-centric life for himself, he wills his boyfriend along for the ride.

Back with another sporadic story! Two twinks TF into a Brazilian twunk and his bearish lover. Hair, musk, and reality change centric, hope you enjoy this story about yearning for a sunnier, sexier summer! -Occam

Sun warm on his face, the great roar of ocean waves crashing onto the beach lulls him to continue sunbathing even as seagulls caw nearby. Stretching in his rest he feels a speedo catch on his tight hips and bubble butt. Mitch quickly reaches down to scratch his crotch and adjust the speedo’s straining band, his fingers slide down bronzed abs glistening with sweat.

He- he doesn’t have abs?

Mitch’s eyes open to find the world not nearly as summery or idyllic as he had dreamed. Snow continues to flurry down from the heavens as winter continues to relentlessly storm through what should be the beginnings of spring. Stark blanket of snow covering everything in sight, Mitch rubs his face and sighs. Beyond regretful that he woke up from his vibrant dream.

Phone chiming again, Mitch realizes he was brought back to reality by a text from his boyfriend: [All good over there babe?]

Channeling the dreary extended winter he continues sighing and types up a real thoughtful reply: [ya]

Pursing his lips he figures he should put more of an effort in before, in the back of his mind, the gleaming sun returns. It is odd that he dreamed of the beach, isn’t it? Looking down at his pasty neck and a body that’s somehow too thin and pudgy at once, he’s never been the type to enjoy the surf and sun.

And yet, his fingers seem to disagree as his mind meanders. [Hey, Jason, what do u say we take a big trip once this whole thing blows over? Ever thought about Rio?]

inspired by the incredible, @salmonskinrolltf

Kevin stood just outside the small apartment he shared with his boyfriend, Mark. Just like it always did on Valentine’s Day, his heart was fluttering inside his chest. Kevin was shy and soft-spoken, the kind of man who still blushed when he held Mark’s hand in public. He was holding a bouquet of red roses accented with white lilies, the stems tied together with a large, frilly bow. He was excited to surprise his boyfriend with the gift. Mark was everything Kevin adored: quiet, bookish, a little awkward, and completely his.

He let himself in with his key, the scent of the bouquet filling the hallway and mixing with the smell of chocolates they had already opened earlier in the day. “Mark? Happy Valentine’s, baby.”

Mark looked up from the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, wearing the same faded Star Wars T-shirt he’d had since college. His messy brown hair fell into his eyes, and his smile was lopsided and sweet. “Kevin… you didn’t have to.”

Kevin crossed the room and set the bouquet on the coffee table. “I know, but I wanted to. Now, open the card.”

Mark plucked the little envelope from the arrangement, tore it open, and began to read. His eyebrows rose. Then his cheeks flushed pink.

“Uh… is this a prank, Kevin? Or are you dropping hints that you want to try roleplay?”

Kevin leaned in, curious and confused. Mark turned the card so he could see.

The handwriting was bold and dramatic, full of pretty cursive loops and I’s dotted with hearts. It read:

My big, strong Daddy,

Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ve been thinking about your thick cock all morning, shooting your hot loads down my throat. I can’t wait to move in next week so I can wake you up every morning with my lips wrapped around it. Your good boy is so fucking excited to be yours completely, Daddy.

— Nico

Kevin’s stomach dropped. “Oh my god. That’s not— I must have grabbed the wrong bouquet at the shop. Or they must have mixed up the cards. I’m so sorry, Mark, I…”

Mark stared at the note a second longer, then began to laugh. It was a soft, familiar chuckle, the same one that always made Kevin’s chest warm. “It’s okay, baby. Honest mistake.” He leaned up and gave Kevin’s cheek a quick kiss. “You’re still the sweetest guy I know.”

Kevin exhaled in relief, cheeks burning bright red from the embarrassment and his boyfriend’s soft lips. He took the wrong card, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. The right one, a simple and heartfelt note, was lost in some other bundle of flowers elsewhere in the city. Deciding to shrug off the awkward situation and move on, Kevin wanted to at least enjoy the rest of the day he had planned: going out for dinner to Mark's favorite restaurant, coming home to slow dance in the living room to their special song, and a night spent tangled together in their bed.

But as the afternoon wore on, something began to shift. There was a weird thrum of energy in the air, moving through the surroundings.

Mark had gone back to his laptop, but his posture was different. He sat straighter, shoulders broader than Kevin remembered. When he reached for his water glass, the sleeve of his T-shirt strained, revealing a bicep that looked… thicker. Dark hair broke through the skin, spreading across the length of his seemingly growing arms. Kevin blinked, telling himself it was just the lighting of their crappy apartment.

By evening, the changes became impossible to ignore.

Mark stood to stretch, and the motion pulled his Star Wars shirt tight across his chest. The fabric strained and made a thin, stretching sound. Kevin’s mouth went dry as his heart raced. Mark’s pecs had swollen into two beefy pecs pushing outward, nipples visibly hard beneath the shirt that now looked painted on. There was no denying his arms were changing, biceps rounding into solid peaks, veins beginning to trace under the skin. He rolled his neck, and Kevin heard a low, satisfied rumble come from his throat. The sound was deeper than Mark’s usual soft tenor.

“Mark… are you okay?” Kevin asked, voice small and concerned.

Mark turned. His face had changed. The boyish roundness was gone. His jaw was thick with a deep cleft, shadowed with stubble that had grown thick and dark over the last couple hours. His eyes, once soft behind his discarded glasses, now looked more intense, haloed by dark circles. He scratched at his thick chest absently, and Kevin watched the motion tug the shirt up, exposing a trail of curly dark hair running down a newly defined abdomen.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” Mark said. His voice had dropped an octave, with a faint gravelly edge that sent an unwelcome shiver down Kevin’s spine. “Just… feeling pumped today.”

He peeled the shirt off without asking, revealing a body that no longer belonged to the man Kevin had fallen in love with. Broad shoulders that were solid and strong, heavy pecs dusted with coarse black hair, a stomach that was still flat but showed the definition of strengthening abdominal muscles. Mark’s skin looked tanner, weathered by the sun. His nipples had darkened, thick and perky and just asking to be played with. Kevin’s anxious gaze dropped lower. The front of Mark’s sweatpants was stuffed full with a thick, heavy bulge that visibly throbbed once, as if aware of being watched.

Kevin’s cock stirred traitorously in his jeans even as panic started to sink in.

Mark didn’t seem to notice his boyfriend’s distress. He grabbed his phone instead, newly thick fingers scrolling through messages. A low chuckle, deeper now, rolled out of him as he read something on the screen.

Kevin tried to smile. “I, um… I made reservations for that little Italian place you like. Seven-thirty. We can walk there and hold hands, like we used to—”

“Not tonight,” Mark said, not even looking up. His thumb moved over the screen, typing. “Got plans.”

The words hit him like a truck. Kevin’s planned romantic evening dissolved in an instant.

Mark’s belly had begun to push outward. Not fat exactly, but solid and powerful. He was now rocking a heavy gut that spoke of his new strength and voracious appetite. Hair spread across his gut in a thick, dark pelt, swirling around his bellybutton. His sweatpants rode low now, the waistband stretched by wider hips and a round, muscular ass that jiggled when he shifted his weight. The bulge between his legs had grown even more obscene, the thick outline of a fat cock and swollen balls clearly visible to passersby. The fabric covering his crotch had already begun to darken with a wet spot of pre.

Kevin’s heart hammered inside his chest, alarm sirens blaring in his head. “Mark, please. Look at me. Something’s wrong. You’re… you’re changing.”

Mark finally glanced over. His face had aged impossibly. He had to be mid-forties now, maybe older. Lines accented the corners of his eyes, his brow heavy and brooding. His messy hair had receded, the top of his head now smooth and shaved close, while a thick, bushy salt and pepper beard had erupted across his chiseled jaw and cheeks. The hair was wiry and full, framing a mouth that looked more smug, frozen in a cocky sneer. When he spoke, his Midwestern accent had shifted, too. His voice was deeper, slower, a low rumble with a faint Southern drawl that Mark had never possessed before this moment.

“Wrong? Nah. I feel fucking good.” He palmed his heavy bulge openly, squeezing the fat shaft through the fabric as the dark spot spread. “Got my boy texting me all day, telling me how bad he needs his Daddy’s cock. Can’t wait to wreck that tight little hole tonight.”

Kevin’s knees nearly buckled. “Your… your boy?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, cold and dismissive. “Nico. My boy. You know that. Stop acting weird, Kevin. You’re my roommate, not my keeper.”

The words hit like a slap across the face. Kevin staggered back a step. “Roommate? Mark, we’ve been together for three years. We’re boyfriends. I love you—”

Mark laughed at that, a deep and booming sound that vibrated through the room like thunder. “Boyfriends? Ain’t that cute. You’ve always been a little clingy, but this is pathetic.” He stood fully now, towering over Kevin. He had grown at least six inches taller, easily 6’4”, shoulders wide enough to block the light and cast a shadow over the smaller man. His gut was a solid, hairy ball now, pushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric had begun fraying at the seams from the sheer mass of his thighs. His cock completely thickened into a monstrous, veiny club, the mushroom head pushing past the waistband as Mark became aroused. The tip was slick and leaking, and the musk wafting from the dense bush of black pubic hair made Kevin dizzy.

Kevin was inhaling him: cum, sweat, pure masculinity. His own small dick was painfully hard, shame flooding his cheeks even as tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t mask the sense of betrayal in his eyes.

Mark’s phone buzzed. He grinned, teeth white against the greying beard. “That’s my boy right there. He’s on his way over. Gonna fuck him so good tonight. You might wanna make yourself scarce, roomie. Unless you wanna watch.”

Kevin’s voice cracked. “Please, Mark. Remember me. Remember us. This is a dream and we’re both about to wake up. This isn’t possible—”

Mark waved a massive hand, already turning away. “Clean up your half of the dishes before you go to bed. And start packing. Nico’s moving in next week and things are becoming official real fast. We’re making this place ours. You’ve got till Sunday to find somewhere else.”

The horror settled deep in Kevin’s gut. This wasn’t a prank. Reality itself was rewriting around them. Mark, or better yet the stranger that had taken Mark’s place, was forgotten by the rest of the world as the sweet nerd he had once been. He had always been this: a big, hairy, dominant daddy who collected pretty boys like property.

The knock came at eight-thirty.

Kevin was still in the kitchen, hands trembling as he washed the same plate over and over while lost in thought, when the door opened.

Nico stepped in.

He was everything the card had promised and more. Blonde, tousled hair that fell in soft waves around a pretty, vacant face. Full, cock-sucking lips that appeared glossy in the light. Wide, innocent blue eyes that blinked vapidly. His body was pure himbo goodness: narrow shoulders, tiny waist, and then an explosion of curves below. His ass was enormous, two fat, jiggling globes barely contained by tight white booty shorts that disappeared between them. His cock formed a small bulge that bounced with every step. He wore a crop top that read “Daddy’s Boy” in glittery letters, nipples hard and visibly pierced beneath the fabric.

“Daddy!” Nico squealed, voice high and breathy. He dropped his bag and threw himself at Mark.

Mark, now fully transformed now, caught his lover easily, massive hands gripping two handfuls of that fat ass and squeezing hard enough to make Nico moan. “There’s my good little slut,” he growled, voice pure gravel and smoke. “Missed this fat fucking ass all day.”

He kissed Nico like he was claiming territory, tongue invading that eager mouth while Nico whimpered and ground his hard little cock against Mark’s hairy thigh. Kevin watched from the kitchen doorway, frozen, as Mark’s thick fingers slid under the shorts and pushed into Nico’s needy hole without foreplay. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the apartment.

“Bedroom. Now,” Mark ordered.

Nico nodded frantically. “Yes, Daddy. Use me. Ruin my hole.”

They didn’t even close the door.

Kevin stood in the hallway, heart shattering at the sounds he could overhear. The wet slap of skin against skin. Nico’s high, desperate moans. Mark’s deep, filthy growls.

“Take it, boy. That’s it. Swallow Daddy’s cock. Fuck, your throat’s so tight. Gonna bust so hard you’ll taste me for days.”

Kevin’s hand moved without permission. He felt himself palming his own pathetic erection through his jeans, shame burning through him like fire. Tears streamed down his cheeks even as he unzipped the fly and fished out his small cock, even as he started stroking in time with the rhythmic thump of the headboard against the wall.

Inside the bedroom, Mark was relentless. “You’re mine now, Nico. My cumdump. I’m gonna fuck you every night while that worthless roommate of mine jerks his tiny dick in the next room.”

Nico giggled, voice breaking on a moan. “He’s so pathetic, Daddy. Can we… can we make him watch sometime?”

Mark laughed, deep and satisfied. “Maybe. If he’s good. But today is Valentine’s, boy, so we're the only two people in the world right now.”

Kevin came hard, shamefully, biting his lip to stay quiet and choke down the moan. His load splattered against the hallway floor as the sounds of Mark fucking his new boy toy echoed through the apartment. The man who had once whispered “I love you” to Kevin before bed each night now snarled filthy commands and slapped Nico’s fat, jiggling ass until it was red.

When it was all over, the apartment fell quiet except for Nico’s soft, satisfied whimpers and Mark’s low, possessive grunts.

Kevin slid down the wall, spent and broken, staring at the still ajar bedroom door. He could smell the musk wafting out. Valentine’s Day was over. His relationship was over, too. The man he loved was gone, replaced by a big, hairy, dominant daddy who didn’t even recognize his former boyfriend as anyone other than a dude who split the rent payment with him.

And in the morning, Kevin would start packing. He had a couple days to come up with a plan, but it was a given that Mark and Nico were not going to be shy about their love during that time. He’d be listening to the daddy and his boy fucking like rabbits through the wall at least until Sunday.

He cock began to rise again just thinking about it.

Here is the third story out the five part Love Languages series I've been writing. Check out Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service, the first two in the series. Hope you enjoy!

"Quality time."

"That's your love language?" The text read, "That's ironic."

Logan frowned at the nearly instant reply from his boyfriend, Sam. He could just feel the tension behind those typed words. With a sigh, he put his phone back into his pocket and walked into the office. Work. So much work. Time spent in the office working, time spent at home working- it seemed never ending.

"It's for our future." Logan thought bitterly- a future that seemed like it might not come true. The time spent working was certainly a constant topic of their arguments and was creating more tension, "He just doesn't get it." He frowned, "Wedding rings are expensive."

"Logan! How're you doing?" Kathy approached him with a grin, "Big day today!"

"Yeah..." Logan replied, barely paying attention.

"Are you excited?"

"Big day... Big day?" He turned towards her, "What's going on? Is there some kind of announcement?"

She smiled, "You've always been such a jokester." She laughed and walked off, leaving Logan confused.

"Weird." He whispered, grimacing at a sudden achy feeling in his knees, "Damn, that hurts." He grunted, "Leg day finally catching up with me."

And as he moved slowly to his desk, something caught his attention. The table in the break room was decorated and he spotted some donuts from his favorite shop.

"Wonder what the occasion is?" He walked over, suddenly distracted by a grumbling in his stomach, "One won't hurt." He whispered, grabbing a donut. He scarfed it down in what must've been record time for him, "Usually one's enough." He muttered, "But I'm real hungry." He grabbed a second. And a third.

"Logan!" He turned to see Steve, "We're not done setting up."

Logan blushed, "I... Uh sorry about that. I can run and get..."

"No, don't worry about." Steve smiled, "I guess it doesn't matter. They're for... Ah shit let me take this call."

Logan frowned, "What's going on?" He patted his gurgling stomach and froze, "Since when...?" His stomach was pushing out, straining slightly against his shirt, "Fuck, shouldn't have eaten so much." He winced at the discomfort in his stomach and his knees as he finally made it to his desk.

The workday seemed to be progressing normally. Logan sent a few emails and worked on a few projects he had been assigned. But the day was tiring- more tiring than it should've been. His fingers moved slower on the keyboard. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as his lower back started to ache similarly to his knees. He found himself taking a few breaks and rubbing his eyes, finding the screen was bothering him more than usual.

"Hi Logan," Logan looked up to see a younger guy, probably slightly younger than him. Blond hair, clean-shaven, well dressed, "Mr. Carpenter wanted to talk to you about the Advent Project."

"Oh? Was there a reason?" Logan had been working on this one for a bit now. Big client, possibly lots of money to be made in commission if the deal went through.

"Since I'm taking over your projects, I thought I'd..."

"Taking over?" Logan coughed a few times to clear his voice. It sounded rougher, like he was coming down with a cold, "What're you talking about?"

The young man raised an eyebrow, "Umm, I'm taking over your projects, so I figured I should talk to you more about the most important one?"

Logan stared at the young man, confused. Was he being fired? Was his work not good enough? As the frustration built, he ran a hand across the top of his head and froze. His hair. What happened to his hair? Why did it feel so short? Why could he feel skin?

"What the..." Logan stumbled up out of his chair, nearly tumbling over at the change in his center of gravity, "Oh god, oh god..." His gut stuck much further out now, straining tightly against his shirt, "I... I need a bathroom..."

The other man looked on as Logan stumbled past him and towards the bathroom. When Logan finally did shut and lock the door behind him, he was nearly hyperventilating. Slowly and with a sense of growing terror, he looked in the mirror and gasped at what he saw.

"No..." He reached a hand towards the mirror as a much older reflection mimicked his movements, "No... that can't be me." He whispered, "I need to..." His phone buzzed and he looked down at a text from his boyfriend. His eyes widened as he read it.

"Can't wait to see you later." It read, "Are they doing anything big for your retirement party?"

"Retirement?" Logan gasped as another wave of changes rocked his aging body, "Oh fuckkkkk." He groaned.

It started with the itching. Everywhere. His back, his chest, his shoulders, his pits, his face. Coarse, grey hairs made there way to the surface, blanketing his previously clean-shaven skin in a blanket of curly hairs. Logan could only watch as his face sprouted a thick graying beard, while wrinkles formed around his face and under his eyes.

"Nnnnnggggg" His hand caught the mirror as he leaned over, breathing heavily, "Wh..."

He nearly doubled over as his already impressive gut took on more girth, while his lean, hairy pecs sagged with age and fat. Even his arms and legs grew larger as fat and muscle packed on to his once slender, youthful frame. All the while Logan could only stare as his youth drained from him at an impossibly alarming rate. By the time the changes seemed to have settled, he realized he must've been older than his own dad.

"Logan, are you okay in there?" His boss asked from behind the door.

"Ahh I'm... I'm okay..." He huffed, wincing at the ache in his back. Internally, he was screaming, "I think I ought to get home, fast." He said as he emerged.

But as he walked out, he was surrounded by his smiling coworkers. A sign was hung on the wall, reading "Thank You For Forty Years." Donuts were piled high in the nearby break room. There were even a few gifts. Logan looked at these wide eyed. Did his coworkers really not see that something was wrong? That this wasn't him? He swallowed nervously.

"We just finished up decorating!" Kathy said with a grin, "Can you stay for just a little?"

"I... I..."

"Yeah, it isn't everyday you retire." His boss said, "C'mon, let's celebrate. After, you can get home."

Logan gulped, and slowly nodded. His thoughts were racing too fast. He couldn't even think of what to do next.

-----------

"Forty-years and that was it." He mumbled as he lugged his wider, fatter, and older frame back to his apartment, "A donut party?"

Logan knew he should be worried about other things. Should be worried about how he went from a young, 20-something year-old man in the prime of his life to a fat, hairy, and balding 60-something year old in a matter of mere hours. With a sigh he entered his apartment and nearly fainted at what he saw.

"S-Sam?"

"There he is."

Logan felt sick- whatever magic had done this to him had also worked on Sam as well. Sam was naked, sprawled out on the couch. And as Logan looked at him, he realized just how identical they were. Large bellies, hairy bodies, balding heads, aged skin. Both of them had aged and changed rapidly, yet Sam didn't look even the bit bothered by it. Did Sam even realize what happened? Or was he like his coworkers?

"Sam, something's wrong, we're not..."

"Come here, handsome." Sam guided Logan inside, "Congratulations on your retirement."

"Sam, seriously..."

"I finally get my sexy husband all to myself." Sam smiled.

Husband? Logan suddenly felt something wrap around his finger. Eyes widened as a ring materialized seemingly out of nowhere. They were married. That thought should've brought him joy, yet now, he was horrified. As if his entire life had just sped by.

"No... Sam, there's something..."

"We finally have all the time in the world to spend with one another."

Logan's heart sunk. Time. Quality time. Sam was right. He was retired now. He didn't need to work. They could spend so much time together now. All the time in the world. Together. And as that realization hit Logan, he felt dizzy. Memories flashed rapidly. Their wedding day, their honeymoon, their day-to-day lives, growing older, vacationing, celebrating anniversary after anniversary- an entire lifetime flashed before him.

"Are you okay, handsome?"

"Yeah... Yeah I am." Logan slurred as he settled into this reality, "Feelin' my age a bit." He chuckled.

"Well I hope you're not too out of it." Sam smiled, "I have my own retirement gift for you."

Logan grinned. What a life they'd already built together. All the happy memories, all the challenges along the way. And as Sam helped Logan undress, the two pressing up against each other and kissing passionately, Logan was looking forward to all the time they'd get to spend with one another now.

Your father always said you needed to learn how to change a tire but you always laughed at him. Now you werent laughing. Your car is stock, all four tires blown after driving over something sharp in the road. Its mid day but the closest sign of civilization is miles away, you need to start walking now if youre going to find anyone before it gets dark and the creatures come out. Youre not built for this, youre a classic 20something twink, thin, weak, long hair, and no body hair. Youve spent years of your life getting laser to remove any sign of stubble. Youre smart, an academic, and a big beard or hairy ape arms dont go well with the imagine youre trying to potray. You want to look civilized, smart, not like these blue collar long bearded country guys. Theyre only good for one thing, the occasional hookup. After walking for a bit you come across a cabin surrounded by a few small sheds. An older man is sitting on his porch smoking a pipe. Great, hes one of those blue collar guys, big beard, pipe, baseball cap. His beard is mostly white with streaks fo brown still holding on by the cheeks and upper lip. Theres no visible skin on his lower face, no lips, nothing, everything is drowning in thick wire hairs. If the context were different youd think about trying to hook up with him but better not to, some of the guys out here are homophobic.

"Hey kid! You lost?"

Kid? Youre not a kid. "Im 26!" You say.

"26?" The guy laughs. "You don't look it. Where's your face fur?"

The word 'face fur' makes you shiver first with ick and second with something else... something nice? No. "I broke down! Can you help out?"

"Didnt your daddy ever teach you how to change a tire?" He asks. He taps a chair next to him on the porch. "Sit with me while I finish this pipe and Ill get you fixed up." You, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, join him. "Want a pipe?"

"No, Im good thanks."

"So youre a stogie man?"

"No."

"Cigarette?"

"Nothing."

The porch reeks of tobacco from the man's pipe. You sit with him and he asks where youre from, you tell him the city. You try not to gag on the smell but the longer you sit with him the more you get used to it. You're getting hotter too so you take off your jacket leaving you in just your tank top.

"At least you broke down on a nice day." The man says.

"Yeah," you say, "could be worse." Does your voice sound different? Does it have a bit of an accent? Does it sound deeper? More manly?

The man leans in. "Sure you don't want to smoke anything?"

His face is so close to yours, you cant stop looking at his beard. Its so long, you wonder how long it took him to grow it. Your dick begins to harden in your pants. The man notices.

"Getting excited, big boy?"

The words 'big boy' shoot through you like a shot of vodka. It makes you feel great. You get even harder. Then you realize where you are and try to move to hid it.

"No, no," the man says, "show daddy." He smiles and you get harder.

"Can we just," your voice is defiantly different, it catches you off guard, "uhhh."

The man smiles. "Hard to think?"

"No! No! I'm smart!" You say, but you dont sound smart... you sound dumb. You look at the mans pipe, his beard.

The man holds out the pipe. "Take a hit, big boy. You think so hard, you should take a rest." The smoke tastes manly. The man is holding you as you smoke, one hand scratching your chin, one around the throbbing bulge in your jeans. "That's it, big boy."

You just make grunts, stupid pleased sounds like an animal. You dont notice the hair growing your arms, or the way they inflate turning into solid trunks of muscle. You realize how the sound of the mans scratching changes. When he first started scratching your chin it sounded like flesh on flesh but now it's different. You bring your hand up to your chin... is that hair?

"What are you doing to me?" You stand up, your voice deep and accented now. "Stop it!"

The man smiles. "Come on Big Boy, you love your beard." He points at a window where you can see your reflection. Its your pride and joy."

You don't recognize the man looking back at you. His expression is so dumb. His face has lines from working in the sun, his hairline is receding, and a thick bush of a beard spills out covering the lower half of his face. Its thick, dense, with a mustache covering his upper lip. Only his lower lip, your lower lip, is visible. You bring your hand up to touch it, to make sure it's real. It is. This is you. Your face is drowning in beard. You want to scream, to fight it, but with that same dead fish eyed look you watch as your hand rubs your bulge. You want to fight it, your brain wants to fight it, but your body only cares about one thing, sex.

The man, your new daddy, smiles. "Good think I put those jacks out on the road. I didnt think Id catch such a wonderful big boy. Youll be perfect." Your last memory before you fully give in is of your rubbing your bulge, looking at your new self with a dumb expression, and saying "Thank you Daddy."