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Cover for Royal Meeting 2.

It will be posted progressively on Patreon and later on Tumblr when it’s completed :)

I knew we wanted Wesley on the team as soon as I met him. The 18-year-old senior was a straight A student, very popular, involved in a lot of extracurriculars. Student body government, yearbook, choir. What the guys on my team would call a nerd.

I sent some of my players to befriend Wesley at lunch and talk him up on sports, see where his mind is at. Seems like he wasn’t too interested in joining any of the teams, he said he was too busy and didn’t like to get down and dirty on the field. I knew I could easily change Wesley’s mind, though.

I’m the coach. I have powerful methods of turning young men out and making them see the sheer awesomeness of sports. I can turn a scrawny nerd into a big dumb jock overnight. So after my Star quarterback, Walker, reported to me that Wesley wasn’t into sports, I decided to make him my latest project. I started by planting the seeds over the course of a few days. Making sure my boys displayed just how much they love sports when they were around him, telling all my teacher buddies to be sure to talk about college football in front of him in class. I even hung up posters and flyers advertising the team, where I knew Wesley would see them. After the propaganda came the serum. I had Brad and Chad slip a drop or 2 into Wesley’s milk at lunch every day when he wasn’t looking. My jocks like to call the mix “muscle milk”. Over time it breaks down independent thought and makes the subject more compliant while also having steroid-like effects on the body. The secretive dosing, along with the effects that the pheromones in my players’ sweat give off, began to effect Wesley. He started spending time with them at school and even after school. It only took 3 days before Wesley started showing up to school in more and more athletic clothes. Nike, Adidas, UnderArmour. Running shoes, shiny shorts, synthetic shirts and spandex tights.

I saw him wandering in the halls after school one day, a goofy far-off grin one his face and a slightly different, more confident swagger in his walk. I knew I almost had him.

“Hey, Wesley, come here a minute,” I stopped him.

“Hey, Coach Palmer, sup?”

Already his vocabulary was changing, and he was referring to me as his coach without even realizing it.

“You seem pretty strong and fit, it’s a wonder you’re not on any of my teams?” I chimed, crossing my arms authoritatively. That made him think for a second. His thinking was stating to slow.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” he scratched his head. “I guess I’ve just been busy with the clubs I’m in, and getting good grades.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about grades when you’re a student athlete, Wesley”

“Really?”

“No, of course not. All that shit is a breeze when you’re a jock. Haven’t you noticed your bros are all doing just fine in school and they still focus in sports?” I could tell I was influencing his decision-making now. My wording was really reaching him.

“I guess I never really thought of it that way, Coach…” he pondered. “What sport do you think I’d be good at?”

I smiled, knowing I’d eventually want him for all of the sports that I coach.

“Why don’t you come back into the locker rooms and we’ll have a talk about which sport would be best for you, alright champ?” I told him.

And just like that, he was mine. He was ours. Wesley followed me back into the locker rooms, where some of the boys were in the middle of changing into their gear for football practice. They turned their attention to me, their coach, their master, as soon as I entered.

“Alright boys,” I announced, “for those few of you that don’t know, this is Wesley.”

“Sup bro,” Brad greeted his buddy, giving him a sly wink as he finished pulling up his football pants over his compression tights.

“Wesley’s gonna be joining the team. Make him feel welcome.” I gave Wesley a hard pat on the back.

“Hold up, coach, I’ve never played football.” Wesley said, finally coming to the realization.

“Yeah, but you know how to play,” Chad reminded him, approaching us half dressed in his uniform. “You’ve watched the game with me and my dad.”

I look at Wesley and I can see the gears slowly turning in that newly forming jockboy brain of his. He’s remembering how the sport is played. How aggressive the men get. How good they look in their uniforms. Their tight, shiny lycra pants with tights underneath. Shimmery jerseys stretched over hard and bulky shoulder pads. Hard metallic helmets covering their heads to protect their fragile skulls and the mushy football brains inside. He knows now that men who play sports are hard.

So hard.

His dick is starting to tent in the silver shorts

I’m getting a little impatient with Wesley. Usually they turn at this point. I’m a man who finishes what I start, and I’m not gonna let Wesley keep being an un-athletic geek boy. It’s time.

Walker and Chad grab Wesley while he’s spaced out thinking about sports. He starts to snap out of it, but something keeps him dull and docile. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but I do. It’s the musk my jocks radiate. Weeks at a time in their gear, working hard, hard while working, focusing on absolutely nothing but sports and aggression and having big hard cocks… the musk is what gets him. It’s soaked into the very fabric of their football pants and UnderArmour shirts. It invaded his auric field whenever they’re near him. The pheromones change him. Make him feel like a dumb jock boy. But he’s not quite there yet. Almost.

Walker and Chad are aggressive, as they’re programmed to be, and eager to get Wesley into the fold of our brilliant team. They don’t really need to be so rough and rowdy, because deep down, good boy Wesley has already accepted that he’s basically just another jockboy now. But they still have fun roughing him around, pushing him deeper into the locker room into the circle of football players, throwing him to the wolves… or to the bulldogs, if you will. Our boys are proud as ever of the team name printed on their jerseys. As far as they know in their dumbed down, beefed up, jock boy minds, they are my dogs. Aggressive. Playful. Tough. Masculine. Obedient. Loyal.

The sweat of ten men in their musky spandex overwhelms Wesley. Looks like the boy is flying high, the power of the musk acting as a drug for him. They roughhouse him, pass him around, tell him how much he’s gonna love being an athlete from now on. Brad pops the cap of a whole new jug of my specialized muscle milk, and in no time Wesley is being forcefed the drink, surrounded by jocks, his brothers cheering him on to finish the gallon. He almost resists, almost spits out the high-protein, highly drugged formula, but the jocks know how to get their way. Walker gets behind Wesley and holds him in a headlock. Brad makes sure Wesley can’t get move his legs to run out of the circle. Chad holds the jug firmly planted with the opening in Wesley’s mouth, and he keeps swallowing the muscle milk.

CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!

The sound of all his brothers chanting, cheering him on, grants him the courage he needs to gulp down the entire gallon of muscle milk. The changes are instantaneous. His belly bloats out as it fills up, but then the bulk disperses evenly and fills out his tri’s, bi’s, delts, pecs, abs, glutes, quads… before long, he looks like a changed man. He’s already put on 30 pounds of pure shredded muscle by time they finally release him from chugging the formula. But he’s not down yet. The boys still hold Wesley firmly. A goofy grin on his face tells me he loves the intensity of this hazing. A thick white line of milk spills from his mouth and into his Nike shirt. What a doofus. This is my favorite part. The boys do what I’ve trained them to do to their new recruits, stripping him down as he giggles with them, quiet passive mumbles of “bro stop…” “that tickles dude” “bro that’s my balls, haha” they make haste in huddling around to finish up his transition. Slipping new Nike Pro Combat shorts on him. A short-sleeve compression shirt is pulled over his head and onto his torso, and he puts his own newly muscular arms through the sleeves, accepting the shirt as part of his gear, accepting it as part of him now. The whole uniform is a second skin to him. All of the jocks are on the same page with that one. Their pretty much naked without a full suit of football gear on. They give him socks. Cleats. His new Bulldogs Jersey. Lucky Number 13. They even go the extra mile of giving Wesley a compression sleeve on his right arm. The more gear he has on, the more loyal to my jockboy army he becomes. That’s just how the chemistry of the muscle milk and the man musk affects him now. The jocks loosen up their circle around him, pat him on the pads, welcome their new bro to the team. He walks to me through a parted sea of football players and accepts me as his superior. I’m his coach. I’m his master. I’m his owner. I hand him the last piece of equipment he needs to be a football boy: the helmet. In conjunction with all the other factors that have gone into this little ritual of converting Wesley, the helmet will surely seal the deal. As soon as he has it all the way on, his numb skull strapped in place, electromagnetic waves will penetrate what’s left of his brain, smoothing out some of the creases and folds in his greymatter and reshaping his very being. He will be 100% grade A beefy jock, dumbed way the fuck down, worshipping me as his coach, taking pleasure in the feeling of playing for me, in wearing the gear, in being surrounded by his bro’s who think just like him. Bro’s who don’t think much at all when it comes to chess or theatre or debates or math. None of that shit, Wesley. From here on out, it’s sports, coach, and using that perpetually hard and sweaty jockboy cock of his to have fun on and off of the field. Receiving this helmet is an honor. The boys look on, proud of Wesley, as he accepts his new head.

I look at my proud new creation and I can see in his eyes that the old Wesley is gone. New Wesley is gonna dedícate his life to playing sports for me and his fellow jocks. Nothing else. His parents will totally sign off on it, too. I’m good friends with his dad, and the guy has always wanted his son to play ball. Now he’s got the perfect jockboy son, owned and enslaved by the best coach around.

I clap my hands, triggering all the players to jump to attention and listen up.

“Alrighty boys,” I announce, using my authoritative coach voice, echoing through the locker room. “Finish up getting into your gear and let’s get to practice. Big game next week. Let’s whip Wesley here into shape!”

The boys are beyond thrilled. They have a special chant for this occasion, whooping and hooting as they break to get ready. They make sure to make Wesley feel at home, patting his back, slapping his ass, ruffling his hair. He poses for a pic with Walker, his new best friend, who also has some of the strongest musk in the team. The lettering on the walls of the locker room, spelling out words like “LOYAL” and “TENACITY” act as subliminal messaging to help enforce the mind control I have over all my jocks. It’s one of my favorite brainwashing tactics because it’s just so easy. Turning Wesley into a jock was pretty easy. He loves the new him.

After the pic, I finally instruct Wesley to put the helmet on, and in a snap, he’s ready to play.

I think the effects of my programming and my transformation ritual were more powerful than ever this time, actually. I’m not entirely sure what made this time different. Maybe secretly Wesley always wanted to be a dumbass, buff-ass jock, horny for the next big win. Maybe he was just always too embarrassed to try out for the team. Maybe I made the muscle milk extra strong this time. Maybe the collective musk of the guys is getting stronger the more I make them sweat in their gear. A number of factors could effect the multi-step process, so hell if I know. All I know is that Wesley lives for sports now.

Fast forward a couple months and it turns out he’s got a flair for more than just football!

My boy Robby has gotten him into the good ol sport of Baseball also! The kid can run! He loves the rush of being on the diamond just as much as the football field. Cupped by his jockstrap, under some spandex sliders, dressed in pinstripes and a nice baseball cap. There’s not a sport that I coach that Wesley doesn’t love.

He’s always smiling when he’s in full-blown jockmode. Dumb as fuck with not a care in the world. His thoughts are all one-worded. Sports. Gear. Muscles. Bros. Coach. Cock.

He fits right in with the teams. Football AND Baseball. The best of my boys are cross-trained for multiple sports. They make time for it. Sports are more important than anything else in school. They all know that. Wesley seems to get it more than the others, though. There’s something unique about him, even with this programming he’s undergone to make him exactly like his teammates.

He loves the masculine camaraderie. Him and the boys are always goofing off, grabbing each other’s asses, tickling each other’s balls in the showers. Always dumb and horny and ready to go.

The Origins of Heir

I was so excited to spend a week alone in the city.

For my recent eighteenth birthday, my parents agreed to give me a week and let me explore the nearby city and check out the university I had been longing to attend every since I was little. My favorite cousin, who was a few years older, volunteered to give me a tour on the first day I was there, and the rest of the time was mine to spend on my own. I was so excited, I almost jumped out of my seat when I drove out of my driveway Sunday night.

My cousin and I were best friends from almost as early as I could remember. The two of us were inseparable, and decided when we were older to be partnering doctors. After a few years passed, my cousin flew right out of high school into my dream college. Now a few years later, I was on the same path. Both of us had 4.0’s going into senior year, and I know I could last a little longer.

I was so excited to spend a day with my cousin, but also a week alone. My parents had promised that they would leave me alone and that there wouldn’t be any check-ins or “unplanned” surprises. I was always set on a straight path towards becoming a doctor, so I was usually by myself, nose-deep in my studies. I never really had time to make friends or find a girlfriend. I was also fairly average physically, so no one really put in the effort to talk to me unless they wanted to get an A on some group project. Sure, I was lonely every now and then, but it could have been worse. I always was better on my own or with my cousin.

Monday was amazing. My cousin showed me every stadium, classroom, study area… anything the university had to offer. We ate out, chatted about school, and she introduced me to her friends. When the day was over, I was exhausted. I jumped on my hotel bed and immediately fell asleep.

The next morning, I explored the city’s restaurants, stores, and parks. Lucky for me, there were plenty of great sales and deals only available on that day. Who knew Tuesdays could be special? As I strolled along a path near the downtown area, I realized I had missed something on my tour yesterday at the university. I hadn’t seen any dorms while I was there! I quickly grabbed my phone from my pocket, but realized I shouldn’t text her. It was barely past noon, so I didn’t want to interrupt one of her classes. I thought about what I could do for a moment, and decided I could just find a dorm myself. I ran to a bus stop and jumped on the first ride to the university.

I hopped of the bus and walked to the first dorm I saw: Richardson Hall. Richardson Hall was one of the older buildings on campus, but it was only evident through the slightly faded look on its brown bricks. It was surrounded by oak trees and plenty of students studying and working together on assignments. The building was the only one on campus that hosted students of all ages, but for only males. As I walked closer, I noticed how truly massive it was. It only had five floors, but it looked more like ten as I got closer. I got near the doors and pulled out and fiddled around on my phone, casually waiting for a group of students. I didn’t have a keycard to enter the building, so my great plan was to blend into a group when they entered. I looked at my home screen for a while, which adorned a picture of me and my cousin at a mall. After a few minutes, a group of male students came strolling down the path. As they came up the steps, I quickly added myself in between them and was let inside.

Richardson Hall wasn’t anything special on the inside. Besides it strangely ornate main stairwell, it looked like a normal dorm. I walked around for a bit on the different floors, looking into different people dorms as I strolled by. One of the perks of looking ordinary is that you can drift by without anyone taking too much notice. After about an hour of just hanging around the dorm, I decided it was time to head back to the hotel. As I walked back to the stairwell, I noticed something peculiar. There was a small sign with the words, “LAUNDRY ROOM” in huge letters, and with it a small arrow pointing up. For some reason, I found this amusing. I was on the fourth floor, so that meant that the room was on the top floor. I’d never hear of a laundry room not in the basement, so for some reason I felt like I ​had ​to see this.

Once I got to the top of the stairs, I followed the signs that led me down an old hallway. At the end there was an old brown door that was just barely open. I opened it and was surprised to see a second door. This door was white, with a glass looking into the room. I would’ve just looked through the window and left, but it was made with the kind of glass that was more of a faded white than clear. I slowly pushed the door open and entered.

The laundry room was really nothing special. The room wasn’t too big, and it seemed even smaller due to the amount of washing machines and dryers. There was a skylight above me, flooding sunlight into the room and providing a little natural heat. After I saw the cheap flooring and the soft-colored walls, I decided the room wasn’t as fun as I thought it might be. The only strange thing about it was the smell, or, lack of. I was expecting to be blasted with some sort of detergent-soapy aroma, but instead it was quite stale.

As I inspected the room, I noticed there were two others in the room. They were whispering to each other, but I don’t think they had noticed my presence. The first thing I noticed about them was that they were ​built.​ Both of them were stacked with muscle, and they didn’t try to hide it much either. Their clothes were a little more revealing than I was comfortable with. One was carrying a sports-related bag, while the other was putting laundry in the dryer. They were probably some cocky football jocks or some stereotype to that.

The one said something to the other one with the bag, nodding and smirking, and then patting him on the back. The one with the bag began walking towards me, seeing me for the first time. He wore a tight, light and dark gray striped tee shirt and a pair of too-skinny skinny jeans. His short, dirty-blond hair brought out is kind smile as he walked closer to me, his large fleet clomping.

“See ya, Mark!” he said, his cologne wafting past me as he stomped by. By the way he walked, he was definitely confident with himself. His stride was so powerful that I felt a small breeze ruffle my shorts when he walked past. “Mall in two hours, bro!”

“Sounds good, Easton!” Mark said, still at the laundry machine. I heard Easton walk out and shut the first door behind him quietly.

“Hey, bro,” Mark said, walking forward to me, “I’m Mark.” He extended a meaty paw towards me. “Oh, hi,” I said, looking over him and extending a hand, “I’m John.” I winced a little as we shook hands. I had underestimated how strong he was. His whole body was covered in a tan that showed hours spent in the sun. I started at his chest, because sadly that was eye-level. Mark was wearing a university tee that was at least a size too small. His biceps and pecs were nearly bursting, but his jean shorts were somehow even tighter. The jean shorts barely covered half of his muscled, hairy thighs, and it was obvious by his pronounced bulge that he wasn’t packing light. After drifting my eyes past his hairy calves, I saw his huge feet, which were covered by a pair of old athletic socks and some very worn-down Nike’s. Their bright red color hadn’t survived very long, and it was now faded under a soft layer of dirt. I craned my neck past another pronounced bulge, now in his neck, and looked more closely at his face for the first time. He had a very masculine and sharp jaw, and his hair was messily styled in a way that worked with the whole “football jock” look. The last thing I noticed was his beard, which I was immediately jealous of. A beard like that was hard to grow, and it probably showed more pride than his own pride, if you get what I’m going for.

The whole time I was looking him over, he was inspecting me to.

“You’re not a student, are ya, bro?”

“No, I’m just touring,” I said, a little neglected.

“Well, this is great school! We have some of the best sports around the nation… and best professors,” he quickly added, remembering who he was talking too.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I replied, already knowing both.

“Well, I gotta head out, but it was nice meeting ya, bro!” Mark smiled and patted my shoulder as he walked past me. I heard him walk over to the door and grab the handle. Mark fiddled with it for a second and groaned. He grabbed it again, a little more vigorously and a little less patiently, and tried to open it, but to no use. I turned to see Mark looking at me; he was angry over something.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, sighing, “my bro, Easton, he accidentally locked the door.”

I stood there, puzzled, “How?”

“The first door is always supposed to be left open because it locks on its own. That doofus closed it.” Mark took a deep breath, but he was obviously pissed. “Ya got your phone on you?” “Yeah one…” I began, but as I reached down into my pocket, my hand felt nothing. I tried again, but it was still empty. I reached into another pocket, and still came out with nothing. After about a minute of searching, Mark stopped me.

“So ya don’t got your phone, and mine’s charging in my room. Great.” Mark walked past and sat down, resting his back on a washing machine. I walked around to where he was sitting, placing myself opposite of him.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked, sounding ignorant.

“Not really,” Mark replied, “Janitors only come up here on Saturdays, but Easton will probably know I’m missing so hopefully we won’t have to stay too long.” We sat there in silence for a little bit, but then started to talk to keep each other company. I got to learn a ton about Mark. He had always been into sports, especially football, but once he got to college he put his major before sports. According to him, he was luckily​ ​convinced by the school’s head coach, Coach Sorenson to continue football and join the team. At first, Mark was reluctant, but as soon as he joined he knew it was the right choice. Mark also talked about the lack of numbers on the team, and how he had an idea to get them back up. He had pitched the idea to Coach Sorenson, and it was so good that he offered Mark a job after he graduated next year as Assistant Coach. Mark agreed and immediately changed his major from Business to Physical Education.

“Bro, I was so nervous about switching, I mean, I’m one of dumbest people I know.” Mark chuckled at his own joke. It was a slow, emptier laugh.

“At least I’m not as stupid as Easton, though!” Mark added. We both laughed at that real hard. We sat there for a moment, trying to catch our breaths, before Mark spoke again.

“Hey, bro, would ya be alright if I take of some of my clothes?” Mark asked. During the whole conversation, I hadn’t even noticed the heat. The room was boiling. There was no air conditioning, and skylight was still shining light into the room, making it much hotter than comfortable.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, removing my own sweater. I now noticed the sweat stains scattered along my shirt. Mark carefully removed his own shirt, carefully. It was soaked through with sweat and stuck to his chest like another skin. As he pulled it off, I got a full look of his torso. I was a little jealous before, but now I was bursting with envy. His chest was perfectly defined; it was what every man wanted but couldn’t have. It was hairless, unlike the rest of his body, but you could see every ab and muscle. I was definitely straight, but this truly tested my sexaulity.

The whole time I was gawking at his chest, I didn’t notice him toss his shoes and socks next to me. The smell of his feet instantly filled the hot and stale room, making it so steaming that it brought me out of my trance.

“Size 15,” he proudly stated, smirking, ”biggest on the team.”

I looked at his huge feet, and then at his huge shoes. They reeked so much that it was making me a little dizzy. Then, I noticed another scent begin to fill the room, and for some reason it was familiar. I tried to find the source, and Mark took notice of me immediately.

“Oh, that?” he asked, his smirk grew a little wider as his tone became a little more menacing, “that’s the smell of my cologne: Heir.”

Mark took a little bottle out of his pocket with the word “HEIR” written in big, messy letters. He then put the bottle away and casually lifted both of his arms placed them behind his head. He fully exposed his armpits to me, which were filled jungles of wiry hairs. All the hairs that should’ve been on his chest were obviously there. I then realized why the scent was familiar; I had smelt it on Easton as he left.

“Remember the idea I had talked about earlier, bro?” Mark smiled as he scooted towards me. The scent of his shoes and cologne were making it hard to concentrate.

“When I was taking my Business major, right before I switched to Physical Education, I took a class on funding. An assignment was to fund a new and upcoming company. I stumbled upon a tiny company that made personalized scents located a few miles from here. I brought an idea to Coach about making some colognes, and he approved of it. See, together we made a cologne for all the football jocks to wear, that way we could recruit new players.”

I tried to understand what he was saying, but the two scents were blinding my other senses from working properly. Mark scooted again so he could sit next to me. He slowly took my head and placed it on his crotch with my facing up. He then brought one of his armpits down to my face and uttered a simple command.

“Sniff.”

In my state of confusion, I immediately complied. I began to sniff, at first tentatively, but after a while more confidently. After sniffing his armpit for a little bit, I began to moan as the effects of the cologne set in.

It started with my height. My legs and torso began to stretch to each new breath I took. I felt new muscles tense and release as I got to a height a little over 6’2”, which was a little under Mark’s 6’4”. The next thing I felt was my chest begin to expand. Each new breath made my torso rise a little more. Hard pectorals began to slowly develop, pushing their way into the open. A cobblestone path began to appear as my non-existent abs began to form from thin air. Next were my legs. I groaned a little as my quads began to tense into solid muscle, perfect for the running I’d be doing every day. As soon as my thighs were done pumping up, my calves followed. My calves became meatier, with solid muscle adding itself on top of more muscle. I felt my butt plump up a little too, becoming bubblier.

My arms followed quickly after. Years and years of training kicked into my arms to make them better for throwing and tackling. My biceps and triceps inflated like little balloons, and my hand beefed up to make it easier to catch the ball and high-five my bros. As soon as my hands were done swelling, my feet kicked into gear. My feet, which were already pushed away due to my new legs, began to expand. I could feel my toes slowly move farther and farther towards the ceiling from the floor, until they themselves plumped up. New veins appeared over my feet, giving them a truly masculine look.

“Size 14,” Mark said, admiring my feet as I continued smelling his armpit, “good for you.”

For some reason, it felt good to know that Mark was happy with me. I kept sniffing and felt my neck expand. My moans began to grow deeper and emptier; my voice sounding dumber with each new breath. By the time my neck was finished transforming, my voice sounded almost identical to Mark’s and Easton’s; a now truly sounded like a football jock. My neck was followed up by my head. I quickly dug my head deeper into the dense forest that was Mark’s armpit, trying to help progress the change. My head began to stretch longer. I felt my cheekbones move up and my chin push down, causing my cheeks to suck themselves in. My hair began to turn blond, cutting the sides and growing out on top. As soon as it stopped growing, it coiffed itself up. My nose shrank a little and my lips grew a little wider, and my eyes tooks on an vacant shade of blue.

“Here comes the best part, bro,” Mark said anxiously, pushing me even deeper into his armpit, “this is where the name comes from.”

I sniffed passionately, wanting whatever Mark was so eager about. Suddenly, I began to feel rather itchy across my entire body. I tried to squirm, but I realized that smelling Mark’s armpit was more important. As I gave my full attention to sniffing, I realized I had hair growing all over my body. Blond hairs were heavily covering my legs, arms, butt… there was hair everywhere. There was hair on the tops of my feet, a new bush in my pouch, and my armpits looked like a blond version of Mark’s. The only place where there was an absence of hair was my chest. Once the hair stopped growing, I began to produce my own, pungent body odor. It was then I realized what Mark meant. The cologne was named Heir, but everytime he had pronounced it as “Hair.”

Mark then lifted me out of his armpit and turned me around to face him. I was still a little dazed, but I was coming back to my own consciousness.

“The cologne isn’t the only thing the company makes.” Mark reached past me and grabbed one of his shoes, he pulled out a faded, slightly wet shoe sole. “They also make scented shoe soles.” I was still confused, the smells hadn’t worn off.

He explained further, “The cologne does the physical work, but we have to make sure ya also become a team player mentally. These were a little harder to afford, and they come with some side effects, but bro, it’ll make ya into what you’re supposed to be.”

“Wha… side effects?” I was finally coming back, my head starting working as thoughts came back. I began to realize the danger I had been in all along.

“Oh, nothing,” Mark grinned, bringing the huge boat to my face, “let’s just say that you’ll truly be a bro. You’re gonna be as bright as Easton and have the libido of frat president.”

Mark shoved my head into his shoe, and right as I came out of my state of confusion, I was shoved back in. I began to sniff again, feeling my mind replace itself. Memories of my family and high school began to disappear. My loneliness was replaced with tons of friends, girlfriends, and secret relationships with other bros. My new family was more athletic, with my parents both being high school coaches. Memories of being alone with my cousin were now replaced with drunken homecoming bashes and late night bangs. As I sniffed Mark’s shoe, I realized this was all true. I had ​always dedicated myself to sports, and if I had always dedicated myself to sports, that means I would’ve had no time for an education. All my intellectual thoughts and ideas began to flow down through my system, all the way down into my pouch. My balls began to expand, churning my own intellect into pure, jock testosterone. They got bigger and bigger, slowly reaching the size of two tennis balls. My 4.0’s slowly became B’s, which dragged into C’s, and in turn dragged into barely even graduating. I remembered the only reason I had gotten into college was a football scholarship.

Memories of college began to flow in as well. For some reason, I’d thought I was touring as a future student, but I remembered that I was already a student here. I was in my third year of my Exercise Science major to become a physical trainer. I remembered the countless parties that had been hosted at my frat, the multiple professors I’ve had “extra-credit seminars” with, and when my main bros Mark and Easton helped me discover I wasn’t actually straight. After that, we shared so many brojobs and “study-halls” together. I remembered the countless games my football team had won, and how good I felt whenever I could please my coach, Coach Sorenson, or my broski Mark. Sure, I was very close to dropping out of college, but I remembered that as long as I did what Coach Sorenson told me, I would graduate.

Mark began whispering commands to me, edging me on to a spectacular release. He told me how it had always been this way, how I always had this perfect life, how all I needed to do was smell the shoe and release. I kept getting closer, feeling my average member get longer and longer until it reached a permanent eight inches, just barely shorter than Mark’s. Mark kept whispering into my ear and told me to take a deep breath and hold it. I followed his instructions, taking one more huge breath and sealing my IQ at an eternal 89. Then he whispered one last time in my ear.

“Just do it.”

I did exactly that. Streams of white erupted and spread all over my chest, Mark’s chest, and the pile of ripped clothes around me. My old memories were now gone forever. I was still John, but now as a hot, popular jock who would do anything for his Coach and bros. Now, thanks to Mark, I’ve learned who I truly am. I’m about as bright as best bro Easton and have the libido of frat president, and that’s what I’ve always wanted.

As soon as I snapped back to reality, Mark explained to me that we were just doing laundry and got bored, so he decided to give me a good ‘ole brojob. When I noticed I was naked, I asked where my clothes were.

“In the laundry, bro,” Mark guffawed, “we were doing laundry, remember? Why else would we be in here?”

I gave a dumb, hearty laugh back. He opened a dryer and tossed me a pair of gray sweatpants. I brought them to my nose and took a sniff. Mark, Easton, and I never actually use washing machines, we just throw our dirty clothes into the dryer to amplify the smell of our dirty clothes. If people complained, we’d just apply the football team’s awesome cologne: Heir. I pulled up the sweatpants while Mark put back on his socks and shoes. He pulled his shirt over his head, which now stunk of sweat and cum. We began to walk towards the doors, and suddenly, we both heard a click as the first door swung open. There stood Easton, smiling a dumb grin as he came in.

“Hey broskis!” Easton said, coming in to join us, “You meatheads left your phones in the frat house.”

Easton searched through his bag, handing Mark back his phone before grabbing mine. After getting my phone, I leaned up against a counter and checked looked at my home screen, which was a picture of Easton, Mark, and I at the beach in our speedos.

As I searched my phone, I overheard Mark and Easton talking.

“Has he passed the final test?” Easton whispered.

“Not yet, but I think he’ll pass,” Mark replied back confidently before strolling over to me.

“Hey, John,” Mark said, coming close to me. I could smell him. “Are you missing anything?”

“Uh,” I paused, my empty voice rumbling, “my jock?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I was going for, bro. Commando doesn’t count.” Mark came over and grabbed my accentuated pouch. I loved when he did that. Then I figured out the answer.

“I’m missing nothing when I’m with my bros!”

“Bingo!” Mark said, nodding to Easton.

“Hey bro!” Easton said, coming in to join us, “Where’s your shirt?”

“He was too dumb to notice he was missing it!” Mark laughed, and Easton and I quickly joined in. How could I have been so dumb to forget a shirt?

Easton pulled out a blue sleeveless shirt with the Nike symbol out of his sports bag. I smelled it, and realized it was used. Just how I liked it. He also handed me a pair secondhand of black and gray Nike trainers. I investigated the shoes, looking right at the special soles before I put the shoes on. They looked huge, but fit my feet perfectly.

“I can be so dumb sometimes, bro.” I laughed at myself as I put on my clothes. “Such a meathead.”

“That mean’s your keeping what’s important in mind,” Mark added before also reaching into Easton’s bag. He pulled out a small bottle with a label. I raised my arms, showing off my pits, and Mark sprayed a hefty amount of cologne into the dense hairs. He put the Heir bottle back into Easton’s bag.

“What have you done to me?” I blurted, or slurred, or something.  I felt messed up.  I was at my friend Tyler’s apartment, but this wasn’t right.  I had about 30 or 35 more pounds of muscle on me than I did previously.  I still looked like myself in a way, but now I was huge, sporting this whole beefy jock look.  I mean I was just packed with muscle.  Crazier still, I was now covered with tats.

I remembered now, vaguely, being tied down for Tyler’s experiment.  What the hell had those guys drugged me with?  They must have been running multiple recalibration IV drips at once.  I could still see the small Band-Aid the inner part of my right arm where the needle had gone in.

This was far worse than date rape or slipping a guy roofies.  I mean, I could press charges if I wanted to, and I always already thinking I might.  I was full of so many conflicting emotions.  We were such good friends, but this crossed so many lines.  This was my body, man, and I didn’t sign off on this.  The health effects, the negative consequences, and how I’d have to explain this to my employer and my family were all racing through my head.

Why would he do this to me?  I knew the guy was a perv, and admittedly, I had that in common with him.  We loved to talk about this sort of thing, but he was far more into dabbling around with the actual drugs and the realities of it than I had been.  To me, it was just a lot of hot fantasy and something to beat off to.  I loved looking at before and after pictures on the net and got off to those a lot.

Tyler and I had so much in common that way, but to knock me out like that and actually hook me up to those drugs and beef me up was just way beyond the pale what anybody should ever be able to do or get away with.

I’d been playing with fire, being Tyler’s friend, and I knew it, I suppose, but to actually get burned like this was just not ok with me.  I would have never permitted this.  I was huge.  I didn’t even feel like myself.  I felt muddied up and messed up.  I hoped that would fade soon as I came out of it more.  I still felt bleary with sleep.

Even my voice sounded different.  It was low, rich and confused-sounding, to my ear at least.  I sounded almost dumb in a way.

“Tyler, you can’t do this, man.  I thought we were friends.  It was one thing to discuss it and fantasise about it, but to run me through a cocktail of so many different substances without my permission is batshit crazy.  You have to tell me what you put into me.  It’s my body, and these were all supposed to be my decisions.”

“You said you’d think it’s hot when we were playing around with spirals and inductions that night.  You admitted how hot it would be and how much you really wish you were brave enough to go for it at times.  I’m just giving you what you know you truly wanted, deep down, more than anything.”

“Dude,” I said, and now it wasn’t the casual words of the guy I’d used to be, who also said ‘dude’, but rather this booming, jocked-up ‘dude’ that had all the tone of domineering jock guy, “just because I talked about something doesn’t mean it was ok, and you know that!  You know that, Tyler!  It’s not even legal!”

“Since when do you care so much about the letter of the law?” Tyler said.

“Since right now!” I shot back, sounding like an angry muscle dude, which I supposed I technically was now.  I was so new to this, and it was so strange, trying to get used to it, that I was still surprising myself every time I spoke.

Tyler was smiling, his eyes glittering at me, looking very smug and self-satisfied.  It pissed me off.  He started explaining, “Well, it’s too late to be upset about it, because what’s done is done.  We jocked you up real good, bro, as I’m sure you can tell.  You were under for a long time and we did the tats while you were passed out.  It’s been weeks.  It was so hot watching you slowly get bigger, too.  It looks like your memory’s been restored pretty well.  You’ve somehow broken through the wall of the jock mind you’ve grown that’s probably been blocking you out.  Yeah, we gave you the mind of a jock to go with the body, so I’m surprised you were strong enough to fight it.”

“You gave me psychosomatic drugs too?” I said, trying to control my panic.  “Dude, you gotta get me on an IV blocker.  I can forgive you for the body, maybe, but you can’t mess with my mind!”

“Dude, you always said the mental change was some of the hottest stuff to you when we talked about it and watched videos.  I remember you telling me how much it made you hard.”

“But how will I be able to seriously go through life like this?” I said, scratching my head.  I was glad I was still thinking like myself, but I was worried that those drugs were in me.  I knew how permanent their effects usually were and how hard it could be to ever revert a guy after that.  I wasn’t sure if I was paranoid or what, or if I was still groggy from sleep, but I was feeling almost confused.  “You can’t, Tyler, you just can’t!  Let’s do this but get out the IV drip right now.  You don’t have my permission and there’s still time.”

“I don’t have any blockers here,” Tyler said then, laughing.

“Then we’ll go out and get blockers, and some clarity antidote too!” I argued.

“But I like you like this, dumbass.  Why would I want to block what I gave you when I know there’s a dumb jock guy just itching to come out in your personality.  It’ll match the body.  You look really sexy.  It should be hot to see you get just as sexy upstairs.  Don’t you love how you look?”

“This can’t be me, I look like… I dunno man,“ I said.  "I look stupid like this,” I said, which wasn’t what I’d planned on saying.  I had fantasised about it for sure, but that’s a whole different thing from really going through this, especially with Tyler taking away my control over the situation.

“That’s because you are stupid like that,” Tyler answered me.  “You can’t really fight it, can you?”

That really angered me, that he was just clearly toying with me like this and refusing to listen to me.  I sure as hell could fight it, I knew, and wasn’t about to be part of this experiment without a fight.  "Yeah man, I can fight it,“ I said, “and we’re going to drive out and get some blockers for me to take right now or I’ll seriously beat your ass, Tyler.  Like this, I definitely could.  Come on, let’s get in the car,” I commanded him, not even caring how threatening I sounded now in this voice.  It was literally a matter of life and death, at least as far as my soul was concerned, not that I technically believed in a soul.  I just wasn’t ready for anything this radical, and this huge body was change enough.  I could get used to this hot muscle bod I was now sporting, my mind thought as it raced, but not the personally of a dumbass, too.  This could be just perfect as it is.  We had to get me on an IV and reverse those injections that could mess with my mind.  There were still time.  Why wouldn’t Tyler just listen to me?

“I’m not going in the car.  You’re seriously going to physically threaten me?” he said, as if he was the victim here.

“You bet I will,” I said, putting one big hand of mine on his neck.  I squeezed him a little.  This wasn’t like me, and I was stronger than I realised, but I felt like I had no choice.  He wasn’t going to stall for time with me.

“You like this, dumbass.  You know it’s what you wanted.  You were the one who beat off to it, and I just gave you what you know you want.”

“It’s not what I wanted,” I said then, and it unnerved me how my words sounded slurred to me, almost unconvincing.  I felt lightheaded, almost dizzy, as I needed a drink of water or something.  I hoped it wasn’t the drugs.

I had to clear my head.  I walked over to the big mirror on the wall of the living room, trying to discern if anything was wrong with me.  Was this really me. Yeah, I looked like a dumb jock guy, but I had to admit I looked kind of hot.  Crazy as it was, my dick started to react in my boxer shorts, which was all I was wearing.  I suppose just really getting a good look at myself had done it.  This was just like a fantasy.  I’d had this fantasy a lot of times.

Water.  I needed water.  Then I’d force this little motherfucker into the car with me, even if I had to tackle him to the ground and hurt him first.  Tyler and I had been friends, and this was such a huge betrayal.

i walked into the kitchen, still getting used to the size of my big feet against the carpet, the way my thighs were so thick and seemed to almost roll around each other in my gait now, and the way the pecs on my chest almost seemed to bound and bounce even when I was just walking.  This was crazy.  I was such a meaty guy, and now I knew what it felt like to be one for the same time.  As invigorating as it was, I didn’t expect to be feeling the tits on my chest bouncing as I walked, or the way my arms seemed to just swing stupidly at my sides like a gorilla’s arms, pushed kinda outward from the muscle.

I filled up a glass of water right from the tap, downed it, wiping sweat off my brow.  This was almost psychological trauma in a way, I thought.  I set the water down beside the sink and turned back to face Tyler.  “Let’s go.  Now!”  I ordered.

“You dumb hunk of meat,” Tyler said, “you know you want this.  Just cave in.  The drugs are in you.  Let that caveman mind rise up and the resistance in you wane away.  I know he’s in you.  We gave you the drugs.”

“Fuck that man, I am not going to be your dumb jock or something!” I blurted out, but the sound of my voice even sounded like a Neanderthals’.

“Yes you are a dumb jock, stupid,” he said.  Tyler was saying this to me!  I hated the little prick so much right then!

“I’m not stupid, you dumbass!” I roared at him.

“Is that the Pee-wee Herman defence?  I know you are but what am I!”

“You’re a scrawny little fucker who’s gonna take me to get the antidote!” I roared, walking up to him and grabbing him by the shirt.  “Take me, now.”

“Take you where, dumbass?”

I grabbed his face and squeezed his cheeks with one hand then, making his lips purse in a trout pout.  “You know where.”

“Ok, ok,” he said, and I put one big hand on his neck and started pushing him towards the door, grabbing his keys off the table for him.  “Where’s a shirt?  I need a shirt and some pants?” I said.  Tyler was smaller than me, and now I was getting worried that nothing would fit me.  “Where’s my shirt?” I said.

“I don’t have one here, man.  You can try mine.”

I hustled over to his closet, because there was no time to waste, and everything looked too small.  I tried one of his coats, because it looked larger, thinking maybe at least that would cover me up, but my thick arms wouldn’t even go in the sleeves all the way.  I swear I heard the seams start to snap already when I tried to force it a little, so I just dropped it on the floor.  Whatever, I’d have to go like this.  There were no shoes, though, either.  Shit.  I’d just have to go like this and maybe wait in the car for him.  I’d ask him for his keys when he left to go inside.  I’d make him promise me.  We had to go.

When we were out in the hall, I let him go, since he seemed to be complying now, and as athletic as I was now, I felt pretty confident I could outrun him, grab him and tackle him if he tried to get away.  Plus he had said ‘ok’.

It was all going to be ok, I told myself, especially when we got me juiced up with some of that clarity antidote.  My mind was still intact.  I could feel it.  Internally,I was feeling strange though.  It was almost a meaty feeling, in a way, like I could get into this more.  I wanted to hurt Tyler.  I wanted to look in the mirror again.  I was marvelling at my body, even as frightening as it was.  It felt like I had to almost fight to stay on task, in a way, though I still felt like myself, mostly.  In a way it was like being drugged, and of course, I had been drugged, so that’s exactly what it was.

We were hustling, no-nonsense time, to Tyler’s car down below in the parking lot.  I felt like the Hulk or something, bounding downstairs barefoot in nothing but my boxers.  It was embarrassing, even as there was something twisted and sexy about it all, and there was no denying that.  By the time we were in the car, and Tyler was seemingly compliant and calmly driving us, I was even calming down enough to lean back in my seat, arms behind my head, taking a breather, trying to take in what had all happened to me and what all had to happen next.

As we hit the open road and his car sped up the onramp onto the interstate, I felt my dick bounce up, hard.  Just looking at my own body was turning me on.  It really was a fantasy come to life for me.  I laughed, telling Tyler that I’m fucking hard, so look what he’s done, and he laughed too.  I told him again that I’m pissed but this is kind of cool and I just wanted my mind to stay the same.

By the time we were halfway there, I’d given my cock a few strokes through my boxers.  My cock was just so turned on, and it would not go down, and it didn’t hurt to grip my cock and balls through the fabric a few times.  I wanted to feel the heft of my meat.  I swore my cock felt bigger, and I was tempted to just pull my boxers down and look right then and there, but it felt kind of hotter to just wait and save it for later.

Then I did pull the waistband out, looking down at my pubes and thick meat, and I swear that just from looking, my cock got so excited that it started to leak pre.  I was right in Tyler’s car but he’d fucking done this to me so it’s not like I cared, and it was all crazy, but damn if I wasn’t a sexy-looking guy like this.

I felt like I was really ruminating on that, on how I looked hot like this, just the muscle of my arm reclined up against the door or the thick thighs busting out of my boxers, and wanting to give my cock some attention, too.  I felt like a sexed up dumbass right then, even though I knew I wasn’t a dumbass.  I looked like a musclebound jock for sure, but I sure wasn’t about to cave in to the psychosomatic stuff and start thinking about myself, or thinking just like some sort of musclebound jock or whatever.  Even if it was a kind of hot thought to have, it was a thought I could explore after these drugs in my veins had been defused.  I could swear I was feeling them, even, and that wasn’t good, but I still had full control and there was still plenty of time.

I had to pull my boxers down again, and so I did.  I hefted my dick with my hand, and my dick looked fat and hard as fuck now, a drop of pre glistening at the time.

“Dude, look at this cock,” I said to Tyler.  “If you’re lucky and get me those drugs maybe I’ll even let you suck on it at some point,” I teased, knowing I was also kind of serious.

“Hot, dude.  You like playing the dumbass like that, don’t you?” “Yeah, I guess I do like playing it.  I just don’t want to be it.”

“Part of you wants to be it.”

“Admittedly, that’s true.  But you’re going to get me the antidote and that’ll be the end of it, because I’ve gotta be myself, man.” I said, feeling up one of my thick pecs as I talked.  It felt so much easier to control and command Tyler with this body and this voice.  He thought he was in charge, but he probably didn’t realise how much power this body truly gave me over him.  I had physical power and sexual power over him now, and even my voice and the way I was talking to him had already taken on a whole different dynamic than it would have it I’d had my old voice.

Then Tyler was pulling into the parking lot.  He left the keys with me, per my request, but promised me that I could trust him.  He said he sure didn’t want to get in trouble for drugging me without my consent, so there was a lot at risk for him, too.

With Tyler gone now, and me left impatiently waiting, I flipped down the sun visor.  I wanted to take a look in the mirror.  Man, I really did look like a dumb jock.  I supposed I’d really be able to get into this thing after I had the antidote.  I smiled at my reflection and lifted an arm to flex.  Looked good.

I’d really be able to fuck with Tyler with a body like this, but that would have to wait until after the antidote.  Even if I decided to forgive him, I’d like to make the little punk pay for getting me into this and doing it without my permission.  I could picture myself forcing him to his knees on his bathroom floor, making him suck my cock as I slapped it all over his face.

He was kinda cute, even though he was a weak little guy to me now, and I was sure he majorly got off on doing this to me, so I’d have to give him a taste of his own medicine at some point.

I did look pretty good like this, and it was cool how I felt like a jock now even though I knew I wasn’t one.  Obviously, I wasn’t gonna become one just because I looked like this, and yet I definitely wanted to enjoy all the perks of this body, too.  I flexed again for the little mirror, telling myself I should put it away, and I could see myself in the rearview mirror, too the massive heft of my arms looking surprisingly huge now.

Tyler came out with the bag, finally.  I had already folded the mirror up and was leaning back against the headrest of my chair, arms behind my head, pits bared.  I felt good like this.  I wanted to tease Tyler, show off, and let him know his chances of fucking with me were over.  I was in control now.

It was on the ride back that I realised that I wanted to flex some more, that I wanted to beat off, and that I was feeling really good.

“Dude, you should hurry up.  Drive faster if you can.  I’m feeling really turned on.”

“What, like you want to beat off or something?  It’s ok if you want to.  I don’t mind.”

“Dude, don’t say that,” I said, grabbing my cock through my boxers and enjoying the pleasure of that.  I wasn’t going to just beat off in his car, as hot as the idea was.  We had to get back fast.  I felt like I was losing control of my mind.  In a way it’s kind of like when you get hard for so long and so in the zone of sex that you don’t ever want to come back to reality.  I felt myself slipping and slipping further into those sort of desires.

Even as Tyler parked the car, and I was still hard in my boxer sorts, bounding back up the stairs barefoot like the Hulk, part of me was starting to think that if he didn’t get the blockers and clarity antidote into me in time, it might not be so bad.  I felt good like this.  Really good.  Scary good, in a way.

“Tyler, bro, you gotta get that stuff in me,” I said, clapping an arm on his shoulder as he opened the door.  I sounded halfhearted to myself in a way, too casual.  I wasn’t panicking.  I was enjoying this.  Fuck.  I gave my cock another squeeze through my boxer shorts.

“Yeah, I will,” Tyler said, smiling, and he didn’t seem to be hurrying enough for me.  “Get in the bedroom and I’ll get out the IV bag.”

So I did, sitting on the edge of Tyler’s bed, my bare feet on the carpet now, my silky boxers against the silky bedspread, which felt so good on my thighs.  I squeezed my cock again through my boxers as I waited for him.  He had the stuff so it would be ok.  Just one more squeeze, I thought, one more rub of my cockhead with my fingers through the fabric.

And then I couldn’t take it anymore.  I thought it would be hot to surprise Tyler, in a way, with how out of control and right down to the wire this had gotten.  So i slid down my boxers, kicking them aside, and started stroking my cock then and there on his bed, long, slow strokes.  I leaned my head back.  “Tyler, get in here,” I said.  “Hurry up.”

Tyler was still digging around and then he came in, IV bag in hand.  “Dude, what are you doing?” he said, setting it down on the table.

“Don’t set it down, hook me up,” I said.  “This is hot.  Fuck.  I’m feeling so fucked up, man.  I’m just so horny.”

“Ok, I gotta get the bag still,” he said, heading back out, and then he was laughing.  The little fucker actually laughed!

For some reason, the thought that I actually might end up stuck this way was just turning me on even more.  So I almost moaned out loud, feeling like a dumb bull, stroking my cock some more.  I’d go out and force Tyler to fix me up in few seconds.  Just a few more strokes.

I mean, this was hot, this was really hot, and what a rush to bring it so close to the edge.  But I couldn’t really stay a dumb jock dude like this for good, could I?

That would be just crazy.  Fuck, the thought of it was so hot though.  This had been just like what I’d imagined happening so many times, only it finally was happening, and the thought of not stopping it seemed hot, too.

You’re turning into a real meathead, I thought, and I was just beating off harder and faster now, my cock leaking pre all over.

I forced myself to stop.

I couldn’t be a meathead, or if I ever wanted to return to this, I could later.  For now I needed the blockers so that it doesn’t even up permanent.  I needed the clarity antidote.  I needed that fucker Tyler to do what I told him to do.

Otherwise this would be me from now on.  Dumb and jocked.  Fuck.

And man, even if I didn’t get to Tyler in time, and something still goes wrong, which it probably wouldn’t because I could so easily overpower him now, well, so what, that could be hot as shit.  At least for a while, or whatever.  I dunno, man, I was thinking so many conflicting thoughts at once.  I decided to just ignore my cock and stand up, so I did.  I picked my boxers up and stepped back into them, difficult as that was to do in the moment.  I needed my boxers on so that Tyler would take me seriously.  Plus my cock was dripping pre, which I noticed as pulled up my boxers, a spot spreading on them almost right away because the head of my cock was already so wet.

So what if I am this way, a hot muscle stud, because lots of guys want to be a hot muscle stud.  I was thinking that as I headed into the living room.

Man, what if I really do stay this way, a hot muscle stud forever, I was worrying, but my cock was still hard about it.  Yeah, that could be a real turn-on, I thought.  I was stroking my dick again as I walked into the living room.

What was I doing?  Aww, fuck.  I had to focus on Tyler now.  I could beat off later, I thought.  But I was looking down at my body, and all I could think about was my body and how hot I was feeling right now.  If I was turning stupid, that was hot too.  Fuck.  There’s more important things than being smart.

Fuck.  Look at this body, dude, I thought.  I’m fuckin’ hot!  Isn’t that what matters right now?  Just for a few more minutes.  Then he’d IV bag me up and it’d be all good.  I still had control, I thought.

I had to tell Tyler.

“Tyler, I’m fucking hot, man!” I said to him as I bounded, almost stumbling, into the living room.  I was hard in my boxer shorts and I wanted him to see it.

“Yeah, you are pretty hot.  How are you feeling, dumbass?” “Don’t call me dumbass, dude.  We gotta do this, still.  But I do feel fucking hot!”

“Say it again.”

“I feel fucking hot?”

“Yeah, dumbass.  Look at you, you’re fucking naked.  How’s that not stupid?”

“Because it’s not?” I laughed, admitting in my own mind that it was kind of dumb, sexy as it was.  I was naked and feeling good, that was for sure.  I was a hot dude.

Tyler was laughing too, and he wasn’t even making any move to fix me up.  That kind of concerned me.  It also kind of was funny.  It also kind of turned me on.

“Fuck, I was getting afraid we really would have to give you the antidote.  But now all you mostly feel upstairs right now is that meat mind, don’t you?”

“Fuck, dude, I think you’re right.  What are you saying?  Fuck, I do feel pretty messed up.  It’s a hot kind of messed up, though.”

“Dude, you’re leaking pre right through your boxers,” Tyler said.  “Why don’t you strip them off for me before you get them messed up?”

“You want to see this body naked?” I said, shooting Tyler a cocky grin, letting him know who’s in charge.  “I’m not afraid of getting naked.  Watch this, dude,” I said, yanking down my boxers and stepping out of them, and then throwing them on Tyler’s lap as I laughed.  “There’s a spot of pre for you.”

“Hot, dude.  Look at that thick cock.” “This thick cock?” I said, wrapped my hands around it.  “Man, yeah, I love this thick cock.  I can jack it for you, bud.  Bet you’d love that.”

“Jack it, dumbass.”

“I told you I’m not a dumbass, dude,” I said back, turning my eyes to my cock, wrapping both hands around it and starting to work the shaft.

“Dude, it feels hot to get stupid.  It’s ok.  You like being called a dumbass.  Just admit it.”

“Maybe I do,” I said, winking at him, feeling like he could call me that all he wants as long as I’m the one who’s turning him on.  I felt so hot.  I really kind of wanted to grip him in a headlock and get him slurping on my dick right then and there.

“Yeah, dumbass?  Look at you, you dumb muscle stud.  You’re just another dumb jock guy now.”

“Maybe I am,” I said, stepping closer to Tyler now, pointing my cock straight at him.  “You like guys like that, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah I do,” Tyler said, looking at my cock now as I beat off in front of him.

“Mmm, fuck yeah you do, bud,” I said, stroking my cock firmly with both hands, taking another step closer to him.  “Made me a big hulking dumbass.  How do you like me now, little guy?”

“I fucking love you like this,” Tyler said.

“Yeah bud?  I love me like this, too.  Fuck..  I feel dumb as fuck.”

“Aww, hell yeah,” Tyler said, his own hand down his shorts, playing with his own cock too.

“Dumb as fuck, man.  I can feel it.” “I can tell, dude.  Holy fuck, you’re hot.” “I am pretty hot, aren’t I?  Just think about how hot you’ll be if you do this, too,” I said.  That was an exciting thought to me, the thought of Tyler hulking up to my level and experiencing it for himself.

“Aww man,” Tyler said, “maybe that would be hot.”

“You know it would,” I said casually.  I was getting so close to busting.

“Mmm, yeah,” Tyler said then, really jerking himself fast now.

“I’ve gotta get off, aww fuck,” I blurted then, and then I was already spurting jets of cum all over Tyler’s face, and he was leaning back on the couch and moaning out loud, beating himself off in his shorts.  It took him about half a minute and then he was cumming in his shorts right there, a dark wet stain spreading on them before me.

I laughed.  “Dude, look at your shorts!  Holy shit!”

For some reason it was hilarious to me.

“Tyler, you gotta fucking do this bro, I really want you to do this,” I remember saying later that night, kissing him on the lips, even as scrawny as he was, just because the thought of having the guy who did this awesome shit to me experience it himself would be so hot.

“Tyler, dude, we could be boyfriends or fuckbuddies or musclesex buddies or whatever the fuck we’d be if you just do it yourself, too.  It feels so fucking good.  I just want you to be here like this with me, go through it with me.  You have to man.  You did this to me so you have to.”

“Fuck, ok ok,” Tyler said.  “I mean, seeing you like this, knowing I think it’s hot too… well, it is so hot.  Let me suck your cock, dude, and I’ll make plans to go through the process myself sometime.

“Tomorrow, dude, you have to tomorrow just so you don’t overthink this.”

“Ok, I’ll start on it tomorrow, damn, I mean that’s really fast, though.”

“Promise me, Tyler,” I said, leaning down to his him again.  “Please, promise me.  You have to.”

“Ok, fuck.  Damn.  This is crazy but yeah.  You’re hot.  How can I deny a guy as hot as you?  It’s just crazy, but I did to this to you.  I have fantasied about it a lot myself.  And just seeing you now, seeing how amazing this all is, I think I will.  I really will, as big of a leap as that is.  I promise you.”

Tyler sucked my cock again all that night, and all I could think as I looked down at the scrawny dude sucking my fat dick was that he’d be so much fucking hotter when he actually goes through with this, and that just the thought of him going through with it was so hot that… uh, yeah I mean, you know.

I came hard down his throat, pushing his head down on my cock and calling him a dumbass the whole time, said he’s gonna be just another dumb jock dude, and he chugged my whole milkshake, dude.

I tried to think of what it all meant.  Dumb wasn’t a bad thing.  Wasn’t it a Nirvana song or something even?  A jock, hell, a jock strap was hot and I’d have to start wearing a lot of them. I could already picture myself in them.  And guy, hey, everyone’s a guy, right.  It’s all good.

“You have to, dude.  You have to,” I said again, and we cuddled up in Tyler’s bed, my huge body wrapped around his scrawny one, lightly feeling up his arms and his legs, thinking about how hot he was gonna be when he gets like me.