Mr Cavanaugh's Private Collection

Theo's POV

I never thought my twelfth birthday would end with doctors asking if my twin brother could move into my head, but that’s exactly how it went down.

Carson and I were identical twins—same messy brown hair, same green eyes, same smirk when we were up to no good. But I was the one tearing around the neighborhood on my bike, getting picked first for pickup games, and cracking jokes that had teachers shaking their heads with a grin. Carson was the quiet one. Smarter in that bookish way. He’d rather build massive Lego cities than chase a soccer ball, but we still did everything together. Until we didn’t.

I heard most of it secondhand. Mom pulled me into the hallway outside Carson’s hospital room, eyes red and puffy. Dad stood beside her, arms crossed so tight his knuckles were white, looking more exhausted than I’d ever seen him.

“The doctors say the disease is tearing up his nervous system,” Mom said, voice cracking. “They want to put him in a medically induced coma so his body can rest and try to heal. But Carson… he lost it when they told him. But he doesn't really have a choice.”

I shifted my weight. “So now what?”

Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s this experimental procedure they’re testing. They can transfer his consciousness into another living person—share the body.”

I stared at them. “Share… with who?”

Mom glanced at Dad before answering. “They offered your father or you. Carson picked you, Theo.”

My stomach did a weird flip. “Me?”

Mom squeezed my shoulder. “It’s temporary, sweetheart. A few months at most. He’s been through hell already—the tests, the pain, missing everything. He just wants to feel normal again. Run around, play outside, be a kid. You two can switch who's in control whenever. The doctors swear it’s safe.”

I looked down at my sneakers. Part of me wanted to say no. This was my body. My life. I was the one who had soccer practice, who got invited to sleepovers, who everyone at school knew as the fun twin. But Carson was lying in that room looking small and scared, and the guilt they were laying on me was heavy.

“He really chose me?” I asked.

Dad nodded. “Without hesitation.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay. If it helps him get better… yeah. He can share with me.”

Mom pulled me into a hug so tight it hurt. “Thank you, Theo. You’re a good brother.”

---

They didn’t waste time. The next afternoon, after a bunch of tests and forms that our parents signed, they brought Carson and I to a procedure room. He looked pale and nervous, but when he looked at me he gave a weak smile.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice small.

I tried to sound like my usual confident self. “Dude, it’s gonna be weird, but we’ll figure it out.”

The doctors placed the sensor bands on both our heads, explained the controls one more time—basically a mental “push” to switch who was driving—and started the process.

I felt a strange buzzing behind my eyes, like static in my skull. Then everything went fuzzy for a second.

When it cleared, I was still in my body… but I wasn’t alone.

I could feel him there. Not like a voice exactly, more like another presence in the back of my mind. Quiet. Waiting.

Hey, I thought, testing it. You there?

Carson’s reply came through hesitant but clear. Yeah. This is so strange.

Out loud I said, “Okay, this is officially the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us.”

The doctors asked if we could switch. Carson mentally nudged me over, the way they’d described, and suddenly I was… watching. My own hands moved without me telling them to. Carson sat up straighter, looked around the room with my eyes, and smiled—my smile, but softer, the way only Carson smiled.

“Cool,” he said with my voice. “I can feel everything.”

He flexed my fingers, then reached up and touched my face like he was making sure it was real.

After a minute he receded, and I was in control again.

---

The first couple of months were weird, but not as bad as I thought they’d be.

Carson stayed mostly quiet in the back of my head. He almost never asked to take over. I’d feel him there, watching everything—soccer practice, riding bikes with the neighborhood kids, laughing at lunch with my friends—but he was happy just riding along. Like a normal kid again.

This is awesome, he’d think sometimes when I was kicking a ball around or eating pizza after a game. That was about it. No big conversations, no fighting over control. I’d offer to switch sometimes, but he’d always say he was good. I kept living my life, and he got to tag along without anyone knowing. It actually felt kind of nice having him there. Like old times, but quieter.

Then things started to go sideways when we found out his body wasn't getting better.

At first it was just small updates from the doctors. “Some setbacks.” “Slower progress than we hoped.” Mom would come home from the hospital looking drained, and Dad would sit at the kitchen table staring at nothing. I could feel Carson getting more tense in the back of my mind, but he still didn’t say much.

By month four, the hope was gone. The disease had done too much damage. Carson’s body wasn’t going to wake up the way they wanted. Not ever.

We had the conversation as a family one night after dinner. Mom and Dad looked wrecked. I sat there with my arms crossed, trying to act like the strong one.

“We can’t put him back in there just to die,” Dad said quietly.

Mom nodded, eyes wet. “The doctors say… it could be any day now. Or it could drag on for weeks. But there’s no recovery.”

I felt Carson shift inside my head. Not words, just a heavy kind of sadness.

“So what?” I asked. “He just stays with me forever?”

Dad looked at me. “For now, yeah. Until we figure something else out. You’ve already been doing it for months, Theo. You’re handling it like a champ.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say this wasn’t supposed to be permanent. But every time I thought about shoving Carson back into a dying body, I felt sick. He was my brother. My twin.

“Yeah,” I said finally, keeping my voice steady. “We’ll keep sharing. It’s fine.”

Carson didn’t say anything, but I felt a small wave of gratitude from him.

A week later, Carson’s body died in the coma.

The funeral was on a gray Tuesday. I was wearing the itchy black suit Mom made me put on. My friends from school had come, and a bunch of relatives I barely knew kept patting my shoulder and saying how sorry they were.

Suddenly, I felt Carson surge forward without warning. My body stood there completely still while the casket went down. No tears, no shaking, just staring straight at the grave with my face set hard.

Carson? I thought. Hey, talk to me.

Nothing. He didn’t answer. I tried for the first time to force my way back into control of my body, but he didn't let me. Didn’t even seem to notice I was there. He just kept control. It was almost as if his presence was stronger in my head than mine was.

For the next three days he stayed in charge. He went to school as me, sat through my classes, answered when teachers called on him. He even played soccer at recess, but quieter than I usually did. My friends noticed something was off and asked if I was okay. Carson just shrugged and said, “Yeah, I’m good.”

I tried to take over every night when we were alone. He blocked me every time. No explanation. No conversation. Just silence.

By the fourth day, he finally let me push through while he was brushing my teeth before bed.

I spat out the toothpaste and looked at myself in the mirror. “Carson… you good, man?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his thoughts felt exhausted. Yeah, I'm fine.

I wanted to say more. To ask why he shut me out, why he wouldn’t even talk to me. It felt strange having him lock me out like that in my own body. Uncomfortable. Kind of violating, if I was honest. But I bit it back.

He’d just watched his own body get buried. He’d lost everything except this—except me. If he needed a few days to just… be a normal kid, I could deal with it.

“Alright,” I said out loud, keeping my tone casual. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m here.”

I didn’t push it after that. But deep down, I was already wondering how long we could actually keep doing this.

---

A few years went by and somehow this became our normal.

By the time we hit sixteen, I had it down to a system. School days? Carson took the wheel. He’d sit through classes, grind through homework, ace the tests, and even show up for the volunteer shifts at the animal shelter that looked good on college apps. I’d check out in the back of my own head, thinking about who I was texting later or which party I could sneak into that weekend. It worked. He got straight A’s, I got to stay popular. Win-win.

To deal with the high stress of our unusual arrangement, Carson took up weight lifting. He’d wake up super early, take over control, and spend two hours in the basement with Dad’s old bench press while I was still half-asleep. By junior year our body looked fucking incredible—broad shoulders, arms that filled out t-shirts the right way. Girls noticed. I made sure to enjoy that part.

In fact, he let me have all the fun—spring break road trips down the coast, summer parties at the lake, Friday nights where I’d sneak out after Mom and Dad went to bed. I’d hook up with whoever was into it and Carson would stay quiet in the back, never complaining.

But as much as he did all the hard work for me, I still started to resent having to share my body with him. I never said it out loud, but some nights, lying in bed, I’d feel him there and think about how nice it would be to have my head to myself again. Just for a day. An hour.

It didn't help that Carson also became our parents' unequivocal favorite after all this. To them, Carson was the golden boy. Good grades, polite, always offering to help around the house. Then when I was in control, I was always getting up to trouble in their eyes.

One night I came home past curfew, still smelling like bonfire smoke and some girl’s perfume. Mom was waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed.

“Theo, this is the third time this month. You’re out all hours, not answering your phone—”

“It was just a party,” I said, keeping my voice easy, flashing the same smile that usually worked on everyone else.

Dad walked in, looking disappointed. “We wish you could be more like… well, like your brother.”

Mom sighed. “Carson never pulls this. He’s focused. He actually cares about his future.”

I smirked, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Oh yeah? If you like him so much, here.”

I shoved control forward hard. Carson took over mid-step, blinking as he adjusted.

“Mom, Dad, it’s me,” he said quietly with my voice. “Theo was just out with friends. I’ll make sure we’re both on top of things tomorrow.”

They softened immediately. Dad clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, son. We know this isn’t easy on either of you, but you’re handling it so well.”

I stayed in the back, arms crossed in my mind, letting him soak up the praise while I stewed.

It happened a couple more times that year during bigger blow-ups. They’d start in on me for being lazy or staying out too late, comparing me to Carson, and I’d force the switch right there. He never complained to me about it afterward. He’d just think, You good?

Yeah, I’d reply. I’m good. But fuck I was annoyed that my parents couldn't see how unfair they were being to me after I'd given up everything to help Carson.

---

We got the Oxford letter in the spring of senior year. Astrophysics. I didn’t give a damn about what Carson decided to study as it got us out of the house. I’d been pushing for somewhere big and loud back home — ASU, Clemson, Auburn — parties every weekend, football games, girls everywhere. But Oxford? I had to admit it sounded good coming out of my mouth.

“Yeah, heading to Oxford in the fall,” I’d say at parties or when people asked. Their eyes would light up. The muscular jock who was also smart enough for Oxford. I loved that shit. Loved the way girls started texting me more once the news spread.

So we moved to England. New city, new appartment, new life. At first it felt like freedom.

Then the coursework hit.

Carson insisted on being in control all the time to keep up with it. He would grind through the material late into the night most weekdays and during the day on the weekends. I’d then only get to be in control on weekend nights where I would waste no time hitting the pubs and chatting up girls.

Still, Carson would always be pushing to go back home those nights. Theo, we need to catch up on orbital mechanics before the next tutorial, he’d push. I’d wave it off. Chill, man. We’ve got this.

I'd be lying if I said tension wasn't already building between us, but things came to a head when he met Davie.

It was in a physics study group. This guy — slim, dark curly hair, sharp smile — kept hanging around with us after all our other classmates left, asking questions that he seemed like he already knew the answers to just to make Carson feel smart.

One night night, back in the flat, Carson spoke up in our mind while I was in control scrolling on Instagram.

Theo… I need to tell you something.

What’s up?

I’m gay. I’ve been sure for a while. Didn’t want to say anything before. But… I like Davie. From the study group. I want to ask him out. Just a coffee date or something.

I froze. Oh, ok. I thought back. Dude, that’s fine by me.

Relief washed through him. Thanks.

But asking him out? I pushed. I don't think you should do that. People will think I’m gay. That shit will spread around campus. And that shit will kill my cred with the girls.

Carson went quiet for a second. Then: It’s not fair, Theo. You get to party every weekend. You get to hook up, have fun, live your life in this body. I’ve been carrying the schoolwork, the volunteering, everything hard for years. I deserve to be happy too.

I felt a flash of guilt, quickly buried under irritation. Yeah, well, this is still my body. You're lucky I'm letting you live in it at all.

He didn’t argue after that. But I could feel him thinking.

The next study group was a few days later. I figured we’d review the material, then I’d take over and head to a party I’d heard about. But when the session wrapped up, Carson stayed in control. I tried to push forward. He held firm and kept me out.

Davie was packing up his notes. Carson walked over and cleared his throat.

“Hey, Davie,” he said, voice calm but a little nervous. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee or a drink sometime. Just us. Like… a date.”

Davie’s face lit up with a surprised, genuine smile. “Yeah. I’d really like that. Tonight work?”

Carson smiled back with my face. “Tonight’s perfect.”

I sat in the back of my own head, stunned, watching the whole thing happen. Davie gave us his number, and they set a time. As we walked out of the library, I tried again to take control. Carson wouldn’t let me.

Carson. What the hell?

He didn’t answer. Just a quiet, determined feeling from him as we headed back to the flat to get ready.

Carson stayed in control the whole evening. I was stuck in the passenger seat, watching everything unfold like a bad movie I couldn’t pause.

He met Davie at a small café near campus just after seven. They grabbed drinks and ended up talking for hours. Davie told stories about growing up in Manchester, his terrible attempts at cooking, and how he wanted to work on satellite design after graduation. Carson laughed easily with my voice and opened up about the pressure of Oxford and how much he loved weight lifting to clear his head.

“You’re not at all what I expected when I first saw you in study group,” Davie said at one point, grinning. “You’ve got this whole confident jock thing going on, but you actually care about the material. It’s refreshing.”

Carson smiled. “Yeah, well… there’s more to me than people think.”

They closed the café down. When it was time to leave, Davie hesitated, then asked, “Want to come back to my flat? It’s not far. We could watch a movie or something. No pressure.”

Carson didn’t even glance back at me for permission. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Back at Davie’s small, messy flat, they put on some sci-fi movie I’d never heard of. They started on opposite ends of the couch. By the middle of the film, Davie had shifted closer. He reached over and laced their fingers together. Carson’s heart — my heart — started hammering. I could feel the flush in our cheeks.

Davie’s other hand moved slowly, resting first on my thigh, then sliding up to squeeze the muscle there. “You’re really strong,” he murmured, almost shy. His fingers traced up to my bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is… impressive.”

Carson stayed quiet, but I felt how fast his breathing had gotten. When Davie leaned in and kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, Carson froze for half a second before kissing back.

Our heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might explode.

Davie pulled back a little, smiling. “You okay?”

Carson swallowed. “Yeah. I’ve… never done this before.”

Davie raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. “Wait, really? I just assumed—”

Carson cut him off quickly, voice a little embarrassed. “No, I mean… never done this before with a guy.”

Davie’s expression softened. He brushed a thumb over our knuckles. “How is it? Do you like it?”

Carson nodded, still catching his breath. “I like it a lot.”

They kissed again, slower this time. After a minute, Davie pulled back just enough to look at him curiously.

“So why now?” he asked. “Why with a guy? Why me?”

Carson gave a small, easy smile. “Because you’re really hot… and you haven't stopped making eyes at me in study group. Kinda made it impossible not to go for it.”

Davie laughed softly, clearly pleased, and pulled him in for another kiss.

I sat in the back, jaw clenched, saying nothing. But the resentment burned hotter than ever.

After the kissing got heavier, clothes started coming off. Davie’s hands were all over my chest and arms, squeezing the muscle Carson had built. Carson was breathing hard, letting it happen, following the heat.

They moved to Davie’s bed. Carson was on top, and things escalated quickly. He lined up and tried to push in all at once, the way I’d done with plenty of girls. Davie’s eyes widened and he let out a sharp scream, grabbing onto my shoulders.

“Fuck— wait!” Davie gasped.

Carson froze immediately. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Davie laughed breathlessly, even though his face was still tight. “No, you’re good. You’re just… way too big to shove in like that without warming me up first. Go slower, yeah?”

Carson nodded, embarrassed but eager. He pulled back, took his time this round, using his fingers and more lube until Davie was relaxed and pushing back against him. When he finally slid in all the way, Davie moaned loud, his hole tight and hot around us.

“God, that feels good,” Davie breathed.

Carson started moving, finding a rhythm. He had watched me hook up enough times that his form was solid—deep, steady strokes that had Davie gripping the sheets. But this was different. Davie’s hole stayed so tight, clenching around us with every thrust. Carson groaned with my voice, hands roaming over Davie’s chest and sides.

They started feeling each other up more. Davie ran his hands over my biceps and abs, squeezing hard. “Flex for me,” he said, voice rough.

Carson paused mid-thrust, looking a little awkward, then clumsily flexed my right bicep. The muscle popped up tight. Davie grinned and kissed it. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Carson got bolder. He grabbed Davie’s hips, lifted him up while still inside, and fucked him in the air for a few strokes like he weighed nothing. Davie’s eyes rolled back. “Holy shit, Theo—”

Then Carson set him down gently and flipped him over into doggy style. He pressed in close from behind, wrapping one arm around Davie’s chest in a hug while still thrusting. He kissed the back of his neck, surprisingly tender. Davie pushed back against every stroke, moaning.

Carson reached around and wrapped his hand around Davie’s uncut cock, stroking him in time with his hips. Davie was throbbing hard, leaking all over my fingers.

They switched again. Davie climbed on top, riding cowboy. He bounced faster, taking us deep, his own cock slapping against my abs. Carson kept one hand on his hip and the other stroking him.

“I’m close,” Davie gasped.

He came first, shooting across my stomach in thick streaks. Carson didn’t hesitate—he scooped some up with his fingers and licked it off, tasting it. Davie watched with wide, turned-on eyes.

That pushed Carson over the edge. He gripped Davie’s hips tight and came deep inside him, groaning loud with my voice as our body tensed and released.

They collapsed together, sweaty and breathing hard. Davie curled up against my chest, and Carson wrapped an arm around him. They fell asleep like that, cuddling close under the blanket.

Carson finally drifted off, content. I didn’t say a word to him that night.

Carson stayed in control for the rest of that week. He spent most nights at Davie’s flat. I felt everything — the laughing, the making out, the sex. He was getting more confident each time, learning what Davie liked. I tried to push for control constantly, but he kept me locked in the back.

By the following Saturday evening he finally let me back in. I didn’t waste a second.

I took over and headed straight to the pub. I was pissed. I drank hard, shot after shot, trying to shake off the week of being trapped in the passenger seat while he lived out whatever this new life was. I flirted with a couple girls, but I was too sloppy. They gave me weird looks and moved away. Everything after that is a blur. I have no idea how I got back to the flat.

I woke up the next morning with a brutal hangover. Sunlight stabbed through the curtains. And Carson was back in control.

Carson? I thought immediately. Give me the body back, man. I feel like shit.

He didn’t respond. He just got up, walked to the kitchen, and picked up the phone like I wasn’t even there.

“Mom? Dad?” His voice — my voice — shook as he spoke. “It’s Carson. Something’s wrong. Theo went out partying last night and… when I woke up I couldn’t hear him anymore. His voice is just gone. I feel completely alone in here. I don’t know what to do.”

I started screaming inside. Carson, what the fuck are you doing? I’m right here!

Our parents’ voices came through the speaker, calm. Worried for him, but not panicked. “Sweetheart, don’t freak out,” Mom said gently. “Just breathe. It’ll be okay. You’ll figure it out. We’re here for you.”

Dad added, “Stay safe. We love you. Call us if anything changes.”

I felt sick. They didn’t even sound that upset. Like losing me was just another complication for their golden boy to deal with.

Carson hung up, walked back to the bed, and lay down. He pushed our shorts down and started slowly stroking our cock, eyes half-closed, thinking about Davie. About how good it felt to fuck him.

Carson! I screamed. Stop this. Talk to me!

He finally answered, voice cold in my head. “Shut up, you dick. I can hear you. You know what? I am so sick of this. I think I’ve been able to do this since the beginning, but I never wanted to try because it would be awful. But I’m done with your shit, Theo.”

What are you talking about? I thought, panic rising. Stop messing around.

He kept jerking off, steady strokes, while he flexed our right arm, admiring the bicep in the mirror across the room. I felt him start pushing. My presence got squeezed, shoved into a smaller and smaller corner of our brain.

I screamed louder. Carson! Don’t! Please!

He ignored me, breathing heavier, stroking faster. His thoughts were full of Davie — tight heat, moans, the way he’d looked up at us. Our body tensed, muscles hard. I felt weaker, smaller, like I was fading.

Carson, I’m your brother! Stop!

One final hard stroke and he came, groaning as he spilled over our hand. In that moment the pressure became unbearable. He shoved hard, and I was ejected. Everything went white.

---

Carson's POV

I lay there in the quiet of the flat, chest still heaving a little, staring up at the ceiling through eyes that were finally, completely mine. Theo’s body—my body now—glistened with streaks of my own cum across my abs and chest. It felt warm, messy, real. I dipped two fingers into the biggest pool of it, scooped some up, and slowly rubbed it across my pecs, spreading it in lazy circles over the muscle I’d built for years. The smell hit me—thick, masculine—and a low groan slipped out of my throat. Theo’s throat. Mine.

Part of me waited for the guilt to crash in. I’d just erased my own brother. My twin. But the longer I rubbed that slick warmth into my skin, the more that little voice faded. Nah. Fuck that. Theo had been treating me like a parasite for years. Using me for grades, for the heavy lifting, for keeping our parents off his back while he partied and fucked whoever he wanted in my downtime. This? This was justice. Long overdue.

I reached over for my phone and opened the camera. The screen lit up on my face: flushed, hair messy. I angled it down, capturing the shine across my chest and stomach, my spent cock still half-hard against my thigh. Click. Perfect.

I typed out the text to Davie, smirking the whole time.

Me: Partied a little too hard last night. Woke up like this and all I could think about was how much better it would’ve been if you were here to wake up next to me. Wanna come over and spend the rest of the afternoon cuddled up in bed?

I hit send, then admired the selfie again before putting the phone down. Yeah… I’m definitely making this guy my boyfriend. For real. Mom and Dad are gonna be so happy I finally have a steady relationship after all these years of “me” being the responsible one. They’ll eat it up—proud of their golden boy settling down with a nice British guy.

I ran my hand down my stomach again, smearing more of the cum lower, fingers brushing over my cock. It twitched hard, thickening back up fast. Fuck. This body was all mine now. Every inch. The broad shoulders, the arms that could lift Davie like he weighed nothing, the dick that made him moan like that. No more sharing. No more passenger seat. No more Theo.

All mine. All mine. All mine.

My cock throbbed fully hard again in my grip, and I laughed low and satisfied, giving it a slow stroke as I waited for Davie’s reply. This was just the beginning.

POV: You’re trapped in the body he left behind. You still remember the moment you saw your own face looking back at you from across the locker room, smiling with someone else behind the eyes. For a few seconds, you thought it was a prank, a breakdown, a nightmare. Then you looked down and saw the heavy stomach pressing against a sweat-dark tank top, the thick arms, the damp hair on unfamiliar legs, the unkempt mustache bristling over your lip. He had taken everything: your lean physique, your confidence, the face people flirted with before you had to say a word. All he left you was his body - overweight, hairy, tired - and his huge dick - slightly crooked, cut, with a huge head, and a circumference that would make most men blush.

POV: You stole his body. You first saw him at the gym two weeks ago, laughing between sets, sweat shining on a chest that looked carved and effortless, a neat mustache giving his pretty face just enough weight to make him seem older than he was. You were supposed to be there for another failed restart: cardio, machines, the same old promise that this time you would fix yourself. Instead, you watched him curl a dumbbell by the window and felt something darker than envy move through you. Attraction came first, sharp and embarrassing. Then came want. Not the ordinary kind where you imagined being with him, but the impossible kind where you imagined being him.

Now you wake every morning inside the prize you took by force - against his will, and the guilt is getting easier and easier to ignore. The pool, the sun, the dumbbell in your hand - it all feels like a reward that you earned - not through any good deed, but by the shear will of your existence. His body answers you with strength you did not earn, with a flat stomach, a thick patch of chest hair, hairy pits, strong arms, and a smile that makes strangers smile back before you’ve even learned their names.

There is now

Am I really doing this? 

When Rohan Desai had first heard of The Avengers, his life had been changed forever. Of course, he had grown up hearing about all kinds of superheroes, the one he was awaiting for today’s special event was in World War Two. But it was still so odd to suddenly see them blossom in his life. He was in college when New York was first attacked and though he was far from the centre of the invasion, when you grow up in New York, you’d likely run into someone who knew someone who had been saved by one of the titular heroes. 

Even still, the Avengers were no longer just an idea, they had become something akin to a brand. It was why Rohan was here, he had turned from college student watching New York get saved by superheroes into one of the lead developers of one of the first superhero videogames. It technically wasn’t the first, but it was one of since The Avengers had been established and it was focused on the titular character of Captain America. From what he understood at first, nobody wanted this game. Not him, not the company and certainly not Captain America.

But overtime, there were some…business dealings and briefings, investments from the one and only Stark Industries and nearly four years later they had something. It wasn’t great, hell Rohan was just glad it was good and they had complete creative control, meaning the game actually could have some sort of genuine story or meaning behind it. At least as much as he could try in between missions of Captain America beating up HYDRA agents in a hyperrealistic sandbox of New York. 

Are we really doing this? That was the question Rohan first asked when they got approval to begin development and entered pre-production. Are we really doing this? He asked again when they had finished making the model of Captain America, the motion capture and voice work done by a man who had played him in the infamous Avengers musical.

Are we really doing this? It was the same question that he asked that morning.

The common ambience of the office with conversation and keyboard clacking had turned into something larger. It had become a storm of busyness and a business hard at work. Conversations were now the cacophonous rain of commands to staff and camera crew. Thunder was the heavy thud of sound and camera equipment as it was picked, pulled and moved around the office like new ornaments. Lightning were the glimpses Rohan got of their special guest. 

Captain America. 

In the flesh.

Instead of his other common appearances doing charity work or on missions, he was practically forced to do what a lot of celebrities had to do, sell out. Rumour had it the only way they convinced him to come to the office to shoot the interview was if he could make some pledge to charity. So that was how after months of scheduling, they finally had the one and only Captain America ready to come into a small office with Rohan Desai and have the two alone in a room for an interview as they played the game. 

I guess we’re really doing this. 

Rohan wondered why he was chosen besides being one of the leads. Perhaps it was because he was the opposite of Captain America in every way. The hero was tall, blonde and broad shouldered with enough strength to take out anyone in his way and an aura of confidence that could lead men into battle. Rohan was lanky, skinny, nerdy with bronze skin and curled black hair who was only good at leading people when it came to the office. And even then, he questioned if he was that good at it.

Apparently there was a reason the pair were put together, according to the director of the whole ordeal, they both just seemed ‘nice’. Nice, wholesome, a carefully curated picturesque pairing of two men with morals so the interview didn’t look so much like the promo that it actually was. Maybe that hunger for authenticity was why they were being left alone in a room together to ‘chat’ rather than have an army of a camera crew managing their every word, trying to get the perfect shot. 

“You ready for this?” came the familiar voice of another project lead. Rohan would have felt guilty for taking the man’s spot but despite him being more attractive and in line with a man who’d look good around Captain America. 

“Yeah,” Rohan lied, playing the role of someone having at least something resembling confidence. “It’s not that big of a deal.” Too much confidence, his mind warned suddenly like a computer error. “I mean it is- Don’t get me wrong- No like it totally…totally is, but I mean like- You know…I didn’t realise the whole office would have to move and uh…stuff.” 

“Yeah…” The project co-lead replied, echoing only Rohan’s first word like that was all he was listening to. “Well y’know the director says he wants it to feel genuine, not like an actual game studio. So you get the soundproof therapy room and everything, just y’know don’t actually call it the therapy room.” Rohan wanted to ask why and then realised he really didn’t want to get bogged down in the details. 

“Okay…so the interview and then-”

“Chat”, corrected the co-lead. “Then snap some photos and then Cap will probably stick around taking more selfies or autographs or whatever with folks. Look…I know you’re nervous.” 

“That’s…Yeah pretty accurate,” said Rohan.

“But look at it like this, you get to spend an hour with Captain freaking America. Playing the game that we busted our asses off and we know is good…”

“True…”

“And it’s pre-recorded. Anything weird happens or there’s some mistake, they can just edit it our, redo it, whatever.”

“Right…”

“So…my point is…” The co-lead smiled. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

It had been something of an odd process, a social ritual playing out as people seemed to drag themselves away from Captain America’s alluring presence. Though they had trouble with their half glances and a couple snapshots on the phone, Rohan had to do the opposite. He felt as if he had to orbit the man, not knowing exactly when they were going to start filming. The camera crew was still busy and they had turned the ‘quiet room’ (a soundproof room nobody used that corporate decided to have if only to list as one of the company benefits) into a recording studio. 

A different couch had been pulled in and positioned against the far wall. A couple of plants had been taken from people’s desks to put around and add some greenery. A coffee table had been moved in hastily stacked with some water bottles and granola bars and a collection of different wires were hastily organised and hidden away beneath and behind the couch.

They had somehow turned a glorified storage closet into a makeshift talk show set. Warm neon lights cast a purple haze over it all and a television had also been moved in with all the right equipment to start up the game, a camera positioned in the corner to capture some of the gameplay, though Rohan knew most of it would be recorded from the console itself. 

The most surprising ornament of the room was the one that this was all for, Captain America. Unlike everyone else, the super soldier walked in with a casualness, an ease that contrasted with the panic and pressure of the crew around to try and get everything working and perfect and looking good all at the same time.

He had been busying himself chatting with some of the same crew and Rohan doubted it was about features he should mention or anything to do with the video. It looked more like he was just having a casual conversation. When Rohan first saw him up close, it was when he had already been sat down in the room as they did camera tests and soon Captain America had come in. 

The door opened without ceremony yet the effect was instant. Conversations clipped themselves short; the shuffling of cables slowed, as if everyone had suddenly remembered they were supposed to move gracefully. Captain America walked in. The hero stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand on the frame as if politely asking for permission before he could come in. The hallway’s cooler light haloed him from behind, a contrast to the warm, overworked neon of the room within. His frame was unmistakable: tall, broad shoulders and a shirt that stretched across his chest that would make any man envious of his pecs. Rohan felt a knot in his stomach, like all his nerves had bundled together and pulled taut suddenly. He swallowed dryly and was suddenly glad there was water nearby before Captain America’s eyes met his and he smiled, showing off some pearly whites as he stepped forward.

“Hi, Steve Rogers,” said Captain America as if he had any need to introduce themselves. He leaned forward slightly holding out his hand and Rohan shook his. 

“Rohan Desai, uh it’s an honour to meet you sir,” replied Rohan. He almost immediately regretted calling the man sir as soon as it tumbled out of his lips. Steve blinked and smiled wider. God I wish I was like him, Rohan thought as he felt a slight shiver at that. 

“You don’t need to call me sir,” assured Steve as Rohan nodded, ignoring the heat that was invading his cheeks as he swore he could only hear his heart drumming in his chest. “Honestly sometimes I wish I could be more like you guys who are so smart with all this coding and programming kinda thing.” Steve’s grip tightened slightly as he was shaking Rohan’s hand, feeling a slight shiver. “Oh sorry uh….So you’re the one I’m interviewing-” Steve stopped himself and laughed.

“Sorry uh doing the interview with, I get all tongue tied with this sort of stuff.” The man admitted as if the concept that Captain America, a man who was used to leading armies and stopped an invasion only a decade ago wasn’t absurd. Rohan just nodded, still too awestruck to say anything.

“We’ll be doing a bit of gameplay first, just to do a bit of a camera test and then we’ll go from there if that’s all good?” A voice, likely the director, sounded out from behind a camera and Steve nodded.

“Uh yeah that’s…whatever’s best,” stammered Rohan as he could already see some of the crew leaving. It seemed the pitch of a more close and intimate interview setting wasn’t solely for show. 

“Excited for it,” said Steve as he sat down finally, adjusting on the couch which sagged underneath his weight. “Have to admit, it’s great that a portion of this marketing budget gets to go to charity but…It is kinda interesting I guess, being able to go to an event and play a game about myself.” The hero’s enthusiasm was like gust in a heatwave. Rohan could feel himself relax, as Captain America’s looming presence was beginning to grow more comforting than intimidating. 

“Uh yeah I totally agree, I really appreciate it not just being a typical ad and uh we worked really hard on the game with quantum processing so we…” Rohan started and then smiled. “Sorry, rambling. I’ll save it for the video.” Steve chuckled.

“Sure, sure, so…should we get started?” Captain America glanced around at the remnants of the crew that were ready for the go ahead. They simply nodded and after a silent countdown, started the recording before the last people around quietly filed out. Rohan took a few deep breaths before glancing straight ahead toward one of the cameras.

“So hi everyone, I’m Rohan Desai, the director of Captain America Rising and with me is a very special guest…” Rohan started, glad that his voice wasn’t too shaky. Steve gave a wave and smile.

“And I’m Rohan- Sorry uh I’m Captain America and I’m happy to be with Rohan here playing Captain America Rising,” said Steve with a dazzling smile. The main menu booted up with an orchestral swell of strings and brass as a logo glowed across the screen. “Wow uh it looks pretty serious huh. I…” He blinked. “Well I definitely look a little more square jawed than I am and…is that the old suit?” Rohan chuckled.

“Uh yeah the art department wanted that kind of look and uh did use some generative facial composites,” replied Rohan as the game started to load up a save file for a mission to play. Everything had been set up perfectly. “So uh…you did visit the set I believe where the mo cap was taking place right?” Steve nodded.

“Yeah, yeah…it felt…kinda weird to see someone who looks a lot like me in a sort of tight suit doing my voice and such,” replied Steve as he shifted. They selected a co-op mode, one where one could play as Steve and another as Bucky Barnes. “Huh…weird I can’t play as Cap.” Steve chuckled. “That’s ironic.” Rohan frowned.

“That’s weird uh…well I can choose, but uh we can swap if you’d like?” Rohan suggested, holding up his controller in case the hero wanted to take it. 

“Oh no no no that’s fine,” laughed Steve. “Instead I’ll be playing as…well hey I’m happy to choose Bucky for now, I didn’t really know there’d be so many different heroes to choose though for co-op.” It was odd though, Steve thought. He assumed that he would be playing Captain America and that the developer would have been playing the other hero. But perhaps it made all the more sense for Rohan to be the one playing the titular hero. He knew the game best. “So uh I’ll be playing-”

“James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of Captain America and war hero,” started Rohan. Steve looked pleasantly surprised by the sudden answer. Rohan blinked. “Oh uh sorry yeah uh as Bucky Barnes, one of the newer members of the Avengers I believe.” Rohan blinked. He was a huge fan of Captain America but…how did he know the answer so suddenly? He didn’t mean to have taken over and straightened, assuming it must have just been his nerves taking over and wanting the video to go as smoothly as possible. 

“That’s right…uh looks like we’ve loaded in.” 

“Let’s go,” said Rohan with a sudden enthusiasm, wanting to show off his hard work. The two started off in a pre-selected mission in the open world of New York City where the camera swooped down from the skyline into a bustling digital Manhattan. Steam hissed from subway grates, detailed pedestrians moved with believable randomness and the ambiance of the city started to sound out. Before they knew it, a fight had broken out with some HYDRA agents in a warehouse and the two began to move in, with Rohan as Captain America tossing his shield and performing finishers whilst Steve struggled slightly with his aim as Bucky. “Oh uh so it’s important we work together on this part.” Rohan coughed, his voice sounding a little deeper for a moment there before he cleared his throat. 

“Got ya, got ya…the game looks really detailed it’s sort of scary, having grown up around black and white movies and all,” Steve said with a smile as the two of them quickly engaged in a quick time event. The both of them concentrated on the screen as the game prompted them to mash a button to move some debris out the way of a door. As Rohan began to mash, something strange began to happen. At first it was just a pressure, a swell beneath his skin. With each frantic press of the button, his sleeves began to strain.

His biceps slowly began to inflate and thicken, pushing against the fabric until the seams squealed. At the same time, it seemed that Steve was feeling as if his hands were growing weaker and slightly numb. A bronze tone began to take over his hands as dark hairs started to sprout over the back of his hand and trail down his arms where the muscles felt like they were beginning to shrink. It felt like the strength was being sapped away. 

Rohan didn’t seem to notice except the sudden wave of pleasure that he began to feel as he tensed his arms. Every shift, every adjustment in his seat, made the arms begin to stretch like they belonged on a larger body as he felt a tinge of euphoria that was just growing as he continued to adjust and feel his now much paler arms. 

“You doing okay there?” Rohan asked as he saw that on Steve’s screen he was having trouble doing the prompt as fast as he was. Steve could continue to feel like his arms had somehow grown weaker, slightly more numb and skinnier as dark hairs continued to trail down and cause them to itch. He wanted to look down but he felt like he could hardly break his gaze away from the screen.

By the time the prompt was over and both characters shoved the debris to the side, Rohan was laughing to himself and Steve smiled, albeit with a little more nervousness as he shifted with embarrassment. He just couldn’t get a handle on this kind of technology. At least that’s what he told himself to explain how he couldn’t do something as simple as a prompt to press a button over and over. 

“Uh yeah heh I don’t play a ton of games so I’m not sure,” started Steve, coughing and clearing his throat as he shifted in his seat. Played a lot of games? He didn’t have time for that sort of thing. He was usually on playing missions…right? He found his mind growing hazy as he tried to think, suddenly remembering the hours he got to let go and relax, playing some videogames instead of the list of movies, shows and books he had to read since he’d been frozen.

As they continued the mission, both the characters got in a vehicle with Rohan taking the lead in the driver’s seat. As they began a chase sequence, Rohan could feel himself naturally swerve the controller when they turned, straining his tight sleeves until-

RIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP.

A small but sudden tear sounded out and Steve barely caught a glance of Rohan’s suddenly meaty and paler biceps in his shirt. “So you work out a lot then?”

“Oh no I prefer working out to video games,” blurted out Rohan. He didn’t mean to say that. He knew he didn’t mean to say that. Yet words were power, and as he spoke them, Rohan felt something seize inside him. His grin faltered, replaced by a grimace as he instinctively arched his back. His indie band shirt that once hung loosely on his skinny frame was suddenly one size too small, if for just a moment. The change began deep in his torso, his ribcage expanding as his skin prickled and continued to pale, bubbling as if his skin was the top of some boiling elixir.

He grunted softly, caught between shock and exhilaration, feeling each part of his spine stretch and realign as his body lengthened. He leaned back, suddenly taller on the couch as the hem of his shirt inched upward, betraying a strip of his stomach, no longer soft but tightening into ridges of muscle that flexed and defined themselves in real time.

He tried to tear his gaze away from the screen, tried to see what was happening, but it was impossible to ignore the hypnotic pull of the light around him. Whether it was the glint that caught Captain America’s shield or the neon beams of HYDRA enemies or the detailed lights of the city, Rohan blinked.

“I uh…No I…I uh…”

Rohan struggled, almost moaning as he could barely see his stomach gurgle and froth in the corner of his eyes. Any fat of his stomach melted away, slowly descending to nothingness as it became as visible as air, fading away. All the mass left was converting into muscle, beginning to carve itself and hardening like it was some liquid as Rohan couldn’t help but let a deep groan slip from his lips, mixing it with an exhausted grunt as his body did feel like that both exhausted and heavy.

His shoulder blades writhed under the fabric, expanding outward, stretching his shirt to its limits. Each shift sent another ripple down his torso, where abs carved themselves across his stomach. The paleness continued to crawl all over his changing body as a dusting of brown hair grew to form a treasure trail below his abs. 

“You okay there dude?” Steve asked as he tried to turn to look at Rohan. His mouth twisted into a frown of concern as he tried to check up on the man until he realised…he couldn’t remember their name. It began with an…S…something. Sanjit? Samir? But as he tried to focus, he felt a wave of nausea pass over him, like something was punishing him for not having his complete and total attention on the game. “W-What the heck is this game…”

As Steve looked back at the game, focusing and uncertain, his accent began to shift. His parted lips and widened eyes began to relax, giving off an almost slack expression as he stared at the mesmerising visuals of the game. “Game…looks…so…good…” Steve said in a murmur of a slightly higher voice that no longer sounded like his own. 

At the same time Steve could faintly recognize something happening to his body. At first it felt like the strength was leaking out of him, little by little, until the familiar density of muscle gave way to something looser. The shift was oddly natural, almost comforting, as though a weight he’d carried for years was being peeled away. His broad abs began softening into nothing, the scars from his time as a soldier and the super soldier experiment all beginning to fade away.

What had once been a frame carved by years of training was becoming lankier and softer in all the places that used to be sharp. The pale skin began to darken, first beginning as a faint warmth and then deepening to bronze as it smoothly crept down his body like ink spreading through water. The sleeves of his shirt slid against thinner arms dusted with the faint hair that hadn’t been there before. All the while his fingers stretched longer, growing softer and more delicate and gripping the controller with an anxious energy he didn’t recognize as his own. 

“Yeah the game looks so good, I’m…glad it uh…worked out…” said Rohan as he continued to stare. Steve blinked.

“Yeah worked out…No yeah I loved working on the game,” confirmed Steve as he grunted. He could feel his legs shrinking too, making him grow slightly shorter though with less muscles, he was beginning to seem more lanky than broad and tall. All the while Rohan could feel like air was being injected into his upper chest as his pecs began to swell, growing and inflating and making his nipples harden underneath the already tight shirt that could no longer cover the lower half of his stomach as he blushed and moaned. 

“No I…worked on the game I…was…a developer consultant,” replied Rohan as he blinked. Consultant? No he was the lead…lead…consultant after all, who would know Captain America best?

He wanted to say something, but that was when he felt something else inflate as if it was filling with air, causing him to grunt and sit up even higher as his cheeks began to grow. The pressure of the changes coiled in his hips and thighs as his legs tingled with the same pleasure and heaviness that was spreading across his body. His thighs pressed outward, stretching the fabric as they swelled with new density, every seam groaning in protest.

His calves grew, once spindly but now carved into powerful bastions of muscle as his ass continued to grow and grow. The couch sagged deeper as his glutes surged, rounding and hardening with a weight that felt both foreign and inevitable. Rohan could feel the denim split, hearing the faint pop of stitching as eat of his jeans tried and failed to contain what was now unmistakably growing to be…AMERICA'S ASS. 

“O-Oh my god…I…I…” Rohan would have squeezed his legs together in the past, like that could somehow stop the horniness that was invading his cock as his ass and legs grew paler and devoid of the usual dark hairs. His bulge was already growing next, half because he was harder than he had ever been before and half because his cock was growing from whatever forces was changing him.

“I had to do…so much work…for the game, really was a lot…”

Rohan added with a voice that wasn’t his own, one that was deeper and richer and sounded exactly like the voice that was coming from the game, the voice behind Captain America’s quips as a sharp pressure came at his feet. His toes pressed hard against the ends of his socks before finally tearing through, pale fabric ripping as his feet surged longer and wider. His toes stretched and spread as the soles expanded beneath him. The converses that he’d worn comfortably all day suddenly bulged at the seams, leather squealing under the new size and weight until it looked like they might split apart at any second.

“That…that doesn’t sound right, I’m trying to remember reading all about it,” mused Steve as his own voice had shifted completely to the slightly more higher pitched and nervous sounding tone of Rohan. He blinked, his eyes growing darker and hazier, already forgetting about the missions he had done for the past year and then the year before that and the year before that as all he could think about was the game.

“We’re over time but we shouldn’t stop, we’re nearly finished.” Steve scratched at his face as his fingertips no longer traced the familiar hard line of his jaw. His face was beginning to shift, His jawline, once sharp and square, softened under his touch.

The solid edge drew inward, narrowing into something more delicate, more angular. His cheeks followed suit, the fullness draining until they hollowed just slightly, reshaping his face into something that was longer as his eyes were suddenly adorned with thick glasses. The pale tone of his visage continued to shift, deepening shade by shade to match the rest of his body as his blonde hair darkened and grew longer, spilling out into dark messy curls over a higher brow. Steve blinked, unsure why he was so surprised, feeling his face…he was only 29 after all.

“Yeah…let’s not stop, we’re almost over-” and as Rohan leaned forward and continued to be mesmerised by the game, he was growing more and more infatuated with his character. He knew every detail of the suit, every move, every nuance of the character. But he blinked, blinked as his own glasses fell off his face as his nose shortened and disappeared before they hit the ground. His brown eyes turning blue as the pale tone that had reached his thickening throat was beginning to crawl over his jawline that suddenly widened and hardened. His hairline crawling back slightly as the dark curls receded into a natural slicked back blonde style whilst his features grew sharper and rougher and larger especially his growing lips as he blinked. Why wouldn’t he know his character? He was the character. He was Captain America. This was his game. “W-Wait…I think…”

But there was nothing to think about. The mission ended and just as Rohan and Steve looked at one another in shock and recognition, both their hard cocks throbbed at once and they had only the time for one thing and one thing alone; realisation. All before they suddenly felt their cocks throb in tandem and finally…release.

Their cocks spasmed violently, releasing in perfect sync, a shared climax as both their heavy moans suddenly filled the room as both bodies bucked. Rohan’s hips twitched as he was in Captain America’s muscular body with the hero’s hung cock between his legs spilling thick ropes of cum stained his clothes, pooling in his lap. At the same time Steve in Rohan’s body gasped as it felt like he was cumming for the first time in his life, the sweet bliss of pleasure rushing over him and making him forget everything for just a few moments as his own six inch cock twitched and come in his clothes.

“O-Oh god…w-what the-” Rohan in Steve felt his body, his face, his muscles. “W-What happened to me?!” Steve in Rohan panicked, gasping as he looked down at himself.

“N-no this can’t be-” 

But then came another climax, making both men forget their panic for just a moment as their minds were colliding and folding into one another. The decks of their lives shuffled amongst one another that it was hard to tell which piece was what. 

“M-my head…I keep remembering…battles and…and world war two and…Bucky and…god Bucky…” 

“N-No I don’t want to forget…” Steve in Rohan’s body moaned as he tried to hold on. But all the willpower was in the muscular hunky body that was once his own next to him. “O-Oh god I’m-” 

But their cocks twitched again and their old lives melted, dissolving into something else as Rohan Steve gasped as he came again one last time and Steve Rohan moaned as he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same. Rohan…or rather Steve was the first to move, blushing as he felt Steve Roger’s natural embarrassment for doing anything like cumming in public flare up whilst Steve or rather Rohan felt the same, but more out of natural awkwardness rather than dignity. Both the men’s eyes met.

“I’m…I’m you,” Steve said as he looked at Rohan and Rohan blinked.

“I’m you…but uh h-how? I…I can remember your life…fuck my head…”

“Swear,” both Steve and Rohan said simultaneously. 

“T-This is…this isn’t right. The game, we used quantum computing for the engine, I- I don’t know how this happened…”

The air remained thick, not just with the fading warmth of their lust, but with a quiet and almost sacred stillness that followed a transformation too bizarre to name. The both of them still somehow had their minds as they gazed at one another, the other in their body. It was such a bizarre feeling, as if looking in the mirror and realising that the reflection was blinking all on their own. 

But at the same time there was also a quiet thrill to it as the other looked down, prodded at their muscles (or lack of muscles), flexed a muscular bicep (or touched their skinny one) and felt their face, their new jawline and features. Both the men stopped as they realised what they were doing, almost mirroring each other in their inspections as they still managed to somehow keep their minds about them, even if it was fused with one another.

“I’m…you,” Rohan continued as he glanced down at himself and the massive muscles. In all honesty, he had never felt physically better and more mentally anxious than ever before in his life. It was as if the feeling he got from his runs on the treadmill or few times he decided to visit the gym had compounded and formed a permanent bliss that permeated his newer bigger body. 

But there was something else too, as if he was watching a movie, he could see the memories of Steve Rogers all the way from the 30s and 40s, the skinny young man who was even thinner than he was, unhealthily so, doing anything and everything he could to serve his country. Rohan blinked and had to admit, being in such a muscular body felt good, even if there was a strange balance, like he was scared if he took a step then he’d fall over. 

He felt Steve’s own earnestness, his confidence leaking into him and almost infecting him. 

“And I’m…you?” Steve said, still not used to his newer voice. In his mind, there was still a tenacity, one that reminded him of himself before he got the Super Soldier serum. It didn’t come in the form of a man trying to fight for his country, but instead just navigating the modern world and trying to make something of themselves. He could see the memories as far back, trying to save up to start a company, registering the LLC, working late nights out of his home. All the sacrifices and meetings and blood, sweat and tears that had not only gone into making this game but making anything of value. It was a far cry from being a soldier, but isn’t that the kind of world Steve wanted? Where people could prove their worthiness in different ways that didn’t involve war? It felt like watching someone’s life on TV or that site, Wikipedia that helped him understand so much of what he missed whilst frozen. Although he missed his body, the strength and muscles, he had to admit, there was a sort of relaxing feeling being younger and skinny again. But this wasn’t right. They had to swap back! “H-how did this happen?”

“I…I don’t know,” replied Rohan as he glanced down at himself in disbelief. “This…this feels…”

“Weird?” Rohan was pleasantly surprised to see Steve chuckle in his body. “Look you clearly didn’t do this on purpose so let’s just figure out a way to work together and…turn back.”

“Y-Yeah I can’t…I mean this is…I can’t actually be Captain America…and you can’t be stuck in some…” Rohan gestured at Steve in his old body. “Uh well we know who got the short end of the deal.”

“Hey let’s not…say stuff like that,” said Steve. Even now he was being so…nice even if he went through something that should have been shattering his reality, his sense of self, should have made him panic. But if they still had their minds, then they must clearly have some of their old mental traits as well. 

“Yeah…”

“Though I definitely felt like I was losing mine before. Now maybe it’s because we don’t know how this things work but I kinda get the sense that whatever this…thing is…” Steve gestured at the console.

“It’s true. You’re Captain America and I’m…uh…” Rohan glanced down at himself in the star spangled hero’s body. He tried to ignore how much the man’s pecs turned him on as he swallowed dryly. 

“I could’ve been put in a billion worse people, besides you’re not…bad. A lot of this is just confidence, that and highly risky untested serum.” Steve gestured at the muscular body Rohan was in as Rohan smiled at that, at least appreciative the hero was still, well, being a hero, trying to assure him everything was okay. “The way I see it…somehow we both still have our heads.” Steve gestured at the console.

“It was trying to mess with our minds. I have the serum that could’ve helped but you seemed to keep yourself…as you too. Maybe it says a lot more about you than you think…and good thing too, I don’t know enough about this thing even with your head to…fix whatever this is.” Rohan blinked at the man’s words as he considered them.

He had never even come close to thinking about it, but if the quantum computer could somehow change their bodies like it was code, it should have done the same with their mind, programming them as if they were caricatures, NPCs.

But it didn’t. They both managed to hold on. What did that say about the technology? And if it was meant to work and wipe their minds…what did it say about him? He blinked again.

He doubted that he was even half as attractive as the hero but there was something about seeing himself from another man’s perspective, the warped features he once hated in the mirror didn’t look…as bad from another person’s eyes. He blinked.

“Uh yeah your memories are…a lot,” Rohan half joked, not only were they heavy but there were so many of them reaching so far back. “N-Not that I’m complaining. I mean I don’t want to…uh…say your body is bad…but…I think maybe I shouldn’t look at them too much. Uh kinda an invasion of privacy and I wanna keep a hold of my mind.”

“Are you sure you can manage?” Even now, Steve in another man’s body was looking out for someone else rather than himself. 

“Yeah I’m sure I can do this all day,” said Rohan with an ease before he blinked. 

“What was that?” Steve questioned. “I…I don’t know, that just felt…uh sort of right saying but that’s your…”

“Catchphrase…not that I really intended on one but growing up in wartime you learn that slogans stick,” said Steve with a casualness. Rohan was relieved, as if he half expected Steve to be angered someone else was in his body and now saying his words. “So what’s gonna happen? Am I gonna start listing off…game engine…things?”

“Game engine things?” “Like how you used my words, am I going to suddenly start rambling about how quantum processing is actually a brilliant and efficient way to cut back on cut back on loading times, procedural generation overhead, and memory thrash- Oh…Oh fuck-” 

“Swear,” both Rohan and Steve said simultaneously again. 

“Okay, okay…maybe we just…calm down. And figure out how this happened and-” Rohan said, nervously pacing and fidgeting in Steve’s body.

“Alright relax, I’m not mad at you. Weirder things have happened to me…I get it,” said Steve with a slight smile, even now the way he spoke, the confidence leaked out even if it was in another body. “It was the game, something…” Then the man’s eyes widened with realisation. “The game!” Steve started as he sat up. “We need to fix this…if we can, uh we can get to Tony’s before he does what he does next.” “Does next?” Rohan in Steve’s body asked as he blinked.

“He hacked into your office to play a demo of the game. He told me he would He’s playing with Bucky right now.” 

“Oh…Oh no uh…” replied Rohan as he stood up awkwardly in the much taller and broader body than he was used to. “How do we stop them?” It was only then that he realised he had no idea, memories of programming and even the game’s engine having filtered out.

“I don’t know but I do know this…if that game gets into Stark’s servers and somehow mutates or gets shared then…”

Then a whole lot of men would suddenly find themselves swapping bodies or turning into Avengers, both Steve and Rohan thought to themselves. With no way to figure out the extent of it, no way to predict who transforms into who and no way to wonder what would happen if someone was playing alone? What if the game made clones of heroes? What if it recruited heroes, all with one transformation at a time? Steve and Rohan both glanced at each other and blushed, remembering the pleasure they shared, the mess they made and now the mess they may soon have to clean up.

Sooner or later, it seemed every man who got their hand on the game could get a body to marvel. 

Rohan just wondered…does that mean he had to wear the suit?

I adjusted my glasses and leaned back in my office chair, the glow of my monitor lighting up my face. It was our twelfth session. Sohil’s video feed filled most of the screen. He was shirtless again, sitting in his gaming chair in is room, one thick arm draped lazily over the backrest. His dark chest hair was still slightly damp, like he’d just come back from the gym.

Sohil Kapoor. Thirty-two. Bisexual. Sex addict.

At least that’s what he called himself.

“Evening, Dr. Reddin,” he said with that familiar half-smirk. His voice had that deep, easy confidence that always carried a hint of mischief.

“Hello, Sohil,” I replied calmly, keeping my tone professional. “How have things been since our last session?”

He let out a tired laugh and ran a hand through his messy black hair. “Same old shit. Made it nine days this time with this guy I really liked… then I fucked his best friend in the parking lot after drinks.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think there’s something actually broken in me. Like physically. Other people can control themselves. I can’t. Its like my dick has its own fucking brain.”

I nodded, listening carefully. I’d heard variations of this from him for months now. His friends had pushed him into therapy after yet another destroyed relationship. He was charming, successful, and objectively very attractive — which only made the pattern more destructive.

“We’ve discussed open relationships,” I said. “You mentioned your last attempt didn’t go well.”

“Yeah, because even with permission I still broke every rule. Especially the condom one. I need to feel it raw. The second there’s latex I lose half the sensation and it just… doesn’t do it for me.” He sighed heavily.

I paused, tapping my pen against my notepad. We had made some progress, but it was slow. Too slow. I knew it was time to suggest something more radical.

“Sohil,” I said carefully, “I’d like to propose an unconventional treatment option. One I only use in really rare cases.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to the camera. “What is it?”

I met his eyes through the screen.

“Body swapping. A temporary therapeutic exchange. I would enter your body, and you would enter mine. It would allow me to experience your impulses and urges directly. To understand the intensity of what you’re dealing with from the inside. That level of insight could help me develop far more effective strategies for managing your compulsions.”

Sohil stared at me for a long moment, his mouth slightly open.

“You’re… serious?”

“Very,” I said. “It’s not without risks, and it’s not something I suggest lightly. But after six months, I believe this may be what we need to make real progress.”

I watched his face carefully. There was surprise, hesitation… and something else.

He swallowed visibly.

“Ok… so when can we do it?”

---

The following week, we logged onto our scheduled Zoom session. Sohil appeared on my screen looking unusually tense, sitting in the same spot on his couch.

“How are you feeling about the swap? Are you ready?” I asked, keeping my voice steady and clinical.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly? Nervous as hell. But also… kind of excited? I’ve been like this my whole adult life. If you can actually feel what it’s like in here,” he gestured to his own body, “maybe you’ll finally get it. Maybe you can help me fix it.”

We spent most of the session discussing boundaries, consent, and the temporary nature of the procedure. Toward the end, I walked him through the final steps.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

Sohil nodded. “Let’s do it.”

We both initiated the swap through the secure therapeutic portal. There was a bright flash across my screen, a dizzying rush, and then everything shifted.

When my vision cleared, I was no longer looking at my monitor from my office chair.

I was looking at it from Sohil’s couch.

A massive wave of heat crashed over me instantly. My — his — cock thickened rapidly in my pants, throbbing with urgent need. The intensity was staggering. My thoughts grew hazy as raw, aggressive horniness flooded my system. I gripped the edge of the couch, trying desperately to maintain professional composure.

On the screen, Sohil — now in my body — let out a long, relieved exhale. He adjusted my glasses and smiled softly.

“Wow… I can actually think,” he said, sounding lighter than I’d ever heard him. “No constant noise in my head. This is… peaceful.”

I forced a professional tone, even as my new cock continued to pulse insistently between my legs. “That’s… excellent, Sohil. So as I said, we’ll remain in these bodies for the next few weeks. This will give me time to fully understand your urges and begin implementing strategies while I’m in your body. We can get your physical routines and habits started on the right track.”

As I spoke, my eyes drifted down to the screen — to the slight cleavage visible in the blouse I had been wearing. God, is that really how he saw me every session? I made a mental note to dress far more modestly once we swapped back.

Sohil cleared his throat. “Dr. Reddin?”

I blinked, snapping back to attention. “Sorry. I lost my train of thought for a moment.” I continued explaining the plan, trying to sound composed, but the throbbing between my legs was becoming unbearable.

Under the table, my hand moved almost on its own. I unbuttoned Sohil’s pants, wrapped my fingers around his thick, hard cock, and started stroking slowly. The pleasure was overwhelming. I kept talking, voice slightly strained, while pumping faster, getting dangerously close to the edge.

“…and we’ll check in regularly to monitor progress,” I finished, barely holding it together.

“Sounds good,” Sohil said, nodding in my body.

I ended the call as quickly as possible.

The second the screen went black, I let out a shaky breath. Not even thirty seconds later, I came hard. Thick ropes of cum shot across the underside of the table as Sohil’s cock pulsed violently in my hand. My vision whited out for a moment from the intensity.

I sat there panting, staring at the mess I’d made.

Damn… this guy’s body was horny.

Sohil hadn’t been exaggerating at all.

---

Over the next couple of days, I tried to resist.

I really did.

But Sohil’s body had other plans.

The first morning I put on one of his tight black t-shirts. The fabric stretched across his broad chest and hugged his biceps perfectly. Just the feeling of the material clinging to my new arms as I moved sent a low throb through my cock. I had to sit down for a minute and breathe through it.

Later that afternoon I went for a walk. A light breeze picked up and rippled his loose tank top against my chest. The soft fabric dragged across my nipples and I instantly hardened in my shorts. I had to stop and pretend to tie my shoe just so I could adjust myself discreetly.

At the grocery store, a young woman in a slightly low-cut top reached for something on a high shelf. The way her breasts pressed together as she stretched made my mouth go dry. I stood there frozen for several seconds, staring, before I forced myself to look away. My cock was already half-hard in my sweatpants.

Then there was my neighbor — a tall, muscular guy who walked out shirtless to grab his mail. The sight of his defined chest and abs glistening in the sun made something primal surge through me. I stood at the window watching him longer than I should have, my hand unconsciously pressing against the growing bulge in my pants.

Every single time, no matter how minor the trigger, I ended up painfully hard.

And without fail, the moment I got home I went straight to Sohil’s bedroom. I’d strip down completely naked, climb onto his bed, and wrap my hand around his thick cock. I’d stroke myself furiously, sometimes for less than five minutes, before I came hard — thick loads splattering across my hairy stomach and chest.

Yesterday I made it through the entire day without touching myself until I got home. Today I only lasted until 2 PM before I was back in his room, pants around my ankles, jerking off like a man possessed while staring at myself in the full-length mirror.

This body was insatiable.

I thought going to the gym might help burn off some of the constant energy. But it just made everything worse.

The moment I walked into Sohil’s gym wearing one of his tank tops and shorts, I felt eyes on me. His body drew attention — broad shoulders, thick arms, the way his chest hair peeked out from the neckline. Every time I lifted weights, the pump in my biceps and pecs made my cock twitch. The burn in my muscles somehow translated straight into arousal.

By the third set of bench presses I was fully hard. I had to practically sprint to the locker room stalls. I locked myself in one, dropped my shorts, and jerked off furiously, biting my lip to stay quiet. I came in under two minutes, shooting against the stall door. Even after that, I was still half-hard.

Even then I couldn’t control myself. I started approaching people — a pretty woman doing squats in tight leggings, a muscular guy checking himself out in the mirror. I was way too forward. Told the woman she had an incredible ass and asked if she wanted to grab a smoothie after her workout. Told the guy his arms looked strong and offered to spot him… then immediately suggested we spot each other somewhere more private. Both of them gave me polite but very clear rejections.

I stood there in the middle of the gym, Sohil’s face flushed with embarrassment and lingering arousal, realizing how desperate I must have looked. This body didn’t just want sex — it craved it constantly, and it had no filter.

---

By day six, I was losing the battle.

After another humiliating rejection at the gym and two more desperate jerk-off sessions at home, I gave in and downloaded Grindr on Sohil’s phone.

The app opened and immediately flooded the screen with nearby profiles. Shirtless torsos, hard cocks, hungry stares. Within minutes the messages started pouring in.

“Damn dude you’re hot as fuck.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Hosting right now if you wanna come through.”

I told myself I was just researching. Just trying to understand the scale of his compulsions. But my cock was already rock hard as I scrolled through the endless stream of willing men.

There were so many. Hot guys. Fit guys. Hung guys. Some wanted to fuck me. Most wanted me to fuck them.

I started chatting with one guy — mid-20s, muscular, only two blocks away. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent him a face pic and told him I could be there in ten minutes.

The moment I stepped into his apartment, any last shred of professional restraint vanished. He barely had the door closed before I had him pinned against the wall, kissing him hard. Within minutes I had him bent over his couch, fucking him raw and deep while he moaned loudly.

It felt incredible.

The power, the heat, the raw physical pleasure of pounding into someone with Sohil’s thick cock — it was overwhelming. I came hard inside him, groaning as I filled him up. He asked if I wanted to go again. I did.

I ended up staying for almost two hours.

When I finally left, legs shaky, I felt a strange mix of shame and satisfaction. On the walk home my cock was already stirring again at the memory.

That night I opened Grindr again.

---

After a few days of nonstop Grindr hookups — sometimes two or three different guys in a single day — the novelty started to wear off. The sex was good, intense even, but something was missing.

I needed pussy.

Tinder proved much slower and more frustrating. The matches came in, but the back-and-forth flirting took time I didn’t want to waste. My patience was nonexistent in this body.

I knew it was a terrible idea. Unethical. A complete violation of every professional boundary. But the urge was louder than reason.

I opened the camera on Sohil’s phone and took a series of thirst traps — shirtless in the mirror, flexing his biceps, one with his hand pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants just enough to show the thick base of his cock. I sent them to my own number.

The message I typed made my stomach twist even as I hit send:

“I know you want to get fucked by yourself. I just know you want to feel your old cock deep in that pussy.”

I stared at the sent messages, heart racing.

Three dots appeared, then stopped. Then appeared again.

Before he could reply, the images and words hit me like gasoline on a fire. I was so turned on I couldn’t wait. I shoved my pants down, wrapped my hand around Sohil’s throbbing cock, and jerked off furiously on the couch to the fantasy of fucking my own body. I came hard within minutes, groaning loudly as thick ropes of cum splattered across my hairy chest.

The second the orgasm faded, cold reality crashed down on me.

What the hell did I just do?

I quickly sent a string of apologetic messages:

“I’m so sorry. That was completely inappropriate.” “I lost control. That was unprofessional and wrong.” “Please forgive me.”

Sohil (in my body) replied a few minutes later:

“No worries doc lol. I understand exactly what that feeling is like. Trust me.”

I let out a shaky breath, still half-hard despite just cumming.

“I’m going to figure this out,” I typed back, trying to sound more in control than I felt. “I’m going to find a real way to help you manage these urges. I promise.”

I set the phone down and looked at myself in the mirror — Sohil’s muscular, hairy body staring back at me, cum still drying on my abs.

---

I tried to resist.

I really, really tried.

I deleted Grindr twice. I went to the gym and forced myself to focus only on lifting. I tried meditation apps, cold showers, even jerking off six times in one day just to take the edge off. Nothing worked. The horniness always came back stronger, like a constant buzzing under my skin that refused to be ignored.

One night, I put on one of Sohil’s tight black shirts and a pair of fitted jeans and went to a gay bar downtown. The place was packed and loud. Within twenty minutes I locked eyes with a cute, twinky guy in his mid-twenties with messy light brown hair, smooth skin, and a hungry look in his eyes. He was exactly my type.

We barely spoke.

I walked straight up to him, grabbed him by the waist, and pulled him in for a rough kiss. He melted against me immediately. No names. No small talk. I took his hand and led him straight to the bathroom.

The moment the stall door locked, I spun him around, yanked his pants down, and shoved him forward against the wall. I pulled my own cock out, barely taking time to spit on it before I pushed inside him.

“Fuck…” he moaned loudly as I sank in deep.

I started thrusting hard, one hand gripping his hip, the other braced against the stall wall. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the small space.

“Sohil… fuck, Sohil,” he gasped, moaning my — Sohil’s — name.

A dark thrill shot through me.

“Fuck yeah,” I growled, pounding into him harder.

“Sohil… oh my god—”

Hearing him moan while I was balls-deep inside him made something primal take over. I fucked him with long, powerful strokes, gripping his waist tight as I drove into him again and again.

I didn’t last long. The way his tight hole clenched around my thick cock — it was too much. I buried myself deep and came hard, groaning as I filled him up.

I was still catching my breath, cock softening inside him, when reality started to crash back in.

The guy I had just raw-fucked in a public bathroom stall was Drew — one of my other therapy clients. Mid-twenties, gender-questioning, sweet but anxious. I had been seeing him for months. I had been too horny to even recognize him until now.

Then it hit me.

He had been moaning “Sohil” the entire time.

I never told him my — Sohil’s — name.

I pulled out slowly, heart pounding for a completely different reason now.

“Do we… know each other?” I asked, voice rough.

The guy — Drew — turned around with a lazy, satisfied grin that looked completely out of place on his face. He looked me up and down, eyes lingering on Sohil’s cock.

“I think I would recognize my own former body,” he said casually. “And damn… its dick feels good. I get why people put up with me even though I was such a cheater.”

I froze.

“Wait… Sohil?”

He smirked. “Hey, Doc.”

I stared at him — at my client’s body — in complete disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing in Drew’s body?”

Sohil (in Drew’s smaller, twinky frame) shrugged, still breathing hard from getting fucked.

“Drew’s been seeing you too, right? He’s been talking about wanting to transition for a while. Really wanted a woman’s body to start figuring shit out. So I offered him a swap. He gets your body — soft, feminine. I get his cute little gay body with way less constant horniness. Win-win.”

He reached down and gave Sohil’s cock — my current cock — a playful squeeze, still slick from being inside him.

“I’ve been having a great time, honestly. This body is so much easier to manage. I can actually think straight. I could get used to this. Could maybe even see myself getting into a relationship. Meanwhile, you’ve been living my old life…” He raised an eyebrow. “How’s that been going for you, Doc?”

I stood there, pants still open, cum slowly leaking down Drew’s thigh, trying to process everything.

Sohil in Drew’s body just smiled sweetly.

“By the way… you fuck really good in my body.”

My cock twitched and started hardening again almost immediately, still slick from being inside him. I was furious — at Sohil, at myself, at this entire situation — but the anger only seemed to make the arousal worse. The rational part of my brain was screaming that I needed to stop, to think clearly, to regain control.

But Sohil — or Drew, or whoever the hell he was right now — was right here. Convenient. Already bent over, his hole glistening with my cum, still slightly open and twitching.

I grabbed his hips and pushed back inside him in one smooth thrust.

“Fuck, Doc,” he moaned in Drew’s lighter voice, pushing back against me. “Round two already?”

I didn’t answer. I just started fucking him again, harder this time, my hips slapping against his ass. The wet, filthy sound of my cock sliding through my own load filled the stall. Every thrust felt better than the last. My mind was fogging over again, thoughts becoming slippery and unfocused.

We could switch it all back… if only…

I tried to hold onto the thought, but it kept sliding away.

If only… what was I trying to do again?

The question dissolved as pleasure took over. I gripped his waist tighter and pounded into him, grunting with each deep stroke. Sohil in Drew’s body moaned loudly, clearly loving every second.

“God, you really can’t control it, can you?” he gasped between thrusts, sounding amused. “Feels good though, doesn’t it?”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to pull out and walk away. But instead I fucked him even harder, chasing that building pressure again, my balls tightening as I got closer to another orgasm.

Look at that smile...

Salvator was the hottest guy I'd ever laid eyes on. Platinum face card, banging body, can you blame me for sneaking a peek at him in the gym locker room? And that was how I found out he had one of the smallest dicks I'd seen on a man.

I thought he'd be angry at me for peeping, but he actually seemed relieved to let someone in on his secret and even admitted something to me: he was a virgin!

I was shocked– the guy was sex on legs. Even I'd managed to get my dick wet once or twice, and I wasn't much of a looker. But it turned out he was so ashamed of the size of his penis that he'd never let anyone near it, resigning himself to a lonely existence of being the big man in the streets while rubbing himself off with a pillow between the sheets.

He had the face of a movie star and the body of a supermodel and he still wasn't happy, just because he didn't have the cock of a porn star to match. In a way, I felt sorry for him, because that's one hell of an insecurity. But mostly I thought that he was the dumbest man on earth to be so gifted and complain about the one thing he didn't have.

(And also like... hadn't the guy ever heard of bottoming?)

So I offered him a deal: I'd do a little trade with him and take his tiny pecker and give him my own, leaving him with the thick nine incher of his dreams. However, I would get it back for three days a month... along with everything attached to it.

Long story short, Salvator is having a LOT more sex these days, so I suppose I can say "you're welcome" to the men and women of this great city for unleashing such a gift upon them. And as for me? I take a long weekend off of work at the end of every month for a lovely beachside vacation where I can reconnect with my old package, along with Salvator's chiseled abs and fat ass.

I'm having a lot more sex these days too.

A happy ending all around, although I can't help but feel like I got the better end of the deal; he only gets one part of me, whereas I'm getting to take advantage of all of him. Imagine giving up all of that up just because it didn't have a few inches more on between the legs!

I suppose I can't talk though... after all, I get to have it all.

Ryan's POV

It had been three weeks since Cruz and I swapped back.

I was sitting on my couch with a beer in hand, staring at the SwapService app icon on my phone. I’d deleted it the day we returned to our own bodies, telling myself I needed a break. The whole experience had been intense. Eye-opening. Kind of incredible, honestly. For the first time in my life I’d been able to have sex with men without the crushing weight of fear that someone I knew would find out. I’d fucked, I’d been fucked, I’d finally let myself enjoy it. Cruz’s body had felt good. Young. Tight. Full of energy.

But the way he casually asked me on the last night if I wanted to make the swap permanent had freaked me out. Who the hell offers something like that so easily? Was that normal on this site? I’d said no immediately, and he’d just shrugged like it was no big deal. Still, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t intrigued by the idea.

A do-over. Getting to live as an out gay man from a much younger age. No decades spent hiding. No pretending.

I shook my head and took another sip of beer. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ryan. One more swap. Just to explore a little more. Nothing permanent. Nothing crazy.

I reinstalled the app, set up my profile again, and adjusted my preferences.

The moment I hit search, a profile popped up at the very top with a bright green 98% compatibility score.

That was insanely high. Higher than anything I’d seen last time, even with Cruz.

I tapped on it.

My stomach dropped.

David Clemence, 25

One of my former varsity swimmers. Lean, athletic build, wavy brown hair, cocky smile in his profile picture. He was shirtless by the ocean, water still dripping down his chest. He looked exactly like I remembered him — confident, good-looking, and way too young.

What the hell was he doing on here?

I stared at the screen for a long time, thumb hovering. Part of me knew I should just close the app. But another part of me — the part that had spent years in high school and college fighting against stealing glances at other swimmers in the locker room — stayed frozen.

I opened his profile fully.

His bio was short:

“Former swimmer. Looking for an older, experienced guy who knows how to take charge. Open to anything, including longer swaps.”

My cock twitched in my shorts before I could stop it.

I told myself I was just curious. I clicked the message button.

A new chat window opened.

Before I could even type anything, David’s message came through.

David: Coach Ryan? Holy shit, no way. Is that really you?

I stared at the screen for a second, then typed back.

Ryan: Yeah, it’s me. Didn’t expect to see you on here, David.

David: Same here, Coach. This is wild. I just logged on tonight and your profile popped up. Crazy coincidence. What brings you on here>

I leaned back on the couch, heart still beating faster than it should. I decided to keep things vague.

Ryan: I’ve just been taking a little break from things. Trying to figure some stuff out, I guess.

David: I get that You doing okay?

I hesitated, then found myself opening up more than I planned.

Ryan: Honestly? I’ve been exploring my sexuality lately. First time I’ve really let myself do that. It’s been… new. Kind of freeing, but also scary as hell.

David: That’s awesome, Coach. Seriously. I’m really glad you’re doing that. You deserve to figure shit out without anyone giving you crap.

His words hit me harder than I expected. I felt a strange warmth in my chest. Out of all the people who could have said that to me, hearing it from one of my former swimmers felt surprisingly good.

Ryan: Thanks, David. That means more than you know.

We messaged back and forth for a while. He was easy to talk to — supportive, casual, and didn’t make it weird. After twenty minutes of chatting, he finally said it.

David: So… would you want to swap for a few days? I’m down if you are.

I read the message twice. My stomach tightened.

Ryan: You sure that wouldn’t be too weird? ... Exploring my sexuality, I mean.

David: Nah, not weird at all. That’s kind of what the site is for, right? Exploring stuff. Besides, I haven’t been getting much attention from guys lately anyway. I’ve worked hard to keep this body in shape. Might as well let someone who actually put it to good use. And if it’s an old friend like you? Even better.

Shit, I didn't realize David was gay. I mean, I guess in retrospect that makes sense, but I hadn't really thought that much about it. That would make things a bit easier.

I could feel myself getting tempted. The 98% match, the easy conversation, the way he was reassuring me… it all made it feel strangely safe.

Ryan: You’re really okay with me being in your body?

David: More than okay, Coach. I’d actually like it. I've always looked up to you, it would be cool to repay you for that.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Ryan: Alright then, let's do it.

David and I agreed on a four-day swap. The process felt smoother than with Cruz. A bright flash behind my eyes, a moment of vertigo, and then everything settled.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in an unfamiliar bed in a small, tidy apartment. I looked down.

David’s body.

Lean, smooth, athletic. My new hands were younger, veins less prominent. I sat up slowly and walked over to the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.

It was so fucking weird.

I was staring at one of my former swimmers. The same kid I used to yell at for lazy flip turns and sloppy streamline. Now I was him. I ran David’s hands over his chest and abs, feeling the tight muscle definition I used to see every day at practice. His skin was smooth, almost no hair except a thin trail leading down from his navel. His cock was already half-hard just from the novelty of the swap.

I wrapped my new hand around it and gave a slow stroke. A sharp jolt of pleasure shot through me. It felt different. More sensitive. Quicker to respond.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered in David’s voice. It still felt surreal hearing his younger tone come out of my mouth.

I kept stroking, watching myself — watching him — in the mirror. The way his abs flexed, the way his biceps popped when I tensed my arm. I imagined all the times I’d stood on the pool deck trying not to look too long at these exact bodies. Now I was inside one.

I jerked off faster, breathing harder, until I came hard across David’s tight stomach, thick ropes landing on his smooth skin. I stood there panting, looking at the mess I’d made in my former swimmer’s body.

It was the strangest mix of guilt and arousal I’d ever felt.

A few days later I was at a gay bar downtown in David’s body. It was crowded, loud, and full of guys in their twenties. I felt both out of place and strangely excited. Being young again, being able to be here without anyone recognizing me, was liberating.

I was nursing a vodka soda at the bar when I saw him.

Tommy Morrison.

He was standing near the edge of the dance floor with a couple of friends, laughing at something. He’d filled out nicely since high school — broader shoulders, solid arms, a confident stance. He looked good. Really good.

I remembered him clearly. He joined the swim team as a junior when David was a freshman. It was supposed to be cross-training for running after he injured his ankle pretty badly. Less impact on the joints. But Tommy took to swimming so naturally that he stuck with it. Skipped indoor track his senior year just so he could keep swimming.

He’d always been one of the nicest kids I ever coached. Respectful, hardworking, good attitude.

And now I was staring at him like he was a piece of meat.

I quickly looked away, heat rising in my face. What the hell are you doing, Ryan? You were his coach.

Then it hit me.

In this body, I was younger than Tommy now.

The realization sent a strange thrill through me. I wasn’t his coach anymore.

Before I could decide whether to look away or go say something, Tommy started walking straight toward me. My stomach flipped. I tried to act casual, but when he tapped me on the shoulder I still startled slightly.

“Hey man, how are you?” Tommy said with a big smile. Without hesitation he pulled me into a quick, firm hug. He smelled like cologne and beer. When he stepped back, he looked me up and down, his eyes lingering for a second, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a slight grin.

I felt my cheeks heat up instantly. David’s face was probably bright red.

Tommy didn’t seem to mind. “This is crazy, I haven’t seen you in forever. Come meet my friends.”

He introduced me to the group as David. For the rest of the night I stayed with them — laughing, drinking, moving between the bar and the dance floor. I couldn’t stop watching Tommy. The way he carried himself was magnetic. He was masculine and confident without trying too hard, but he was also goofy and playful — teasing his friends, making dumb jokes, dancing badly on purpose just to make everyone laugh. Guys kept glancing at him and checking him out as they walked by.

He was everything I wished I could have been as a gay man — comfortable in his skin, open, free.

By the end of the night we were all drunk and starving. The whole group ended up at a McDonald’s a couple blocks away. We crammed into a booth, laughing too loud for the late hour. Tommy slid in right next to me. Without saying anything, he smoothly wrapped his arm around my waist and let his hand rest on my side, rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

The casual touch sent heat rushing through David’s body.

When it was finally time to leave, Tommy’s hand moved to my thigh under the table. He rubbed the inside of it, fingers pressing just firm enough to make my breath catch.

“My apartment is right around the corner,” he said, voice low and close to my ear. “I’ve got some new records if you want to come see them.”

I didn’t even pretend to hesitate.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice coming out a little rough in David’s throat. “I’d like that.”

We said goodbye to his friends and started walking. Tommy kept his hand on my lower back the whole way. His apartment was only a five-minute walk, but it felt longer with the tension building between us. When we got inside, he locked the door behind us and turned to face me, that same slight grin playing on his lips.

I wandered over to his record collection, pretending to look through the sleeves while trying to calm my nerves. A few seconds later I felt Tommy come up behind me. His hands gently grabbed my waist and turned me around. Before I could say anything, he leaned in and kissed me.

It was tender at first, almost careful. Then he deepened it, one hand sliding up to the back of my neck. When he finally pulled back, he looked me in the eyes and said quietly, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that for.”

My heart slammed in David’s chest. I didn’t know what to say, so I just kissed him again, harder this time.

We made our way to his bed, still kissing as we pulled each other’s shirts off. Tommy laid me down gently and started kissing down my neck, then across my smooth chest and stomach. Every touch of his lips sent electricity through me. I couldn’t stop staring at him — his perfectly toned body, the way his veiny biceps flexed as he held himself over me, that cute smile, the light mustache above his lip, his warm sweet eyes, and the cool geometric tattoo on his forearm.

He was gorgeous.

I was so turned on I could barely think straight. This was one of my former swimmers — a kid I used to coach — now kissing his way down my (David’s) body like he’d been waiting years to do it. The guilt and the thrill mixed together in a way that made everything feel even more intense.

Tommy looked up at me, eyes dark with want, his hand sliding slowly up my thigh.

He stood up and pushed his underwear down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock sprang up, hard and thick, curving slightly upward. I stared at it, my mouth going dry. He had already stripped me completely naked.

He reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. Then he climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself on his knees between my spread legs. Looking down at me with dark, hungry eyes, he poured some lube onto his fingers and warmed it up by rubbing them together.

He leaned forward slightly and pressed one slick finger against my hole. I tensed for a second, but his other hand gently rubbed the inside of my thigh, slow and soothing. He pushed the finger in carefully, working it deeper with small, patient movements. A low moan escaped my throat.

After a minute he added a second finger, stretching me open. I squirmed on the sheets, breathing heavier, my cock leaking against my stomach. The combination of his fingers and that steady, comforting hand on my thigh was driving me crazy.

Tommy looked me straight in the eyes, his voice low and commanding.

“Are you on Prep?”

I could barely form words. I was so desperate to feel him inside me that it came out shaky and needy.

“Yes,” I managed, practically whimpering. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

Tommy gave me that same endearing, cute, confident smile — the one that made my chest tighten. Without another word, he pulled his fingers out, slicked up his cock, and lined himself up.

He thrust into me in one smooth, steady motion.

I gasped loudly as he filled me, my hands grabbing at his arms. He felt huge inside David’s tighter body. Tommy let out a deep groan, eyes half-closed for a moment, then looked back down at me as he started moving his hips.

“Fuck, David…” he breathed, leaning down closer.

Tommy started thrusting, deep and steady. Every roll of his hips sent waves of pleasure through me.

Fuck, he’s so hot. The thought kept repeating in my head as I watched him above me. The way his shoulders flexed, the way his chest moved with each breath, the confident look on his face. This is exactly how I want to be. Masculine. At ease in my own skin. Open. Desired.

This was my first time having sex without a condom. The feeling of Tommy’s bare cock sliding in and out of me was overwhelming. I couldn’t tell if raw sex just felt this incredible, or if it was specifically his cock — thick, curved, and hitting the perfect spot every single time. Honestly, it was probably both.

Tommy’s rhythm picked up. His eyes had turned darker, hungrier. He looked down at me and said in a low, rough voice, “I wish you could see how sexy you look right now.”

That sent me spiraling.

I closed my eyes and pictured it — being inside Tommy’s body instead. Looking down at David’s lean, smooth body spread out beneath me. Seeing my new, stronger hands gripping these hips. Fucking him with this powerful body while wearing that cute, confident smile.

The fantasy hit me like a freight train.

I came hard, moaning loudly as my cock pulsed between us, shooting across David’s stomach and chest. My hole clenched tight around Tommy’s cock with every wave.

“Fuck— David—” Tommy groaned. His thrusts became shorter and harder, then he buried himself deep and came. I felt every pulse as he filled me.

He dropped down onto me, chest to chest, our sweaty skin pressing together and smearing my cum between us. I pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting beer and salt on his tongue.

We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard.

All I could think, over and over, was:

Hey, hey! Sure. It would be quite interesting to write some fanfiction. Although, I have to be honest, it's been ages since I've written anything like this here on the blog. I think I've only worked on the idea once or twice since the beginning. But it would be really great to do it, although I think I'd need your help planning which fanfic you'd like best. I've been thinking and I've come up with this list of options:

Heartstopper (University AU): Ben Hope never got over his resentment towards Charly for moving on without him, and not only that, but for finding a guy much better than him, the damn Nick Nelson, with his huge muscles, thick pecs, and charming smile. Why shouldn't he steal his body? Two birds with one stone: he gets that godlike body and gets his perfect revenge on his ex.

Invincible: William is Mark's best friend, always loyal to him, with a great deal of affection and, at the same time, intense envy – his good physique, his powers, how good he looks in spandex… One day, while scrolling through the internet, Will was lucky enough to find a body-swap spell, and of course, he knows exactly who to use it on.

Pokémon: Giovanni, the leader of Team Rocket, is more than fed up with everyone meddling in his affairs, thwarting all his plans time and time again, so… why not start infiltrating the very side that's trying so hard to take him down? A visit to the Alola region and he already has in mind a certain “professor” to use as a means to his schemes. 

Jurassic World: Peter is an intern who has just joined the ranks of Jurassic World as a geneticist. He's too skinny, too short, and has no luck with men whatsoever. However, after a failed experiment with pheromones and experimental InGen technology, he ends up waking up in the massive, monumental body of Owen Grady.

Marvel - Fantastic Four: Doom is fed up with the Fantastic Four meddling in everything he does—his plans, his rule in Latveria, everything. It's not the first time he's infiltrated the halls of Baxter Tower; he's already switched bodies with Reed Richards more than once. But… what if he sets his sights on the supernova-playboy of New York City? 

Riverdale: Kevin has always… desired Archie. Nights and nights of spying on him with Betty have caused him to develop an almost obsessive crush on the redhead. With that sweaty body, his perfect pecs, his jawline—his entire physique of a favorite athlete—Kevin wants him for himself, and it seems fate is granting his wish, only not in the way he expected.

The Boys: Hughie has always been too skinny, pathetic, weak, and fragile compared to his teammates, his girlfriend, and by a wide margin compared to the heroes he wants to face. However, thanks to an experimental Compound V, the pathetic human wakes up in the body of SuperBoy, while the "hero" wakes up in the skinny human's body.

Marvel - Young Avengers: William and Tommy are the Scarlet Witch's lost sons, one a sorcerer like his mother while the other is a speedster, albeit somewhat... Reckless, overconfident in their powers and abilities, an arrogance that will lead them straight to the lair of a telepathic villain who will not have the slightest mercy in molding their minds to his liking.

---

These are just a few ideas I have; you can vote for which one you like best.

Although, I'm always open to suggestions, so you can also tell me about other plots or characters (from series, movies, or other media) that you'd like to see in these situations (possession, body swapping, mind control). It would be great to chat with you. You can send them to my inbox, by message, or here in the comments. I'd love to hear your ideas, thanks!

I’d been dreaming about studying abroad in Europe since I was twelve years old. So when the acceptance email hit my inbox at the end of my second year at the University of Calgary, I actually screamed in the middle of the library. A full year in Portugal? Sun-drenched streets, pastel buildings, ocean air, and actual European boys who probably knew how to kiss properly? Sign me the fuck up.

The only weird part was my school’s so-called “Immersion Exchange Program,” which was run by some educational company called Arterra. Every study abroad advisor that explained the program kept using the same weirdly specific language: “You’ll be living the life of a local student.” They said it with these bright, unnerving smiles. When I asked what that actually meant, they waved it off.

“Oh, you’ll understand once you’re there. It’s the deepest possible cultural integration. You’ll come back completely changed.”

The fourth-years who had already done the program were even cagier. I’d corner a couple of them after class and they’d just smirk, eyes glazing over like they were remembering something filthy.

“Changed my life,” one girl named Maya told me, twirling a strand of hair. “You have no idea how much.”

Another guy, Ethan, just laughed low and said, “Trust me, Liv. You’ll have the best time.”

It was strange, though. I could’ve sworn most of them had never actually left campus for a semester abroad. And every time I tried to dig, they changed the subject or suddenly remembered they had somewhere to be.

When I asked the international office about flights, housing, student visas, what to pack, all the normal stuff, they just smiled again and said, “We handle everything. Just show up at the Arterra Exchange Facility on August 29th at 11 a.m. sharp. Everything will be taken care of.”

So I spent the whole summer slinging overpriced leggings and iced lattes at the mall in Calgary, counting down the days. No confirmation email about my Portuguese class start date. No housing assignment. No flight itinerary. Every time I emailed, the reply was the same cheerful bullshit: “All arrangements are in hand. Don’t worry! Just show up on the 29th with a valid passport and your house keys and we will take care of the rest. No need to even pack a bag.”

By the time August rolled around I was low-key panicking, but I still showed up at the address they gave me. I assume they would just be giving me an airport transfer from here. I still thought was weird not to bring anything with me, but maybe they had clothes for me to make sure I dressed like a local too? Who knows?

The actual facility looked less like a travel office and more like a high-end medical clinic—sleek glass doors, soft lighting, and a faint smell of something citrusy in the air.

The receptionist checked my name off a tablet and motioned for me to follow her down a quiet hallway.

“Right in here, Olivia,” she said, opening the door to a small, windowless room. The walls had this strange sheen, like they were made of something that wasn’t quite drywall. A single padded chair sat in the center. “Just have a seat and relax. The process will begin shortly.”

“Process?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “I thought this was just orientation or paperwork or—”

She was already stepping back out. “You’ll be fine. Most students find it… exhilarating.”

The door clicked shut behind her with a soft, final sound. I stood there for a second, arms crossed, staring at the weird glowing walls. This felt off. Like, sci-fi movie off.

Before I could even knock on the door and demand answers, the lights overhead flickered once, twice—

A sudden, intense burning sensation ripped through my entire body, like every nerve had been lit on fire at the same time. My knees buckled. I tried to grab the chair but missed. The room spun violently, colors bleeding together, and then—

Everything went black

---

When I came to, the first thing I noticed was the silence. No more flickering lights, no burning. Just the low hum of air conditioning.

I groaned and pushed myself up in the chair, blinking hard. My arms felt… wrong. Heavier. Longer. The sleeves of my hoodie rode up on forearms that were definitely not mine—dusted with dark hair, veins standing out a little, and way more muscle than I’d ever had in my life. I looked down.

My chest was flat. Broad. The soft curve of my breasts was gone, replaced by solid pectorals under a dark blue sweatshirt. My thighs pressed against the fabric of my jeans in a completely different way—thicker, stronger, the kind of legs that filled out pants instead of just sliding into them. Between them, there was an unmistakable, heavy weight that made my stomach drop.

I wasn’t Olivia anymore.

I was a guy.

A very real, very male guy.

Before I could even process the panic rising in my throat, the door opened again. This time a different woman stepped in—mid-thirties, sharp blazer, clipboard in hand, and the same unnervingly calm smile everyone here seemed to wear.

“Olá, Nuno,” she said gently, then switched to English with only a light accent. “Or… should I still call you Olivia for now? I’m so sorry for the abrupt transition. Most students handle the awakening a little better, but we understand this can be disorienting.”

I stared at her, mouth open. My voice—when it finally came out—was deeper, rougher, but still perfect English. “What the actual fuck did you do to me?”

She didn’t flinch. “You’ve been successfully exchanged. Welcome to Lisbon! Our program is designed for true cultural immersion: you live in your partner’s body, attend their classes, meet their friends, speak their language. It’s the only way to really learn about local life.”

I laughed, but it came out shaky and too loud. “You swapped me? Into a dude? Are you serious right now?”

She nodded, completely unfazed. “Your case is a little unusual, I’ll admit. There’s been quite a bit of foreign demand for Portuguese students this year but not nearly as much domestic interest in Canadian students I’m afraid. We could not find a local girl that met our requirements to swap with you, but Nuno here was offered a generous incentive—several thousand euros—to participate. He’s from a very small village to the south of here and wanted the money to move to the city properly.”

I ran a hand through my new hair—short, thick, dark brown—and felt the unfamiliar scratch of stubble on my jaw.

“Wait… so he wasn’t even a student here?” I asked, voice cracking a little in that new register.

“No, he wasn’t,” she confirmed. “And so we actually had to enroll you as an international student on study abroad. But don’t worry—it will still be an excellent experience. You’ll have full access to the university, the city, everything. And your knowledge of Portuguese will start filtering in naturally over the next few days as the neural integration settles. You’ll feel more like yourself—well, more like Nuno—soon.”

I stood up on legs that felt too long, too powerful. The movement sent an odd, warm shift through my groin that made my cheeks burn. “You should’ve just let me come as myself, then. Like fucking hell.”

She gave me a sympathetic tilt of her head. “We understand you’re upset. Many students feel that way at first. But give it a little time. You’ll settle in. Most of them say it’s the best year of their lives.”

They handed me a small envelope with keys, a student ID card that already had what I assume was my—Nuno’s—face on it, and directions to “my” flat.

By the time I stepped outside, it was night. The August daylight I’d left behind in Calgary had vanished. Lisbon glowed around me—warm streetlights and the distant hum of scooters.

The flat they’d assigned me was only a ten-minute walk from the main university buildings. When I let myself in, I was surprised at how nice it was: clean white walls, big windows overlooking a quiet street, a small balcony, and a nicely styled bedroom. Posters of famous Portuguese athletes hung on the wall and a guitar leaned in the corner.

I dropped onto the edge of the bed, heart still racing.

I caught my full reflection in the mirror across the room for the first time—Nuno’s reflection. Broad shoulders filling out the sweatshirt, that easy, bright smile still lingering on the face even though I wasn’t trying to smile. He was cute. I mean objectively speaking.

The exhaustion hit me like a truck—jet lag, body lag, whatever the hell this was. I stripped down to just a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs, then flopped back onto the sheets.

---

A few hours later I jolted awake in the pitch-dark apartment, heart pounding for no reason. The clock on the nightstand glowed 3:17 a.m. My mouth was bone-dry. But that wasn’t even the most urgent problem.

There was a hard-on tenting the front of my underwear. My new thick cock pressed insistently against the soft cotton, throbbing with every heartbeat. I could feel the weight of it, the way it curved slightly upward, the sensitive head already leaking a little and making a small wet spot. Heat flushed up my neck.

I lay there for a second, breathing shallow, trying to ignore it. But the thirst was overpowering. Curiosity won out first, though. Just a quick look.

I hooked my thumb under the elastic waistband and tugged it down just enough to let it spring free. It slapped lightly against my lower stomach, thick and flushed, veins standing out along the shaft. Fuck, it was bigger than I expected—maybe 18 cm, heavy, with a slight upward curve and a nice pair of balls hanging below.

I stared for a long moment, pulse hammering. It twitched under my gaze, another bead of precum welling up and sliding down the side.

Okay. Drink first.

I tucked myself back in and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The tile was cool under my feet. I yanked open the fridge and the little light inside lit up the modest contents, which included a big carton of passionfruit juice. Perfect. I poured myself a massive glass and downed the whole thing in several long gulps.

I set the empty glass on the counter and turned to head back to bed when my reflection again caught my eye in the narrow mirror hanging by the kitchen doorway.

Broad shoulders. Strong neck. The way the white t-shirt stretched across a chest with the faint outline of pecs. My new jaw looked sharper in the low light, dark stubble shadowing it. I stepped closer without thinking, turning my head side to side.

Curiosity pulled me in deeper. I reached up and rubbed my jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble under my fingers. It sent a little spark straight down my spine. Before I could stop myself, I grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and peeled it off, tossing it onto the counter.

Nuno’s torso stared back at me—lean but defined, smooth olive skin, a light trail of dark hair running down the center of his abs and disappearing into the waistband of the boxers. The shoulders were wide, biceps nicely rounded even when relaxed. I rolled them back experimentally and flexed, watching the muscle pop under the skin.

My cock strained hard against the underwear again, the fabric tenting obscenely. It felt… good. Really fucking good. A warm pulse of pleasure rolled through me as the material rubbed against the sensitive head.

One thing led to another.

I shoved the boxers down my thighs, letting them pool at my ankles. I wrapped my hand around my cock and gave one slow stroke from base to tip.

“Oh… shit,” I muttered in that new, deeper voice. It came out husky.

I did it again, slower this time, thumb spreading the precum. My other hand roamed up my chest, feeling the firm muscle, pinching a nipple that sent an unexpected jolt straight to my cock. I leaned back against the counter, legs spreading a little as I started stroking in earnest—long, firm pulls that made my balls tighten and my abs clench. Everything felt amplified. I watched myself in the mirror the whole time: this hot Portuguese guy with messy dark hair, flushed cheeks, and a thick, leaking, uncut cock in his fist. It was me. I was him. And it was turning me on more than anything ever had in my old body.

I sped up, hips starting to buck forward into my hand. When I came, it was euphoric—nothing like the softer, slower orgasms I was used to. My cock pulsed hard in my grip, shooting thick ropes of cum across the kitchen floor in messy, powerful spurts. I kept stroking through it, milking every last drop while my knees shook and my vision whited out for a second. The groan that tore out of me was loud and shameless. “Fuuuuck…”

I stood there panting afterward, cum still dripping from the tip of my softening dick onto the tile.

With a sheepish laugh, I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up the mess on the floor, still half-naked and glowing with aftershocks. My legs felt wobbly. My new cock gave one last lazy twitch as I wiped everything down. I tossed the towels, washed my hands, and headed back to bed, collapsing onto the sheets with a satisfied sigh.

---

The next few days were a blur. I spent way too much time in front of that narrow kitchen mirror, shirt off, hands roaming slowly over Nuno’s body. I’d flex my arms just to watch the biceps tighten, trace the light trail of dark hair down my abs with my fingertips, and let my palms slide lower until I was gripping that thick cock again. The orgasms were intense, almost addictive; thick ropes of cum that left me panting and grinning at my own reflection like an idiot.

By the time orientation rolled around, some Portuguese had started trickling into my brain. Basic phrases, greetings, even a few slang words. But luckily I hadn't lost any of my English and still had my Canadian accent. That was a relief, because even after all the hassle, the program still expected me to play the part of a Canadian exchange student.

Orientation was held in a big lecture hall at the university, packed wall-to-wall with international students. Mostly loud Americans in backwards caps, a solid crew of fellow Canadians, clusters of chatty Latin Americans, tall Germans, stylish Italians, and a random mix of other Europeans. None of them had the slightest clue I wasn’t the real Nuno. The Arterra Exchange Facility had made that crystal clear before I left the building: the swap program was 100% confidential. No one outside the actual participants was ever supposed to know.

When it was my turn to introduce myself, I stood up with a casual grin and said, “Hey, I’m Nuno Seguro, from Calgary.”

“Dude, your name sounds super Portuguese,” one American girl laughed. “And you definitely look it.”

I shrugged easily, the lie sliding out smoother than I expected. “Yeah, my mom’s Portuguese. She basically guilt-tripped me into coming here to connect with the heritage and all that. I’m not even mad about it though—Portuguese classes are gonna be a breeze since I grew up speaking it.”

They bought it.

---

The first couple of weeks were actually lit.

Classes were laughably easy—designed for international students who were clearly here more for the party scene than actual academics. Professors barely assigned homework, lectures were short and chill. Meanwhile, the social life was nonstop. Parties every single night: rooftop bars with insane views of the Tagus sweaty little hidden clubs tucked away in Bairro Alto, cheap bottles of vinho verde.

The other internationals were jealous as hell that I had my own nice little apartment instead of cramped shared dorms or sketchy hostels. Within a week, my place had become the default hangout spot. People would text me at 8 p.m. saying “Pre-game at Nuno’s?” and suddenly there’d be ten of us on the balcony, blasting music, passing around bottles of cheap wine and beer. Someone always ended up crashing on the couch. Someone else always brought a speaker that made the walls shake. I’d lean against the railing in just a tank top and shorts, feeling the warm night air on my skin and the way people’s eyes lingered on my shoulders and arms a little longer than necessary.

I eventually decided Nuno’s original look needed an upgrade. He was already a good-looking guy—strong jaw, warm brown eyes, that easy smile—but his style had been stuck somewhere between “small-village casual” and “whatever was clean.” I wasn’t about to waste a year in Lisbon looking basic.

So I made a couple of changes.

First, I let the facial hair grow. Within a couple of weeks I had a thick, dark mustache that framed my smile just right, the kind that looked effortlessly cool and made my teeth flash brighter when I grinned. It suited the face perfectly—gave me this warm, slightly cocky vibe that turned heads.

Then I booked a cut at a trendy little barbershop in Chiado. I told the guy exactly what I wanted: a modern mullet, short and tight on the sides, longer and curly in the back, just like so many of the local guys and the Spanish and Italian exchange students were rocking.When I walked out, the breeze hitting the longer curls at the nape of my neck felt ridiculously good. Fuck, I’d always thought those cuts looked so hot on guys. Now I was the one wearing it, and every time I caught my reflection in a shop window I had to fight the urge to smirk.

Next, I made friends with this really fashionable Estonian guy named Karl in the international crowd—always dressed like he’d stepped out of a European fashion shoot. I was pretty sure he was gay and definitely into me and I wasn’t above flirting a little to borrow some of his clothes. A couple of flirty texts and suddenly I had access to his closet: fitted button-downs that hugged my shoulders just right, slim dark jeans that made my ass and thighs look incredible, a sleek leather jacket, and some expensive jewelry.

The other Canadians, Americans, and Latin American crew ended up traveling around Europe together nonstop—Rome, Budapest, Paris, Prague, Madrid. We did all the classic study-abroad shit: hitting every tourist trap and monument during the day, then drinking cheap local beer and wine until we were loud and sloppy at night.

Back in Lisbon, a bunch of us got cheap gym passes at a nearby university facility. Lifting felt incredible in this body. I could throw around weights I never would’ve dreamed of touching as Olivia. I’d bench numbers that made the other guys whistle and shake their heads, deadlift until my back and legs burned in that deep, addictive way. Every session left me pumped—veins popping along my arms and shoulders, sweat dripping down the light trail of dark hair on my abs, my tank top clinging to my chest. The mirror in the gym changing room became another favorite spot. I’d stand there flexing, admiring the way my new mullet looked messy and sexy after a workout, that thick mustache framing my cocky grin while my cock half-hardened in my shorts from the pure rush of it all.

I started taking a lot of really douchey mirror selfies—especially in the apartment elevator. I posted some of the tamer ones on the new Instagram I’d made for Nuno and kept the spicier ones just for myself, saved in a hidden folder where I could scroll through them late at night, stroking slowly while I replayed how good this body felt.

---

One of the international girls from Brazil, Isabela, had caught my eye early on. She was stunning—curvy in all the right places, long dark wavy hair, golden-brown skin, and a smile that could stop traffic. We started flirting almost immediately, and pretty soon we were exclusively speaking in Portuguese with each other. It drove the rest of the group insane, especially this tall German guy named Lukas who had been obviously pining after her since day one. He’d sit there with his arms crossed, trying (and failing) to follow our rapid-fire conversations, his face getting redder every time she laughed at something I said.

One night at a crowded rooftop party, Isabela land I were chatting.

“Vocês portugueses todos falam como se fossem russos ou algo assim,” she complained with a dramatic sigh, her Brazilian lilt turning every word into a melody. “It’s like you have this heavy Slavic thing going on. So serious!”

I grinned, letting my hand rest lightly on her waist as I fired back in perfect Portuguese. “E você, brasileira? Parece que está cantando uma música em vez de falar. Tudo soa tão doce e dramático. Como se estivesse sempre flertando, mesmo quando reclama.”

She laughed, shoving my chest playfully, but her eyes sparkled with clear interest. The teasing only made the tension between us thicker. The German guy shot me a death glare from across the table, but I just raised my glass to him with a smirk.

One thing led to another and later that night Isabela ended up back at my apartment. The second the door clicked shut we were on each other—hands everywhere, mouths hungry. pushed her up against the wall first, kissing down her neck while she moaned softly.

We barely made it to the bedroom.

When I finally got her out of her dress and onto the bed, I took my time peeling off my own clothes, letting her watch. Her eyes widened when my cock sprang free—already rock-hard, thick, and leaking for her. “Nossa…” she whispered, biting her lip.

This was my first time having actual sex as Nuno, and it was on a completely different level from the months I’d spent happily jerking off in this body or making out in clubs.

I climbed over her, kissing her deeply as I lined up. The moment I pushed inside her—slow, deep, feeling her tight, wet heat stretch around every inch of my cock—was euphoric. The sensation was so much more intense than anything I’d experienced before: the slick grip, the way her walls fluttered and clenched, the raw physical power in my hips as I started thrusting. My balls slapped against her with each deep stroke.

“Porra, Nuno… você é tão grosso,” she gasped, nails digging into my back.

I fucked her harder, finding a steady rhythm that had her arching off the bed. I flipped her onto all fours at one point, gripping her hips with both hands and pounding into her from behind. The view was insane—her ass rippling with every impact, my thick cock disappearing into her again and again.

When I came, I buried myself deep, groaning loud and raw as my cock pulsed and spilled inside her in thick, powerful ropes. The orgasm seemed to last forever, wave after wave of intense pleasure ripping through me while her pussy clenched around me, milking every drop. I kept thrusting through it, riding the high until we both collapsed in a sweaty, panting heap.

Afterward, we lay tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest as she traced lazy circles over my abs with her finger.

“Você foi incrível,” she murmured sleepily, pressing a kiss to my skin.

I just smirked, still glowing from the aftershocks, my cock giving one last lazy twitch against her thigh.

Yeah. This body was fucking dangerous.

---

A couple of months into the semester I took a quick weekend trip south to visit Nuno’s family in their small village. They knew he had moved up to Lisbon for “work opportunities,” but they had zero clue where the sudden money had come from. I played it safe the entire time—kept my answers vague, smiled a lot, and let the Portuguese flow naturally. His mom hugged me tight and kept pushing food on me, while his dad clapped me on the shoulder and asked about “the big city.” They had no idea their son wasn’t really their son anymore. I felt a tiny pang of guilt, but mostly I just felt relieved that the secret was still safe.

---

By the end of the first semester, the other international students started packing up for home. There were teary goodbyes at the train station—Isabela cried a little and made me promise to visit her in São Paulo someday, Lukas gave me a grudging bro-hug, and the whole crew swore we’d stay in touch. I hugged them back, genuinely sad to see them go, but I had opted for the full year, so I was staying.

Or at least… I thought I was.

A few days later an email from the study abroad facility popped into my inbox:

“Dear Nuno,

Please report to the Arterra Exchange Facility on January 15th for scheduled return transfer. Your semester exchange has concluded.”

My stomach dropped. I fired back an immediate reply explaining that I had clearly opted for the full academic year. Their response came fast:

“We apologize for the miscommunication. Your partner only agreed to a one-semester term. We are required to facilitate the return swap at this time.”

Fuck. No. I couldn’t go back now. I typed out a careful reply asking for at least a few extra days “to settle my affairs and say proper goodbyes.” They agreed, reluctantly, giving me until the end of the week.

In those few days the money they'd promised Nuno hit his bank account. It was more than enough to cover several months of rent and give me breathing room to figure shit out.

I sat on the edge of my bed staring at the balance for a long time, heart racing. First thing I did was go through all my new socials and blocked my old accounts. Then I packed a bag with the essentials, left most of the apartment, and got on the first train heading north t. Lisbon was too risky now; if the facility came looking, they’d start here. I needed to disappear, at least for a while.

As the train rattled through the Portuguese countryside, I leaned my head against the window and watched the hills roll by. My reflection stared back at me—dark mullet a little messy from the morning, thick mustache framing my mouth, broad shoulders filling out the hoodie. I caught myself smiling, just a little.

This body was mine now.

And I wasn’t giving it back.

—

Five years later, the swap facility still hadn’t found me.

After leaving Lisbon in a hurry, I bounced around for a few months before finally settling in Coimbra with a couple of guys my age who were renting a cheap, grimy apartment. It was nowhere near as nice as the one I'd left in Lisbon, but I didn't mind. I had what was important.

I worked for a while at a small, loud bar packed with local students, pouring cheap beers, flirting shamelessly, and closing the place down most nights. The tips were decent and nobody ever asked me too many probing questions.

Eventually I knew I needed to get back to Lisbon. The city had gotten under my skin. So I talked my new gym buddy Rui—a tall, easygoing guy who had just graduated from university in Coimbra—into moving back with me. We found a decent shared flat in the Alfama district with a killer view, and within a couple of months I managed to get admitted to one of the other universities in the city.

Isabela came to visit me a few times over the years. We’d spend a few wild days and nights together—fucking like rabbits in my room while Rui pretended not to hear anything through the thin walls—but I made it clear I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I was having way too much fun playing the field, especially when the new wave of international students rolled in every semester.

God, it felt like every semester i got even sexier and those hot international girls (and a few guys) wanted me more and more. They were so pent up and horny it was crazy and not to mention i really had learned how to use my cock. They’d show up at parties already buzzing, eyes lingering on my arms and chest, and half the time they barely made me wear a condom—or didn’t complain at all when I slid it off halfway through so I could feel them raw. The way they gasped and clenched around me when I fucked them deep and bare was addictive. I loved the risk, the heat, the way their legs would shake when I filled them up.

Between all that, I actually managed to graduate with a degree in engineering. Late nights studying engineering diagrams mixed with even later nights out drinking and hooking up, but I wasn’t mad about any of it. I thrived on it—commanding the classroom during group projects with that calm, deep voice, then commanding attention at the bars afterward.

Now I’m due to start work at a green energy firm in a few months. The salary is excellent, the benefits are solid, and the office is full of sharp, ambitious people who seem to like me already.

Life is good.

I still catch my reflection sometimes—in the elevator of my new building, in the gym mirror, or in the window of a tram—and I grin at the guy staring back. Thick mustache, sharp jaw, confident eyes. Nuno.

He’s me now. Completely.

And I wouldn’t trade this body, this life, or this city for anything.

I’d been living in the building for about four months when I first noticed the way my next-door neighbor Kevin looked at me.

Mid-to-late fifties, silver hair cropped short, always dressed in either crisp button-downs or very nice workout clothes. Even on the days he clearly wasn’t trying, he looked put together. Every time we passed each other in the narrow hallway, he’d stop, smile that slow, easy smile, and find some reason to chat. The weather. The new gym down the block. Whether I’d tried the Thai place on the corner. His eyes would linger just a second too long on my shoulders, my arms, the way my tank top clung after a boxing session. I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what those glances meant.

I wasn’t interested. Not really. Kevin was handsome for his age — tall, still broad in the chest, with a deep voice that carried easy confidence — but he was over thirty years older than me. I just wasn’t into that.

Still, the attention was flattering. A man like him could probably pull plenty of guys my age if he wanted. He didn’t push, didn’t make it weird, so I just smiled back, kept the conversations short, and went about my business.

Then one Thursday night, close to midnight, there was a knock on my door.

I was sprawled on the couch in gym shorts and a hoodie, half-watching Netflix and half-scrolling on my phone, when the sound startled me. I figured it was the delivery guy with the wrong apartment again. Instead, when I opened the door, Kevin was standing there in a dark sweater, looking unusually nervous.

“Hey, Gio,” he said, voice low. “Sorry to bother you this late. Mind if I come in for a minute?”

I hesitated, then stepped aside. “Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”

He walked in, hands in his pockets, and glanced around my living room.

He didn’t sit down.

“I’ve been thinking about how to say this,” he started, then gave a short laugh. “There’s no graceful way, so I’ll just be direct.”

I raised an eyebrow, folding my arms across my chest. Here it comes.

But instead of the expected confession, Kevin reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, sleek device — black, palm-sized, with a glowing blue ring around the edge. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.

“This is, uh… this is a Chronovac,” he said, holding it up. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned it in his hands. “It, um… it can change things about reality. Like… swap stuff.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking between the device and my face.

“I can swap people’s ages… temporarily. Or, or, or permanently if you want, I guess. It’s been a long time since I’ve used it, but since you moved in I just… I don’t know, you seemed like the right kind of guy who might… who might want to give it a try?”

I stared at him.

Kevin nodded quickly, eyes flicking between the device and my face.

“Yeah. It could make me be in my mid twenties again. And you’d… you’d become sixty-one,” he said.

Damn. He was even older than I’d realized—and he still kept himself in incredible shape.

“…Just for the weekend, if that’s all you’re comfortable with. I know it sounds completely insane. It’s just… it’s been so long, and I’ve really been craving it. With someone like you.” The pieces clicked together in my head, and I almost laughed. This had to be some elaborate joke. Or maybe the guy was having a midlife crisis and this was his weird way of flirting. Either way, it was ridiculous.

“You’re serious,” I said, half question, half statement.

“Dead serious.” He turned the device slowly in his hands, thumb brushing over the glowing ring. There was something hungry in his eyes now, something raw and long-denied. Something in his face confirmed to me he wasn’t kidding.

I thought about it—really thought about it. About what sixty-one would feel like sitting on my frame. About the weight of those extra decades suddenly pressing into my bones, my skin, my cock. My mouth went dry.

Finally, I let out a slow breath.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

Kevin’s face lit up with pure relief, edged with something darker and hotter. “You’re sure? No pressure if it’s too weird—”

“I’m sure. Just the weekend, right? We swap back Sunday night?”

“Right.”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne mixed with warm skin. He held the Chronovac between us, pressed his thumb to the glowing ring. A soft chime filled the room.

“Ready?” he asked, voice husky.

I nodded.

The device hummed to life. A warm, heavy pressure bloomed deep in my chest, then surged outward like liquid heat flooding every vein. My vision blurred for a heartbeat. When it cleared, the world felt… different. Heavier.

My shoulders were still broad, but the muscle sat differently now—denser, more substantial. My arms looked thicker, the veins less razor-sharp, the skin just a little looser over the bulk. And I was covered in a thick layer of hair.

I looked back over at him. Across from me stood a version of Kevin I’d never imagined.

Twenty-seven years old, and fucking stunning.

“Fuck…” he whispered, voice now younger, smoother, and full of energy. He ran both hands over his new chest, then down his flat stomach, clearly savoring every inch. His fingers lingered at the waistband of his shorts, tracing the sharp V-lines. A wide, almost boyish grin spread across his bearded face. “This feels even better than I remembered.”

I cleared my throat. My voice came out deeper, rougher, with a slight gravelly edge that hadn’t been there before. “Jesus, Kevin… you’re really sixty-one, I swear I never would’ve thought you were that old?” I said, feeling up my new body.

“Sixty-one last month,” he said, still staring at his new arms like he couldn’t believe they were his. He rolled his shoulders and laughed softly. “God, I missed this. The energy. The way everything just… moves.”

He stepped closer to the mirror hanging by the door and turned sideways, checking out his profile.

Meanwhile, I was still trying to get used to the new balance in my own body. I shifted my weight and felt the subtle difference in my posture. My back didn’t hurt exactly, but it felt… like it had carried a lot of years.

Kevin turned back to me, eyes bright with excitement. “How do you feel?”

“Weird,” I admitted, running a hand over my new jaw. The stubble was coarser, the skin a little rougher. “Heavier. But not bad. Just… different.”

He smiled. “Well you look good, Gio. Really good. That silver looks sharp on you.”

It was already one in the morning, so eventually he slipped back to his own apartment. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with a body that was and wasn’t mine.

I stood there for a long minute, then walked slowly to the full-length mirror in the bedroom. I turned sideways, ran a hand over the new softness of my stomach, tested the solid weight of my arms. I lifted my shirt and studied the thicker chest hair, the gentler swell of my midsection, the way my shoulders still carried a lifetime of muscle even if the sharp definition had mellowed into something heavier, more mature.

It was weird. Surreal, even.

But as I stood there flexing my hands and feeling the quiet, grounded strength still humming beneath the surface, a strange sense of relief settled deep in my chest. If this was a glimpse of my future… it didn’t feel bad at all.

—

Sunday evening, just after eight, there was a knock on my door. Kevin — well twenty-seven-year-old Kevin — stepped inside with a bright, almost boyish grin.

“Hey,” he said, voice smooth and energetic. “I just need to thank you again before we switch back. That was… incredible. Best weekend I’ve had in years.”

He looked flushed, like he’d just come from the gym or maybe from somewhere more exciting.

“I hope it wasn’t too much of a paid for you” he said.

“Not at all, it was actually… enlightening,” I replied. My voice came out deeper and steadier than it had been just a few days earlier. “I guess we have to swap back. I’ve got work in the morning, and I don’t know what they’d do if I showed up as a sixty-one-year-old version of myself.”

Kevin nodded, already pulling the Chronovac from his pocket. “You’re right. Real life calls.” As he toggled with the settings, I asked, “What else can that thing do, anyway?”

He took a shaky breath, still fiddling with the device, eyes fixed on the glowing ring instead of me. “A lot, actually. Age swaps are just the beginning. It can tweak personality traits — make someone more outgoing, more disciplined, more… submissive, whatever you want. It can shift sexualities, heighten or dull certain drives. Hell, it can even do full body swaps. I’ve only really played with the lighter stuff like the age swaps, but yeah… the potential is… it’s wild.” Just as he finished speaking, he paused, thumb hovering over the glowing ring like he was wrestling with something. The air between us thickened again. Before he could press it, I stopped him.

“Wait,” I said, my deeper voice cutting through the tension. My heart was pounding hard enough that I could feel it in my thicker chest. “What if we didn’t swap back right away?”Just as hew as finished toggling, he paused, thumb hovering over the glowing ring, as if he was thinking. Before he could say anything, I stopped him and asked

“Wait,” I said, my deeper voice cutting through the tension. “Instead of just swapping our ages back… what if you took my real body for the whole week? You could go out into the world and actually be me. Go to my job at the warehouse, hang with my friends, live a real twenty-seven-year-old’s life.”

Kevin blinked, his borrowed young face flashing surprise. “Gio… that’s a big step. I don’t want to take advantage—”

“You’re not,” I cut in, stepping closer. “I’m offering. You seemed really happy just now, and I didn’t exactly hate being older. We can’t stay age swapped forever since we both have real lives to get back to this week, but there’s nothing saying we can’t fill in for each other. Why not let the fun last a little longer?”

He hesitated, fully wanting to take me up on it, but his eyes searching my older face for any sign of doubt. They didn’t find any. Finally, he let out a slow breath. “Alright. If you’re really sure.”

He adjusted the settings on the Chronovac, the blue light pulsing brighter. “Full body swap it is.”

The hum was deeper this time, almost electric, vibrating through my bones. A rushing sensation pulled at every part of me—bones, skin, muscle, even the rhythm of my heartbeat and the flicker of memories at the edge of my mind. When it finally stopped, I was staring at myself from across the room.

Perfect copy. My face, my build, my tattoos, even the small scar above my left eyebrow from that bad sparring session two years ago. Kevin was now me, completely.

And I was him.

Every inch of Kevin’s sixty-one-year-old body—which I had to admit was far more impressive than the sixty-one-year-old version of me had been—was now mine.

He flexed my fingers, rolled my shoulders, and grinned with my mouth. “Holy shit. This feels… fantastic. Your body feels so much more sensitive than mine. I feel so fucking horny right now.”

My original frame was a bit shorter than the twenty-seven-year-old version he’d just had, but he seemed to love the difference in build. As I watched him move around my apartment, testing the lighter, more agile limbs, something hot and unnameable stirred deep in my gut. I couldn’t quite place it, but I liked that he was me now. It was distinctly different from the age swap. This… this was him pretending to be me. Knowing he would go see my friends later, talk like me, move like me, live my life—it made my thicker cock twitch with a rush I wasn’t ready to admit out loud.

We parted ways again, except this time I went back to Kevin’s apartment and he stayed in mine.

Even though it was only Sunday night at 9 pm by the time we’d finished the full body swap, Kevin had clearly wasted no time. I had barely settled onto his couch — still getting used to the weight of his broader frame and the way his legs stretched out longer than mine used to — when I heard the front door of my apartment open and close next door. Then voices. A girl’s light laugh, followed by Kevin’s — my — voice, smooth and confident, saying something low that made her giggle again.

I sat there in the dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city outside the window, and listened.

The sounds were unmistakable.

Low laughter turning into soft moans. The rustle of clothes hitting the floor. The rhythmic creak of my bed as they moved onto it. Her gasps growing sharper, breathier. And his deep voice — my voice — encouraging her, telling her how good she felt, how tight she was, how he wanted to hear her moan louder.

He fucked her hard and loud.

The headboard started banging steadily against the shared wall, each thrust punctuated by her cries and his low, satisfied grunts. I could picture it perfectly: my younger, athletic body moving with that cocky new energy he’d already picked up, hips snapping forward, sweat glistening on my old skin.

I sat on Kevin’s couch, heart pounding, something strange and warm stirring deep in my gut. He was fucking as me.

My hand moved almost on its own. I reached down, pushed aside the loose sweatpants I was wearing, and wrapped my fingers around Kevin’s cock — thicker, heavier than mine had been, already half-hard from listening. I started stroking slowly at first, matching the rhythm I could hear through the wall.

As Kevin picked up the pace next door, I picked up mine.

Every time the headboard slammed against the wall, I stroked in unison. His groans grew deeper, more urgent. The girl was practically whimpering now, begging him not to stop. My own breathing grew ragged, chest rising and falling heavily in this older body.

When Kevin finally came — letting out a loud, guttural groan that echoed through the thin walls, followed by the sound of him bracing himself against the wall with one hand to steady himself — I came too.

Hot spurts landed across my stomach and chest, thick and warm. I bit back a groan of my own, thighs tensing as the orgasm rolled through me, leaving me panting in the dark.

For a long minute afterward, I just sat there, cum cooling on my skin, listening to the muffled sounds of them catching their breath, soft laughter, the murmur of voices. Then the apartment next door went quiet.

I looked down at the mess on Kevin’s stomach — my stomach now — and let out a slow, shaky breath.

This was only the first night.

—

A week — and what sounded like numerous fuck sessions with different girls and guys — later, Kevin knocked on my door again — or rather, on his old door this time.

He looked a little sheepish but energized, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he couldn’t quite decide whether to smile or look guilty. My face looked good on him — flushed from whatever workout or adventure he’d just come from, eyes bright.

“Time to swap back?” he asked, rubbing the back of my neck with a familiar gesture.

I shook my head, smiling with Kevin’s calm, older face. The expression felt natural now, steady and knowing. “Nah. You’re welcome to stay like that a bit longer if you want.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and young coming from my throat. “I appreciate it, Gio, but I wouldn’t want to do that to you — steal your youth like that. It’s generous, but no. Let’s get you back in your body.”

We swapped back. I had to admit, being back in my twenty-seven-year-old frame felt good — though I’d miss something about being Kevin, thats for sure.

So before he left, I just had to ask, “Hey… can I hang on to the Chronovac for a little while? Just to understand it a bit more.”

Kevin hesitated only a second, then handed it over. “Sure. Just… be careful with it. And bring it back when you’re done.”

The next night, alone in my apartment, I powered the device on and scrolled through the advanced options until I found the personality settings. I selected Kevin’s profile and made careful adjustments: a strong, growing craving for youth. A quiet voice in his head that would make him regret turning down the offer. I hit confirm.

Less than twenty-four hours later, there was an urgent knock on my door.

Kevin stood there, eyes wide, breathing a little fast. My body looked tense on him, shoulders tight, like he’d been pacing before he worked up the nerve to come over.

“Gio… I changed my mind,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I want to swap again. Please. Just for a little while longer. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest, and raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile. “Really? I thought you didn’t want to steal my youth.”

He flushed, shifting on his feet, my face turning a shade darker. “Oh please, I didn't really say that, did I? Come on, man. I was being polite before. I want this. I need it.”

I watched him for a moment, enjoying the hunger in his eyes — hunger I’d put there.

Then I picked up the Chronovac, adjusted the settings back to full body swap, and held it between us.

“Alright,” he said. “If you’re sure.”

The device hummed to life again.

—

A few days later, while he was out “being me” at the gym, I opened the Chronovac again. This time I went deeper into the personality settings. I dialed up the cockiness — just a notch at first. Made him a little more arrogant about how good he looked now, how much attention he got, how naturally the role of young, hot boxer fit him. I added a strong, swelling desire not just to be young, but to be me — to own my life completely.

I hit confirm and waited.

It didn’t take long to see the changes.

He started walking with more swagger when he passed my door. He’d knock, lean against the frame with my arms crossed, and smirk with my mouth like he owned the hallway. “Fuck, man, it is so easy to get laid as you,” he’d say, voice dripping with new confidence. “Girls at the gym are practically throwing themselves at me. Some of your boxing buddies keep checking me out on the DL too — I fucked that guy Connor actually. He's in the closet and apparently loves the taste of your cock.”

I’d just smile with Kevin’s calm, older face and nod. “Glad you’re enjoying it.”

One evening, we ran into each other in the building gym and I asked casually, “You ready to swap back soon?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, no way. Sorry, I’m having way too much fun. Can we stay like this just a bit longer?”

I played it up after that. Every few days I’d sigh and tell him I really wanted my body back, that I missed my own routine, my friends, my fights. He’d get this desperate look in my eyes and start begging.

“Come on, Gio, please,” he’d say, stepping closer, voice low and urgent. “Just a little more time. I need this. You don’t understand how good it feels. I’ll do anything — just don’t make me give it back yet.”

The more I pretended to hesitate, the more he begged. It was addictive watching him squirm inside my skin.

And every single night, without fail, he came home with another fuckable young guy or girl. Each time I lay there in Kevin’s bed in the dark, listening through the thin walls, a warm thrill would roll through my borrowed body. I’d hear my own voice commanding some girl to take it deeper, rough and confident, or sometimes a guy’s low groan calling him a good boy while he got fucked harder.

I’d lie there stroking Kevin’s thicker cock slowly, letting the sounds wash over me.

I liked watching “Gio” own my life. No — I loved it.

One quiet evening, after another marathon session next door, I decided it was time to push further.

I picked up the Chronovac and went all in on Kevin’s profile. I cranked the craving until it was overwhelming: an all-consuming need to be me forever.

Then I waited.

Two nights later, I woke up to a faint noise in the living room. I got up, moving with Kevin’s heavier steps, and found him — my body, my face — crouched by the coffee table where I’d left the device. He had it in his hands. Before I could say anything, he raised it high and smashed it hard against the edge of the table. Plastic cracked. The blue ring flickered once and died.

He looked up at me, eyes wild with triumph and lust.

For a second I just stood there, staring at him —chest heaving, sweat already glistening on my old skin from the adrenaline. He had made it permanent.

And it turned me on so fucking much I couldn’t think straight.

I crossed the room in two strides, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and shoved him back against the wall. “You little shit,” I growled with Kevin’s deep, authoritative voice, pretending to be furious even as my cock thickened in my borrowed sweatpants. “You really think you can steal my life? What the fuck!?”

He grinned — my grin, sharp and defiant — and didn’t even try to push me away.

I spun him around, pressing his chest to the wall, yanking his shorts down with one rough hand. “You’re such a greedy, selfish piece of shit,” I snarled hotly against his ear, freeing my thicker, heavier cock. It was already leaking, the fat head slick as I rubbed it up and down his crack, teasing his hole. “Stealing my youth, my face, my tight fucking ass… acting like you own it now.”

He moaned loudly, pushing back against me with desperate hunger, his hole twitching against the head of my cock. “Do it,” he gasped, voice cracking with need.

I didn’t need more invitation.

I shoved inside him raw and deep, one hard thrust that made us both groan. He was tight, hot, and already rocking back to meet every stroke. I fucked him right there against the wall, one hand gripping his hip, the other braced beside his head.

“Fuck… you feel that?” I growled between savage thrusts, my voice thick and ragged with lust. “That’s what you get for thinking you could just take what’s mine. Stealing my cock, my life, my fucking future—now you’re getting fucked by the old man whose body you trapped me in.” He was whimpering, pushing back harder, his own cock—my cock—leaking steadily against the wall as I railed him. “Yes—fuck yes—keep going,” he begged, voice hoarse. “Harder. Ruin me. I don’t care—I made it permanent because I needed this. Needed to be you. Needed your life.”

The confession, the sheer filthy greed in his words, sent a white-hot spike of arousal through me. I fucked him even harder, deeper, grinding against his prostate with every brutal snap of my hips. The knowledge that there was no way back—that he had destroyed any chance of returning—made the pleasure darker, more intense. I was trapped in Kevin’s mature, powerful body, balls-deep in my own stolen young form, and it was the hottest thing I’d ever felt. I didn’t last long. The tight clench of his ass, the way my own body was milking me so perfectly, the raw, taboo thrill of it all pushed me over the edge fast.

With a deep, guttural roar I buried myself to the hilt and came hard inside him, pulsing again and again in thick, heavy ropes. I flooded my own stolen body with Kevin’s load, filling him until it started leaking out around my cock with every shallow thrust.

We stayed locked together, breathing heavy, bodies slick with sweat, my cock still twitching inside him as the last spurts drained out.

Then he turned his head just enough to smirk at me over his shoulder—my own face flushed, lips parted, eyes glazed with satisfaction and filthy victory.

“Worth it,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “So fucking worth it.”

On the Chappelle Show of all places they had a sketch where a man gets a camera that allows him to see a bouncer’s inner self. Surprise surprise, the HUGE musclebound bouncer who calls smaller guys “Big Man” is, at his core, a teeny little guy.