X

Even though he was a total late bloomer, James was actually pretty happy with himself. He knew he was never going to be some star athlete, and honestly, he was perfectly content taking his little art classes outside of school. Of course, being a high school senior while looking like a thirteen-year-old came with its fair share of teasing. It was like puberty had just completely forgotten about him. At this point, he’d pretty much resigned himself to looking underdeveloped forever. No girl wanted him, and no guy wanted to be him. So, James just kept to himself.

But this year was going to be completely different. One of the school jocks was about to take a joke just a little too far—and it would change everything.

Everyone was sitting in science class, but with prom and graduation right around the corner, nobody was actually paying attention to the teacher anymore. She might as well have just put on a YouTube video and gone out for lunch.

James was tucked away at his corner desk, quietly sketching a landscape, while Billy—the star linebacker of the football team—was loudly running his mouth.

"Bro, I don't even know how I'm gonna ask Lisa to prom," Billy complained to his friends. "She always wants me to do some extra, over-the-top bullshit and I just can't be bothered. But hey, I guess Twiggy over there won't be taking anyone at all, so it could be worse."

James tried his best to ignore the bursts of laughter, but after four years of hearing the same garbage, it was getting seriously old. He threw a sharp, annoyed glare across the room.

"What’s that? You got something to say, Twiggy?" Billy mocked, playing to his audience. "You want me to ask Lisa for an extra razor so you can keep shaving those legs?" He laughed loudly, his friends joining right in. "Hairless freak. He’s not even a man. He’s like a freaking robot or something."

"That’s ENOUGH, BILLY!"

As the words left James' mouth, his voice violently cracked, dropping instantly into a deep, booming baritone. The sheer, low resonance of it sounded like... well, like a grown man.

James immediately recoiled, spooked by the sound of his own voice. He swallowed hard, massaging his throat as if he could rub the deep tone away. But when he tried to clear his throat, his usual young, soft voice was completely gone.

The other guys just shrugged it off and turned back around. Billy felt a sudden, weird chill run down his spine when James spoke up, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Silently panicking, James kept trying to clear his airway. *What the hell was that?*

Then, ever so gently, he felt a strange, vibrating heat pool in his groin. He instinctively clutched his stomach and hunched over his desk. It felt like something was rapidly expanding and shifting beneath his hands. *What is happening to me?*

Bolting upright from his chair, he muttered a strained excuse to the teacher and bolted for the bathroom. Billy, looking suspicious and curious, casually trailed behind him.

Inside the bathroom, James gripped the edges of the sink, staring into the mirror and trying to slow his breathing. He huffed and puffed, sweat suddenly beading and dripping down his forehead. Right before his eyes, his facial structure began to warp—his jawline elongated, the soft edges sharpening into hard angles.

"Huh?" He sounded heavy, almost clumsy with this new, thick jock tone.

Suddenly, his body began rapidly, painfully stretching in every direction. His clothes instantly started looking ridiculous. His t-shirt shrank up into a crop top, and his jeans inched their way up his calves.

"Ugh! Oh! Make it stop! This hurts!" James yelled, the sheer pressure of his expanding frame becoming too much. He collapsed onto the tiled floor, curling into a tight ball, desperately trying to compress himself to stop the growth.

With a loud *pop*, his feet burst straight out of his sneakers. When he looked down, his toes were thicker, instantly sprouting coarse little hairs. They looked like hobbit feet.

That was exactly how Billy found him on the bathroom floor: a gangly, awkward man-child literally bursting out of his own clothes.

Billy stood there in a state of absolute shock and wonderment. "Damn..." he muttered softly. "I didn’t think this would actually happen to you."

In pure agony, James looked up at him, tears of pain and fear in his eyes. "Wha—what did you do to me?"

"I just hated looking at you being all boyish. I kinda felt bad for you," Billy admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "There was this spell going around online... it said if I bullied you hard enough, it would force you to become one of us. It was a joke! I didn’t think the shit was actually gonna work!"

"ARGH!" James roared as his biology completely took over. He didn't even have time to process the betrayal.

His bones cracked and popped like fireworks as his thighs thickened, splitting the denim of his jeans right down the seams. The dark hair from his toes began spreading like wildfire—racing up his shins, flooding his calves, and coating his thighs. His maturity exploded in size and girth, a thick, enviable bush of hair growing up and out in a dark V.

James’ torso widened aggressively as thick slabs of muscle began packing onto his frame. His abs defined themselves, deepening with every ragged breath he took, while his chest swelled out into heavy, boulder-like pecs. A massive shelf of muscle took over his torso; there would be absolutely no hiding this.

As soon as the sculpted muscle appeared, it was instantly blanketed by a prickly dusting of dark hair. The hairs multiplied by the second, starting as a thick trail up his belly before fluffing out across his chest into a dense, masculine mat. It was a symbol of pure virility that any man would envy. No shirt on earth would ever hide it. James looked down at his changing body in sheer disbelief.

"No, I don't want this! I don't know who I'm becoming!"

Billy smirked, leaning against the bathroom wall as he watched the transformation peak. "You don't have a choice anymore, bro. You're becoming a real man now. This is what it feels like. Just let it consume you. Let go."

"Ohhhhh!"

James finally surrendered, letting his muscles relax from the agonizing tension. The moment he stopped fighting it, his body exploded into its final growth spurt. The tattered remnants of his clothes became nothing more than rags hanging off a behemoth. He shot up from his scrawny 5’6”, 150-pound frame, blowing right past average height until he leveled out at a massive 6’5” and 220 pounds of pure, solid muscle.

He lay flat on the cool bathroom floor, panting as the new hair tickled and twirled its way across his skin. His armpits bushed out, releasing a heavy, potent musk into the room. A light dusting of hair crept up his shoulders and drifted down his back, connecting with the wild growth on his chest. His shoulders and biceps bulked to twice their original size, coarse dark hair coating his forearms all the way down to his hands, which had transformed into thick, calloused paws.

Slowly, the violent growth began to ease up. James lay there, his heavy breathing gradually steadying. He was a sweaty, incredibly hairy, muscular mess on the tile. Then came the final touch: a heavy five o’clock shadow pushed through the skin of his newly defined, Grecian jawline. His eyebrows thickened, maturing his face instantly, and his now-thick, voluminous hair curled gently over his forehead.

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his massive new legs, exploring his altered form. Everything felt completely different—heavy, powerful, and solid. He let out a deep, oafish laugh, instinctively running his thick fingers through his new chest hair.

Billy stood there, proudly admiring the masterpiece he'd accidentally created. "We need to get you some clothes, man, and head out into the world. All that pent-up testosterone you've got now? You're gonna need to put it to good use."

The two unlikely friends turned and walked out of the bathroom together, stepping straight into a completely new life.

Alan had been fed up with the laziness of his son. He’d never expected himself to get to such a point but everyday after coming home from work and watching the younger man sit on his ass watching football or whatever, instead of practicing while Alan went out to work at some dead-end job continued to add up.

Of course, the final straw was the complete and total forgetting of Father’s Day. There’s only so many birthdays or Christmases that Dave could forget before Alan had enough. It’s not even like Father’s day was all that special to the man. Usually just grilling some burgers and getting some pun of a card was all he wanted.

But this was the last straw. After seeing Dave sitting around and not even saying, ‘Happy Father’s Day’ to him, he took matters into his own hands. There was a card he’d bought, almost as a bit of a gaff, that was supposed to be enchanted. Instead of receiving the card Alan gave it to his son.

Not that Dave cared. He tossed it in the trash without a second thought. Alan smirked. It didn’t need to be accepted, only given. With that the present was already starting to take hold. With each step down the hallway, Alan could feel the smallest bit of his body starting to change.

Without thinking he was already walking taller with stronger steps. Each stride seemed to have added another week to his lifespan. Hair started to grow back on the top of his head. He could feel his atrophying muscles building up again without any effort at all. His clothes felt tighter across his shoulders and chest and his belt looser around his waist.

Without even thinking Alan entered into what he thought was his son’s room. Yet, when he looked at the Wolves mascot he had a certain kinship with it. But when he saw that the trophies had his name on it, Alan knew full well that the spell had worked.

Alan took a seat on what was soon to be his bed. The changes were happening whether Dave wanted them too or not. A sly smirk covered his face as he laid down and wallowed in the bed almost marking it.

Still his clothes continued to feel tighter. His chest was really starting to push against the buttons of his shirt. His shoulders continued to grow wider and waist thinner. Yet, his pants felt tighter as thick muscular quads started to fill them.

He sat back up wiggling his toes as his shoes were completely filled with his feet. “Only a matter of time,” he mused to himself as he grabbed the football and tossed it gingerly into the air.

Meanwhile in the other room, Dave started to feel something was off. His whole body started to feel a strange bloat to it. He tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. Neither farting nor burping did anything to release whatever strange bloat was plaguing him.

Dave stood up and tried to stretch, hoping that might make some kind of change. Yet, the first thing he noticed was his shirt. It was riding up over a belly. “What the hell?!” he cursed staring down at the forming stomach. What had been lean cut abs was now starting to become a belly. He let out a grunt as it continued to get even bigger.

“What the hell’s going on?!” he grimaced at the strange belly forming on him. Even worse the college sleeveless shirt was starting to feel tight against his chest. And his shoes were starting to feel even tighter. His thoughts raced back to the card. It didn’t make sense but it was the only thing that he could go off of.

Panic raced through Dave as weight continued to pile onto his once lithe body. His muscles almost seemed to have exploded with an unknown force adding power and strength that the lean ones would give. However, with that size also seemed to come age.

His shaggy blond hair was starting to fall out while thick coarser hair started to cover his arms, legs and chest. He scratched it absentmindedly. “This can’t be real…” he declared but when he saw his face in the mirror and he looked to be well into his thirties, that didn’t matter anymore.

Dave ran down the hallway as fast as he could. His thick burly body shook the house with each step. The hulking frame took up nearly the entire space. He only paused for a second seeing a picture and watching as Alan and him had swapped spots. “ALAN!” he shouted loudly through the house.

Alan chuckled. Hearing Dave’s voice echo through the house only spurred his excitement. He knew the changes were still happening. He could feel his strength growing more and more. Each muscle developed into something thicker and stronger than he had ever had. It was like decades of work were all piling into him at once as his body also lost those decades in age.

The once portly older man was now growing more spry and filled with a excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. His body moved easily and effortlessly. His muscles were strong and full. His face young and filled with a handsomeness he’d never known.

Alan ripped off the rest of his clothes, discarding the relic that he had been. They weren’t who he was anymore.

Alan went over to the mirror again examining the new powerhouse of a man he’d become. He’d stolen so much of his son’s youth and strength, that he almost felt bad. Yet, seeing those powerful muscles staring back at him washed any of those feelings away. A confidence burgeoned within him as he went through what had been his son’s closet to find something to wear. Most of it was a little tight, but he could figure something.

Not even the loud knocking on his bedroom door made him nervous.

On the other side was Dave. The lean handsome man had turned into an absolute beast. Muscular bulk covered every inch of the other an. However, it also gave him two more decades of experience. Alan wasn’t sure what the ‘curse’ really was, but seeing how Dave had only grown bigger and stronger than even Alan was, made him grin.

Even as Dave stared him down with as much anger and menace that the man could muster, it didn’t phase Alan the slightest bit. He gave his ‘dad’ a pat on the shoulder and started walking through the house. Dave’s anger turned to confusion. His hulking size would have made the biggest of men panic, yet, Alan walked past him like it was nothing.

Dave continued to follow Alan. His heavy footsteps were softening. Even with all that bulk he was quickly learning how to control his excess weight. He watched as Alan turned into the garage and was absolutely stunned by what he say.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said. “It took a while and I’m glad you didn’t come in and spoil it.” He smiled as he showed off the fully stocked gym in their garage. It didn’t make sense, yet the magic continued to push and pull making everything feel as though it made sense. Somehow Alan had been sneaking in weights and machines under Dave’s nose to surprise him with a fully stocked gym.

“Damn it boy,” Dave growled with a menacing tone. “I told you not to do anything this stupid.”

“Oh c’mon pops,” Alan grinned mischievously. The word fell out of him so naturally that he couldn’t help but add a chuckle. “I knew you wanted to take things to the next level and those paid gyms can’t handle your strength.”

“Whatever,” Dave grumbled as he entered into the workout space. He grabbed Alan into a headlock, forcing the other man into his pit and roughed up his hair. “All I wanted was some steak and you’d gone and given me all this shit.” He let go and then extended his hand. “Good on ya boy.” He grinned shaking his sons hand.

Alan smirked. The new reality was setting in. Dave didn’t seem to remember the old one. Or if he did, that past lazy son he was was now gone. Alan took his father’s hand and shook it. “Ready to test some of this out?” he offered.

“HELL YEAH!” Dave shouted. Before they knew it the two were working out with Dave pushing Alan to his absolute limit.

Tried something a little different to see if it worked. Created using ChatGPT. Pictures AI generated, Story written by me.

Himbo-Con – Part 4: Sword Master

Carlos walked desperately through the halls of the Dallas City Comic Con. It was already very late and he hadn’t found anyone — not his son Leo, not Alex, not even Derek.

The smell of Chinese food stopped him at a small stall. He accepted a plate of steaming dumplings and ate while continuing his search.

Suddenly, a cheerful voice startled him.

“Mr. Carlos! Boss!”

It was Miguel. Carlos ended up walking with him despite his annoyance.

However, while walking through the expo, trying to lead with his subordinate and trying to find the boys

A mysterious man with an enigmatic smile stopped them in front of the “Hero Destiny Experience” booth.

“Gentlemen... would you like to have the experience of a lifetime? Get these tickets and try this new virtual gaming experience—it's the latest thing around!”

Carlos frowned.

“No, thank you. I’m not in the mood.”

But Miguel, excited, accepted for both of them.

“Of course! Let’s go, boss! It’ll be fun!”

Miguel gently pushed his boss toward one of the cabins. Before they entered, the employee smiled maliciously and murmured:

“Enjoy the show, boys…”

The door closed behind Carlos.

Inside the cabin, Carlos sat down resigned and annoyed, and put on the VR glasses.

“Fine… let’s get this over with quickly. I’m not really a comic fan, but if this is the only way to get out of here…”

Among all the heroes he could choose from, he selected “Sword Master.”

The system processed for a moment, then suddenly glitched. A bright purple light struck him directly in the eyes.

“Ah! This hurts!” he complained, quickly taking off the glasses.

A calm female AI voice echoed inside the cabin:

“Error detected. User profile does not match selected character. Resolving mismatch… User must remain inside the cabin until errors are resolved.”

At that exact moment, a deep purple and intensely sensual heat invaded his body.

Carlos looked at his trembling hands.

“What… what is happening to me?” he murmured, scared. “What is happening to my body…?”

“Physical synchronization: 40% complete.”

His pectorals began to swell slowly, popping the buttons off his shirt. His shoulders broadened with hot pleasure. His arms grew gradually, biceps and triceps inflating in an erotic way.

“This isn’t right… I’m so hot… why do I feel so turned on?” he gasped.

He tried to open the door, but it was locked.

“I want to get out! Open up!”

“Physical synchronization: 70% complete.”

Purple glitch effects surrounded his entire body. His gray hair turned jet-black and spiky. His face rapidly rejuvenated, wrinkles disappearing as his features shifted into those of a strikingly handsome young Asian man. His glutes swelled into two enormous, round, juicy globes, tearing through his pants. His cock thickened and lengthened brutally, throbbing hard.

Intrusive gay thoughts flooded his mind with overwhelming force:

“So strong… so young… this body feels so good…”

“These big pecs… I want them sucked…”

“This juicy ass… I want a man to grab it hard while he fucks me deep…”

“No! I want to get out! This doesn’t… ahh… feel too good…!”

The AI voice continued calmly:

“Clothing reconfiguration in progress… Adjusting to match selected character template.”

The remains of Carlos’s clothes began to morph and reform around his transforming body — dark pants becoming loose fighting trousers, a red sash and golden armor pieces materializing over his sweaty, muscular torso.

“Physical synchronization: 100% complete. User recognized. Finalized.”

He came violently without touching himself, moaning loudly as the last of his old consciousness spilled out with his cum.

The cabin door opened with a hiss.

Clouds of purple smoke spilled onto the expo floor.

Carlos fell to one knee.

“Ugh…”

His head was pounding.

Thinking was hard.

Very hard.

In front of him, a huge blond figure approached quickly.

“Bro!”

You okey?

Carlos looked up.

For a few seconds he could only stare.

Huge shoulders.

Huge arms.

Huge chest.

Everything was huge.

“Miguel…” he murmured.

“Are you you?”

Miguel frowned.

The question seemed complicated.

Very complicated.

“I think…”

He stayed thinking.

“I think so.”

“Oh.”

Carlos accepted the answer immediately.

Miguel helped him to his feet.

Both staggered.

“What? What happened?”

“My head hurts…” said Carlos.

“Mine too…”

They remained silent.

“Migu..Bro…”

“Yeah?”

“Are we still us?”

Miguel tried to think again.

“I…”

Several seconds passed.

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah… I think so... or not? ”

Carlos nodded.

“Hard to think.”

“Very hard to think.”

Then Miguel looked down.

His eyes widened.

“boss... Bro.”

“What?”

“Muscles.”

Carlos looked down too.

“Oh.”

There was another long silence.

“Big muscles.”

“Very big.”

Carlos flexed one arm.

The bicep swelled immediately.

“Whoa…”

Miguel flexed his.

“BRO!”

“BRO!”

Both smiled.

“Good muscles.”

“The best muscles.”

“Yeah.”

Then they began to slowly spin around, examining their arms, shoulders, pecs, and abs from every possible angle.

For several minutes they admired their own muscles with absolute concentration.

At that moment, the mysterious employee approached. His eyes began to glow with intense green light.

“Impressive…”

Carlos and Miguel took a step back as emerald energy enveloped them.

“What… is happening…?” asked Carlos.

“Bro… something weird…” Miguel stammered.

The employee smiled with a sensual and erotic voice:

“Uff… look at those bodies… so big, so hot, so perfect… Don’t you feel how good they look? Those heavy pecs, those huge arms, those juicy asses begging to be grabbed hard… What a delight you are now, boys.”

“And don’t worry, big boy… soon you’ll find the person's you were looking for. Now forget everything complicated. Just love these irresistible bodies, flex those biceps, squeeze those juicy asses and show how horny and powerful you are to the whole expo.”

Carlos tried to respond, but the magic clouded his thoughts.

“Person's …? I…”

“Now forget everything complicated,” the employee continued softly. “You don’t need to think so much. Just love these irresistible bodies. Flex those biceps. Enjoy being strong.”

The green light intensified around their eyes. The magic was so powerful that both himbos started moaning. Their cocks hardened again and they came at the same time, thick spurts hitting the floor as their minds completely surrendered.

“I… Lin Lie… the Sword Master, protector of K’un-Lun…” said Carlos slowly.

“Johnny Storm…” responded Miguel with a vacant smile.

“Exactly,” whispered the employee.

Lin Lie smiled and flexed both arms.

“Big muscles!”

Johnny Storm did the same.

“Bro, amazing muscles!”

The employee stood between them as the two newly conditioned heroes posed proudly for the entire expo.

The employee walked away smiling maliciously.

“Have fun at the expo, dummies… I’ll see you again soon. Get ready… I only have one more toy to get.”

As he passed a dark mirror, his reflection revealed his true form: Loki, the God of Mischief.

With summer break on horizon I have decided to create trilogy about college sports. We are starting with everybody's favourite, the wrestling. If you have other sport you want to have story about, type it to the comments. Also, as you may know, I created an account on Ko-Fi. If you like this or any of my other stores. You can tip me there.

The office smelled of stale coffee, wintergreen liniment, and the heavy, intoxicating musk of raw testosterone.

Johny stood just inside the door, nervously clutching the straps of his oversized backpack. Short, with a thin, angular frame and a perpetually shy demeanor, he looked like the academic nerd who spent his life buried in library basements rather than athletic halls. He was decidedly not an athlete.

Behind the heavy oak desk sat Coach Marcus. The man was a mountain. He was mature, ruggedly handsome, and built like a literal bear – tall, dense muscle, broad shoulders that stretched his polo shirt to its absolute limit, and a huge chest that surged forward with every breath. He projected an aura of absolute dominance.

Coach looked up from a file, his deep voice vibrating through the room. "Have a seat, Johny."

Johny swallowed hard, remaining standing. "Is something wrong with my academic standing, Coach?"

"Not your academics," Coach rumbled, a slow, knowing smile spread across his handsome face. "But you're short on your physical education credits. It's mandatory for graduation. A lot of you high-IQ guys forget about the body while feeding the brain. But I have a way you can fix it. Right now." Coach reached into a sports bag on his desk and pulled out a spandex wrestling singlet. It was vibrant red with deep blue stripes running down the sides. He held it out. Johny looked at the skimpy piece of fabric, his face flushing a bright, nervous crimson.

Jake had always been better at imagining rooms than entering them. That was what architecture school had taught him, or maybe what it had exposed about him.

He could spend hours thinking about how a hallway narrowed before opening into light, how a ceiling height changed the feeling of a room, how brick looked different at dusk than it did at noon.

For fun he liked to paint. He could paint until three in the morning with a podcast playing and a half-finished video game paused beside him. He could present a model and explain, carefully, why a wall bent the way it did.

By the end of his junior year of college, Miles had grown tired of being mistaken for someone’s lost younger brother. It happened in the dining hall when the cashier asked whether he was visiting campus for orientation. It happened at parties when seniors patted him on the shoulder and called him “little buddy.” It even happened in his 300-level seminar, where the professor once paused mid-discussion and said, with polite surprise, “Oh, you’re enrolled in this class?”

Miles laughed when everyone else laughed, but the laugh hard on his shoulders. He was twenty-one. He had a stack of books on political theory, a campus job, a coffee habit, and a permanent knot of anxiety between his shoulders. He wanted, very badly, for his face to show some of that.

The bottle of Hair Tonic came from a cramped little barbershop off campus, the kind of place with yellowing photos taped to the mirror and a barber who seemed to know everyone’s father. Miles had gone in for a trim and come out with his curls neater, his sideburns squared, and a small brown bottle in his jacket pocket. The barber had not promised anything dramatic. “Only where you want it,” he said, tapping one finger beneath his own thick black mustache. “Be patient. Don’t overdo it.” Miles nodded like he was receiving instructions for a chemistry lab.

That night, after his roommates had drifted into the hall and the bathroom had filled with the usual dorm sounds - showers running, someone laughing too loudly, someone else brushing his teeth while scrolling his phone - Miles stood at the sink and studied his reflection. Without stubble, his face looked almost too open. His upper lip was smooth except for the faintest shadow, more suggestion than hair. He uncapped the bottle. The tonic smelled sharp and herbal, like cedar, sandalwood, and something metallic underneath. He touched the applicator to his skin and traced a careful line from one corner of his mouth to the other.

At first there was only coolness as the liquid began to evaporate. Then warmth. Then a faint prickling, as if his skin had woken up all at once. Miles leaned closer to the mirror. Nothing happened, of course. Not right away. He felt ridiculous for expecting it to. Behind him, a guy from the lacrosse team, totally naked, shoved open a stall door and asked someone if they’d seen his towel. Miles screwed the cap back on, trying not to smile too obviously at himself.

The first change came the next morning. It was subtle enough that he almost missed it: a fine dusting of dark hair along his upper lip, soft and short, like someone had shaded the area with a fine pencil. Miles rubbed a fingertip over it and froze. There was texture. Not much, but enough. The hairs caught against the pad of his finger with a faint rasp, delicate but real. He tilted his head, then tilted it again, letting the bathroom light hit his face from different angles. The little bristles looked darker at the center and thinner near the edges, uneven in a way that made him grin.

For the rest of the day, he kept noticing it. In class, his finger drifted to his upper lip, as if the skin there had become more sensitive. When he drank coffee, the cup rasped against the emerging stubble. When he smiled, he could feel the soft line shift with his mouth. It was not a mustache yet. Not really. Not yet anyway. But it was the beginning of one, and that was enough to make him sit a little straighter.

By the third day, the softness had turned into something more visible. The hairs had lengthened and darkened, spreading outward in a narrow band. They no longer looked like accidental shadow. They looked intentional. Miles stood in the dorm bathroom after his morning shower, towel around his shoulders, watching steam gather at the edges of the mirror. As the glass cleared, his face appeared slowly: damp curls, glasses slightly fogged, and beneath his nose, the beginnings of a real mustache.

It felt strange. Not unpleasant. More like wearing a new unfamiliar expression. The hairs tickled when he moved his lip. They brushed faintly against each other when he pressed his mouth closed. If he ran his finger downward, they lay smooth; if he rubbed upward, they fluffed and resisted. He liked that part best - the resistance. The tiny proof that his face was no longer completely bare - that he his aspirations not fully unachievable.

By the end of the week, people started noticing. “Are you growing a mustache?” his roommate Jordan asked, leaning into the bathroom mirror beside him.

Miles tried to sound casual. “Thinking about it.”

Jordan squinted. “It’s actually coming in.”

Actually. Miles pretended not to hear the surprise in the word, though he carried it with him all day like a compliment. At lunch, one of the girls from his history seminar told him it made him look older. Not old, she clarified quickly, but older. More serious. Miles nodded as if this had been the plan all along, even though his pulse jumped hard enough that he nearly spilled soup onto his sleeve.

The second week was when the mustache stopped being a cute experiment and started becoming something he had to manage.

The hairs were thicker now, no longer just a line but a dense little field growing across his upper lip. Some pointed straight down. Some curled slightly at the ends. The middle grew fastest, forming a dark weight beneath his nose, that he felt constantly aware of, while the sides began to stretch toward the corners of his mouth. If he slept on his stomach, he could feel the hairs bristle when he rolled over. When he woke up, it looked flattened from sleep; after he washed his face, it puffed back into shape, darker and fuller while damp.

Miles bought a tiny comb from the pharmacy and felt embarrassed carrying it back to the dorm in a small plastic bag. But that night, standing under the fluorescent bathroom lights, he dragged it carefully through the mustache for the first time. The sensation startled him. The comb teeth tugged lightly through the hair, arranging it, separating the strands. His upper lip tingled afterward, as if the skin underneath had been massaged awake. He combed it down, then outward, then down again. The difference was small but satisfying. It looked less like something happening to him and more like something he was choosing.

The tonic made the growth feel almost alive. After each application, there was that same spreading warmth, followed by a deep, restless itch under the skin. Not the irritation of a rash, but a building pressure, like the follicles were pushing forward with impatient energy.

Miles would sit on the edge of his bed afterward, textbooks open and ignored, aware of every tiny movement above his lip. He enjoyed pursing his lips to feel the way the hairs moved and the shape changed. Sometimes the hairs seemed to brush the air before his skin did. Sometimes he could feel individual strands when he breathed out through his nose, the mustache catching the warmth and holding it there.

He learned its moods. In the morning, it was soft and unruly. After a shower, it looked darker, the hairs clumping into little points before drying into thickness. In the cold, it seemed sharper against his skin. When he drank beer from a plastic cup at a party, foam gathered in it, and one of his friends laughed, not cruelly, but with the easy approval of someone acknowledging a change that had become impossible to ignore.

“Dude,” Jordan said, “you look like a grad student now.”

Miles looked at his reflection in the dark window behind them. The party lights blurred his face, but the mustache remained clear: a strong dark shape that changed the balance and contouring of his entire face. His jaw looked less narrow. His mouth looked more settled. His eyes, behind his glasses, seemed less boyish somehow, not because they had changed, but because the face around them had caught up.

By the third week, the mustache was thick enough that Miles had to trim the lower edge. The hairs had begun to reach his top lip, brushing it whenever he spoke. He liked the feeling more than he expected: the soft drag when he smiled, the faint tickle when he pressed his lips together, the way his fingers found it automatically when he was thinking. But he wanted it neat. Mature, not messy. Intentional, not desperate.

He stood in the bathroom late on a Thursday night, when the sinks were finally empty and the hallway had gone quiet. He combed his mustache down, then with small scissors borrowed from Jordan, he leaned close to the mirror and snipped carefully along the lip line. Each tiny cut felt important. The mustache settled into a cleaner shape: full through the center, heavy but controlled, with the ends slightly broader. He combed it once more, then stepped back.

For a moment, he barely recognized himself. The bare-faced version of him had always seemed unfinished, like a draft waiting for revision from someone with more life-experience. This new face had weight. It had intention. The mustache drew a firm line across his expression, separating boy Miles from Miles the man - giving his smile warmth and his silence a kind of seriousness he had always wanted but never known how to ask for.

A few mornings later Miles walked into the dining hall and ordered coffee. The cashier glanced up, then down at the register, then back at him.

“Large?”

“Yeah,” Miles said.

No buddy. No orientation joke. No surprised look. He took the cup, felt the lid brush lightly against the thick hair of his upper lip, and smiled into the steam. His mustache shifted with the expression, dense, real and entirely his.

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.

Mr. Reynolds, my neighbour, is a creepy perverted 58-year-old divorced man who spends his day oggling my friends and I. He’s spent years peering through his windows whilst my mates and I swim in the pool, or play a quick game of backyard cricket. He rarely ever interacts with us, and I always tried to keep it that way, but recently something changed…

While my mate Cooper was over at my place last weekend, Reynolds used some fucked up ritual he’d been preparing for months. The second Cooper stepped outside to take a phone call, it happened. His soul was ripped out and stuffed into Reynolds’ old, disgusting body… while Reynolds took full control of Cooper’s hot, athletic one.

And now he’s turned him into a total slut.

At the lake yesterday, Reynolds, in Cooper’s body, showed up in those tiny, colourful swim briefs that left nothing to the imagination. He stood there in front of everyone, chest hair glistening, abs on full display, casually pulling the waistband down even lower while grinning like an idiot.

He kept adjusting the briefs, running his hands over Cooper’s toned stomach and thick thighs, openly showing off the bulge. Every time someone looked, he’d flash a cocky smile and flex, loving the attention Cooper’s body was getting.

“Fuck yeah,” he muttered under his breath, voice sounding exactly like Cooper’s but dripping with Reynolds’ sleazy tone. “This body was made to be stared at.”

This morning he sent me this mirror selfie from Cooper’s bathroom.

He’s standing there shirtless again, phone in hand, wearing the same pair of ridiculously slutty patterned briefs. One hand is pulling the waistband down teasingly while he bites his lip at his own reflection. You can practically see how hard he is in them.

Reynolds has been parading around in Cooper’s body non-stop, taking shirtless selfies, posting thirst traps on Cooper’s Instagram, hitting the gym in the tightest clothes possible, and openly flirting with anyone who looks his way.

He even sent me a video last night of him jerking off in Cooper’s bed, moaning loudly in my best friend’s voice while he came all over those perfect abs.

I begged him to switch back. I told him Cooper was straight, that this was wrong.

Reynolds just laughed, sent me another selfie of him showing off Cooper’s body in the mirror, clearly having just left the shower, and typed back:

“Too late, mate. This tight, hairy, hung body feels way too good. I’m slutting it out every single day from now on. Cooper’s gone. I’m keeping him.”

He’s still out there right now, wearing my best mate’s body like his own personal fuck suit, living his filthiest fantasies without a single ounce of shame.

When Travis made a mess after gym class, he had no idea he’d have an experience he would never forget! Those feet and calves, tho!