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"Oh so this is your friend? What did you say his name was?"

"Alex." Paul sighed, lowering his phone.

"Well, I can definitely see why you're attracted to him." Elliot smirked, "But hun, he's straight."

"Yeah, yeah I know." Paul replied, "But... ever since I came out, he's been incredibly supportive. Like he's still my best bro, you know?"

It had been only a few months since Paul came out. Sure, he always wrestled with his attraction for guys internally. But finding a supportive community and having a friend like Alex was what he needed to feel comfortable saying it out loud.

"So look, its a canon event that every gay is gonna wind up crushing on a straight dude." Elliot continued, "I certainly did. And probably every gay guy I know has too."

"I know, but..."

"Best to leave well enough alone." He continued, "Now c'mon, I wanted to check out that antique stand over there."

Paul nodded- he had been so caught up in thinking about Alex that he nearly forgot the whole reason he met up with Elliot that day. The street fair was a yearly tradition at their college, and while Alex wasn't interested in going, Elliot was more than happy to accompany Paul.

"Look at this!" Elliot smiled, looking over at Paul and holding up a small ancient looking lamp, "This is really cool, wouldn't match with my aesthetic though."

"Yeah, look at that." Paul took the lamp from Elliot, "I kinda like it."

"Let me get it for you. My treat!" Paul never really understood why Elliot was so nice to him, why his smile seemed wider when he was around, "Maybe help get your mind off Alex."

"Thanks man, you're the best."

________

Paul arrives back at his apartment, the old lamp tucked under his arm. He finds Alex lounging on the couch, watching TV.

"There you are!" Alex grins, sitting up straighter as Paul enters. "How was the fair with Elliot? Find anything interesting?"

Paul holds up the lamp with a small smile. "Actually, yeah. Elliot got this for me. It's an old antique lamp."

Alex raises an eyebrow, standing up to examine the lamp closer. "Whoa, that's pretty sweet! Looks ancient." He chuckles warmly.

As they talk, Paul's gaze lingers on Alex - the way his t-shirt stretches across broad shoulders, the kindness in his smile. Paul feels that now-familiar ache in his chest, the longing for something he knows he can't have.

Paul tries to focus on the conversation, but his thoughts keep drifting. He imagines running his fingers through Alex's messy hair, tracing the strong line of his jaw…

"I'm glad you like it," Paul says distractedly, "Elliot insisted on getting it for me."

Alex plops back onto the couch, patting the seat beside him invitingly. "Well, that was real nice of him. You two seem to be getting along great lately." There's a hint of something in Alex's tone, "And you two spend a lot of time together. Is he…"

"Yeah, Elliot's been a great friend." Paul sighs, absentmindedly fidgeting with the lamp in his hand and sitting next to Alex.

As Paul sits down next to Alex, he can smell his familiar scent - something uniquely Alex. It makes Paul's heart race. He clears his throat awkwardly.

"Anyway, um, I was just curious about this lamp. Imagine if it's actually magic or something." Paul rubs the lamp experimentally, half-jokingly wishing for a chance with Alex.

Suddenly, there's a low rumble and puff of smoke. An old, hunched figure emerges, barely visible in the dim light. The genie peers at Paul with cloudy eyes.

"Who dares disturb my retirement?" The genie croaks, voice raspy with age and disuse. "You've gotta be fucking…" He squints at the men in front of him, "State thy wish, mortal, before I return to my well-deserved retirement!" He cracks his neck, and grips his back, "Ah fuck… that lamp… my back…"

Paul gapes in shock, glancing at Alex who looks equally stunned.

Paul's heart pounds as he realizes the genie's presence could be his chance to win Alex's affections. His mouth goes dry with nerves, palms sweating as he grasps the lamp tightly.

"I wish…" Paul begins hesitantly, then steels himself, looking deep into Alex's handsome face, "…for Alex to become gay."

"Wait what?" Alex exclaims sharply, standing abruptly. His usual smile replaced by clear shock and hurt. "Paul, what the hell?! I… I have a girlfriend. I'm straight!"

The genie scrunches up his wrinkled face in confusion. "What did you say?" He scratches his gray beard. "My hearing ain't what it used to be, ya know."

"Paul, I thought we were friends. How could you even ask for something like that? Especially without my consent!" Alex continues, "I thought…"

Paul's stomach twists with guilt, seeing the pain and anger flash across Alex's face. He opens his mouth to apologize, to take it back, but no words come out. The genie continues, oblivious to the tension.

"Aight, I gotcha now. Make Alex would cum all day." The genie rubs his hands together, "I'll admit, kind of weird. But granted!"

Suddenly, Alex doubles over, letting out a strangled moan. "Aahh fuck!" He gasps, clutching his crotch. To Paul's horror, Alex's body starts shaking uncontrollably as he ejaculates repeatedly, soaking through his jeans.

"No no no, make it stop!" Alex cries out between ragged breaths and involuntary orgasms. Tears of frustration stream down his face as he collapses to his knees. "Please Paul, I can't… it won't stop!"

Paul lunges for the lamp, shouting desperately. "Genie, I change my wish! Undo that one!" But the genie just shrugs, looking unconcerned despite Alex's pained cries.

"No deal. Ya gotta make another wish first unrelated to the last. Once you do that, we can go back to undoing the previous? Understood? Get it?"

Paul bites his lip, "Fuck! Fine, okay…" He takes a deep breath, "I wish… Alex was attracted to men!" He wasn't going to make the same mistake… there was no way…

"You wish Alex was attractive to men! Got it!" The genies scratched at his ear, "And granted!"

Alex writhes on the floor, lost in a haze of unwanted pleasure. As he orgasms again and again, his muscles begin to swell and bulge, growing more defined by the second.

"Paul, please, something's happening!" Alex grits out between panting breaths, sweat pouring down his reddened face. "I… I can't stop thinking about the gym. About working out." He clutches his head, eyes wide with panic. "Everything else... I can't think about anything else… Gotta get swole... Fuck!" Tears stream down Alex's cheeks as he looks pleadingly at Paul. "This isn't me, Paul! I don't want this! You have to fix this, please!" His muscular form twitches and flexes uncontrollably as another orgasm crashes over him.

Paul paces frantically, running his hands through his hair as he watches Alex suffer. His heart races with fear and desperate regret. "Shit shit shit! Alex, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen!"

Alex cries out as his body convulses again, muscles rippling beneath his straining skin. "P-Paul, please! I can't take much more of this!" He reaches a trembling hand towards his friend, eyes shining with unshed tears and rising hysteria. "I don't recognize myself anymore! The gym, these muscles, it's all I can think about! I feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind!"

"I know, I know!" Paul falls to his knees beside Alex, grasping his thickly muscled shoulders. "Just hold on, okay? We'll figure this out together!"

"Huh? What did you say?! Ya gotta speak up!"

"Stop doing this!" Paul snaps, "This isn't fair!"

"What? Hair?"

Suddenly, coarse dark hairs begin sprouting rapidly across Alex's increasingly muscular body. They tickle and irritate his sensitive skin as they grow longer by the second. Even a thick, unkempt beard erupts along his jawline and upper lip.

"Aghhh, it itches so bad!" Alex wails, frantically trying to claw at the invading hairs. His arms bulk up even more with each passing moment. "Wh-what's happening to me?!" He gasps and moans loudly as yet another intense orgasm rocks through him, muscles tensing and releasing powerfully.

"Holy shit Alex, you're… " He swallows hard, trying to process the situation.

"It burns, it itches everywhere!" Alex howls, voice strained and cracking. Tears and sweat mingle on his furry, flushed face. "I can't control my body! It won't stop changing!" Another mind-blowing orgasm crashes through him and he arches his back with a guttural moan, abs clenching rock-hard. When he finally collapses back, he pants heavily, "P-Paul… I'm scared. Please, you have to find a way to reverse this! I don't want to be this."

"I'm trying Alex, I swear!" Paul clears his throat, "Genie please! Undo this?"

"Please what? Seriously, you gotta speak up!" The genie sighs, Undo? What are you saying?"

"Genie, please, I wish everything would go back to normal! Reverse all these crazy changes!" Paul pleads desperately, gripping the lamp.

The genie frowns, scratching his head. "Uh, ya wanna make this whole messed up situation the new norm? Yeah, I can dig it!" He nods sagely.

Alex's brow furrows as he struggles against the invasive changes reshaping his mind. "N-no, wait… I don't wanna be some meathead bro!" He protests weakly, voice already starting to lose its sharpness. "C'mon Paul, this ain't right, dude! Help me stay me!"

"I'm trying Alex, I swear!" Paul grips Alex's shoulders, staring intently into his glazing eyes. "Keep fighting it, okay? Don't let this happen!"

But Alex's vocabulary is shrinking by the second. "Yeah, no, I dunno 'bout that, bro." He scratches his head, looking confused. "Gym sounds rad tho! Maybe I'll go later, yeah?"

"No Alex, focus!" Paul shakes him gently. "You're slipping away!"

"Bro, what's with the intense interrogation?" Alex blinks slowly, expression dulling. "I'm just tryna chill, ya know? Nuthin' to get bent outta shape over." He shrugs his massive shoulders.

"No, listen Alex!" Paul insists, desperation coloring his voice. "You're forgetting who you are!"

Alex tilts his head, brows furrowed. "Huh? Forgettin' what?" He seems to struggle to grasp the concepts. "Naaah, you must be mistaken, my dude. I'm all about the gains and gaming now!" He flexes an arm, grinning stupidly. "Chicks dig the biceps too, y'know?"

"Alex, please, you have to snap out of this!" Paul pleads, tears forming in his eyes. "This isn't you talking! You love philosophy. You want to go to law school!"

"Philoso… fill-loss-oh…What….?" Alex repeats slowly, as if the words are foreign. Then he laughs, a crude barking sound. "Dude, who needs all that sissy stuff? Video games and protein shakes are life now!" He punches Paul's shoulder playfully, nearly knocking him over with his enhanced strength.

"Oof! Alex, stop!" Paul rubs his sore arm, feeling helpless as he watches his brilliant friend slip away. "I know you're still in there somewhere! Fight it!"

"Hey, whatchu cryin' for, bro?" Alex notices Paul's tears and looks genuinely concerned, in a simple-minded sort of way. "Real fuckin' men don't cry, brah." A smirk forms on his face, "Here, I have a good joke for ya."

PPFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT

"Haha, oh man, didja smell that, bro?" Alex guffaws at the sound and smell of his own fart, "I'm so gassy from all the protein powder!" He takes a big whiff of his own stinky cloud, giggling childishly. Alex flexes his bulging muscles, admiring his reflection in a nearby mirror. Thick hair sprouts across his body as he grows even more hirsute and beefed up. Another orgasm hits and he grunts, "Whooo, that's the stuff!"

Paul's stomach churns at the sight and smell. Paul's heart sinks as he watches Alex descend further into this crass, unintelligent state. The words echo in his mind - "Leave well enough alone." Maybe Elliot was right. Paul just stares in disbelief, hardly recognizing his once intelligent, sophisticated friend in this new Neanderthal-like state. Everything Alex was... everything he could be... all gone, replaced by this crude caricature.

Paul's heart races as he grasps the lamp, desperation fueling his movements. "Genie, please, I need to make one more wish! I can't let this happen to Alex!"

The genie shakes his head sadly, "Sorry kiddo, ya done spent all yer wishin' credits. No more freebies for ya!" He points a bony finger at Paul accusingly, "Shoulda thought twice 'fore messin' with forces beyond yer comprehension, eh?"

Meanwhile, Alex groans and shifts uncomfortably, his enormous cock throbbing and leaking copiously. "Ugh, fuck dude… so much spunk. It won't quit drippin'!" He glances down at his straining erection, a look of dumb confusion on his face. Alex scratches his head, looking down at his cum-soaked shorts. "Aw man, I need somethin' to soak up all this jizz, ya know?" He glances at the genie hopefully. "Oi genie dude, hook a bro up with a sick jockstrap that can handle all this baby batter!"

The genie grins toothily. "One magic cum-guzzlin' jockstrap, comin' right up!"

Before Paul can react, an invisible force yanks him towards Alex's crotch. "Wha- Hey! Stop!" Paul yelps, but it's too late. His mouth is engulfed by Alex's huge, throbbing cock as his arms wrap around Alex's muscular waist. Paul gags and sputters, eyes wide with shock.

"Mmmph! Gllkk mmm!" Paul tries to protest but can only make muffled noises around the thick shaft stretching his lips. He feels a strange tingling sensation spreading through his body as the changes begin…

Alex moans, fingers tangling in Paul's hair. "Whoa dude, your mouth feels amazeballs! Guess you're a natural cocksucker after all!" He chuckles dumbly, flexing his hips to thrust shallowly.

Paul's thoughts race in panic as he feels his body beginning to morph and reshape itself. Oh god, no no no, this can't be happening! Not like this! He tries to pull away but finds his limbs moving independently, fusing and twisting in unnatural ways.

His legs stretch and shift, sliding up along Alex's muscular thighs and taint until they merge with his hands. Paul's torso compresses and flattens, the flesh and bone condensing into a thin strip of material. His face pushes outward, features smooshing and reforming into the cup-shaped front of a jockstrap.

"MMMPPHHH!! GLLKK MMFF!" Paul's screams are garbled and muted as his vocal cords dissolve away.

Paul's mind reels in horror as he feels the last vestiges of his humanity slipping away. His consciousness narrows to a single purpose - containing and cushioning Alex's relentless erections. The jockstrap material stretches taut as it molds perfectly to Alex's package, soaking up the endless stream of pre-cum and semen.

Alex grunts and adjusts the jockstrap, fingers brushing over the flattened surface that was once Paul's face. "Damn bro, this thing is unreal! Feels like it was made just for my junk! And fuck its still dry as fuck! Thanks genie bro!"

But the genie is gone. And so is the lamp. Alex shrugs and sprawls out on the couch. He had a great day ahead of him- gym, videogames, and beer. No thoughts spent on who he was... or who his jockstrap had been either.

Starting the Saturday with coffee and gear to realy get everything going 😎

Honeywell Spacel 3000 protectionsuit, it is basicly a non breathable thick plastic bag shaped as a coverall. It is just as shiny on the inside as it is on the outside, sticks to your skin and the sweat beads up on the inside 👌

And the sound...sweet heaven..🥰🤤

First part of this trip was to change into my camo gear, my base layer so to speak in this session.

Love how these trousers fit and feel on me when I am moving around.

I have planned for a while to go out on a little adventure, yesterday was the day.

Full camo, Nike Af1, the yellow Honeywell suit and my Tychem protection suit.

Fuck I was so horny being out there walking around in nature, this grey suit are so LOUD I don't feel comfortable wearing it inside my flat haha. To wear it and not think about if anyone would hear was next level.

Having all these layers on was intense and warm, loved it to bits!

Anyone wanna see a vid or two of it? 😎 It is pure ASMR

You can see how stiff it is by the arm hanging out of it in the beginning.

This is a long vid guys, I realy hope you enjoy it. Going to do this more time in the future, hopefully not alone every time 😃

Show me some pics of you guys in protection suits or rainsuit 🤩

So I had this dude @alwaysweatysneakers here in November last year and had some great fun.

First I ordered him what to wear, which was the yellow plastic protection overall as first layer towards his skin.

Second layer is this awesome Yamaha rain set you see in the pics/video. None of this is even remotely breathable!

I continued with taping up his hands into balls, I made sure to place a sock in each hand before so didn't have as much movement. Plus it made the hands look like two silver clubs which wasn't good for anything. Follow up with a sock in his mouth, one bandana with a knot on over that, another flat bandana over that then layer after layer after layer of duct tape. This part can't be seen realy, heard later though...😏😉

He was a very obedient boy by now, he knew by now he wouldn't be able to do anything about it with his hands looking like they did. So I started to tie him up.

So now he has white socks on his feet, in his hands and in his mouth with no way to get any off them off.

I tie a pretty simple hogtie pinning hands and arms close to his body with rope going under his ass and on the sides of his crotch.

Feet tied and connected to the rope harness on his upper body.

I didn't tie any off this TO hard cuz I had plans to keep him there for a while.

Thing was..I needed to go get breakfast...and I didn't want him to feel left out. So I left him tied up inside instead, sweating like crazy untill I came back!

I geared up in some baggy Gstar jeans, a Superdry puffer and a hardshell jacket from L.Brador then ventured out.

Last thing I did was to tape my absolutly oldest pair of sneaker over his face which he had to breath untill I came back. Which he had no idea how long it would take either.

Then I donned both of the hoods between the tounge of the sneaker and the sneaker itself (better than I did in the vid). To make sure he couldn't shake them off in any way.

and then I simply left.

Warning!

Loud suit incoming! 🔥🔥🔥

Speak like a bro! Your new gym rat life. Alex had been scrolling through his socials when he found a text translator that made you sound like a stereotypical meathead. One that talked in slow, dull sounds, buffering every word with 'bro' or 'dude' like it was the only word vocabulary. He thought it looked like a dumb internet thing, though he couldn't help but click the link.

He opened up the website, a text box and some pictures of dudes flexing at the top with their dumb grins greeted him, spouting obnoxious bro quotes in his head. His face scrunched up, remembering all the times he bumped into those kinds of gym bros on the way to class, their sweaty bodies and lumbering gaits taking up the entire walkway.

Yo, before we start, we gotta grab your name, bro. Helps us initiate ya into the brohood.

He typed his full name, Alex Jung, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the overt bro talk. But his assignments were already done, and he was weeks ahead on the required reading, so he could afford some relaxation, even if it was laughing at some dumb bro speak.

In an instant his new username popped up, AJ.

Of course, even the translator knew how to make his name sound like a douchebag. But it kind of made sense, kids back in school would call him AJ sometimes.

Beginning to type, Alex started with generic sentences, giggling to himself at all the idiotic bro dialogue the website spat out. Normal sentences became tinged with slang and humor, he pictured the kind of guys that engaged in this bro-speak, ones with arms bigger than their head. Alex adjusted his glasses, thinking of ways to make it more fun, and the thought of him - the straight A student - living like a bro was so laughable he wondered how the translator would change it.

My name's Alex, graduated top of my class in high school and even got a scholarship to show. Currently doing my degree in Biological Sciences with a perfect record for valedictorian.

He couldn't help but feel satisfied typing some of his achievements out. Alex lived for a 4.0 GPA, the trophies and certificates plastered around his dorm room served as a not-so-humble display of his intelligence. The 21 year old's efforts made him the perfect model student, his sharp clothes, styled hair, and good hygiene were his essentials for making a good impression at the lab.

It's AJ bro, totally bombed college but who needs that sciencey shit when you’ve got a phD in pumping iron, getting laid and partied out all day babyyy. At 25 and fucking hot bro!

Nick was trying to get some sleep. He had been lying on his bed, clad only in briefs, focusing on the spinning ceiling fan as if trying to lull himself into deep slumber. Nick thought he would finally join a club, go to parties, maybe even fool around with some boys. But college was just lecture after lecture, his overactive imagination already stressing about tomorrow's seminar. Goddamn. He needed to calm his mind, trying to focus on something else - that is, hot jocks.

Tall, beefy, muscular men had popped up in his brain like fleeting mirages. Somehow, Nick had ended up in a college that was a giant in every sport imaginable. From sun-kissed boys in the swimming club, to the brawny brutes of the football club. Of course, he could only watch, not do. Next to the pinnacles of fitness, Nick was just a regular unassuming guy. In a campus full of jocks he was short at 5'5", and though he worked out on occasion, his body didn't show anything impressive. The only interactions he got were accidental shoves from people walking past.

Still, an occasional glance at the hunks in his class or at the soccer team out the window helped get him through the day. He noted how each of the sport teams had their own sexy characteristics:

Down by the pool, the swimmers were lean and tanned to perfection, dripping water highlighted the grooves of their abs, carving straight to their cum gutters; brought out perfectly by tight speedos that left little to the imagination, showing off juicy curves and asses.

Full of testosterone and ego, the quarterbacks were huge. Larger than life in body and demeanor, always rowdy and loud in the field. Drawing attention with their boulder shoulders, accentuated by their shoulder pads; and tight pants that showed their meaty behinds. Unlike the smooth shaven boys in the water, the footballers were hairy and musky, pits and pubes full of sweat that could drive you crazy.

The soccer team were the complete definition of hunks, they loved to strip down on the field, showing their carved torsos in glory; the basketball players were tall and packing heat, black shorts only highlighted their lengthy members, and their stamina on the court wasn't just for show according to some rumors.

Nick could go on and on about every fantasy in his mind, hoping one of the jocks would magically ask him out, allowing him to feel up their bodies. Or even better, if he could be them. To be that muscular and commanding jock, sauntering into a room bulge first, popping his pecs in class, having a flex off with his like-minded bros. Although it was just a pipedream, it permeated his mind over and over, usually ending with him grumbling to himself and sighing deeply.

Out of all the stereotypical jocks, there was one he loved the most, the perfect combination appearing in every sport, and the final hot image in his brain - a frat bro.

Dumb, muscular, horny, hung, himbos, every descriptor activated the right neuron in his brain. These words were on constant repeat in Nick's mind, remembering them as he drifted into horny dreams, carrying those words with a wish. But tonight, someone heard it. And soon enough, static and fuzz crept into Nick's brain, compelling him into deep sleep.

Something whispered from the dark. Granted.

A small hum of energy blew in the air, as the bed began to creak, not from Nick's tossing and turning but from an increase of weight. With a sudden pop, his legs started to rapidly stretch, causing them to hang off the bed. His torso and limbs followed along, elongating in a deep stretch and pop that elicited a groan from the sleeping Nick.

Tall. Basketball player height.

5'5" became 6" that further lengthened into 6'4", leaving him as tall as most of the basketball team. Damn, he might have to duck under some doorways every now and then. The stretch continued, perfectly proportioning his limbs, as his neck and arms grew to fit. Meanwhile, a surge of energy focused on turning his average feet and hands into gargantuan monsters. His size 7 feet became meaty size 16s, toes becoming wider; they would make an audible stomp everywhere he went now, along with an unmistakable sweaty imprint. He remembered his bros complaining about the loud stomping in the frat house. Heh. He couldn't help it, they were just marks of a man. His fingers followed, popping longer and thicker to become meaty digits. They were better suited for gripping dumbbells and protein shakes, rather than any pens or keyboards for class. Not like he used them often. English and Arts? Nah, he was only there for sports, Athletic Science or some shit, with grades at the bare minimum.

Hunk. Toned Soccer Player. Nick's body began to lean out, the frustrating belly fat that had stayed through countless 15 minute core workouts dissolved into rock hard abs. Each individual ab popped into a perfect six-pack, carving and embedding themselves into his core. His waist cinched tight as his cum gutters became visible, allowing any drops of sweat to slide and accentuate his toned and tiny waist.

But it didn't stop there. Muscular. Football team large. A warmth spread up from his feet, which made his calves swell into massive diamond shapes. His thighs piled on muscle after muscle, causing his legs to spread apart, threatening to spill off the bed. A mixture of pain and pleasure washed over Nick. Memories of brutal leg presses and squats injected themselves straight into the fibers of his massive columns. After all, bros never skipped leg day, that was how they got their signature lumbering walk. His once average ass - not wanting to lose the fight - fattened into massive globes that lifted him higher into the air, soaking his sheets with sweat. Nick’s upgraded bubble butt was huge and round, each cheek constantly bouncy and jiggly, especially when riding his frat bros. In response, Nick started gyrating on the bed as new memories flowed into him -nights of being fucked and used - the sensation sending tingles down his spine, as his hole tightened to be used for maximum pleasure. Nick's audible groans became louder as the energy surged through his chest, ballooning into mounds of firm pecs that would show through any shirt he tried on. They swelled out into hefty milkers, his nipples stretching just a little wider, big enough for his bros to play with. His shoulders followed, doubling in width as they grew along with his broad back, connecting with his traps. Giving him that strong structured look. Biceps and triceps exploded with muscle, defined by a juicy vein that ran up from his steel forearms. When flexed, they would tear sleeves to their breaking point, but it didn't matter, his wardrobe was stock full with singlets and tank tops, just like any other bro.

Smooth and hairy in all the right places.

A tingle swept over his entire body, as his old pitiful wisps of leg hair fell out and disappeared into the ether, giving him smooth and soft skin. Instead, all the hair went into his pits and pubes, fluffing them up into musk-filled bushes, hairy and dark. They would peek out in his singlets and jockstraps, enticing everyone to sniff or lick. His hair grew to a messy mop that would be paired with beanies and baseball caps. Dumb and Handsome. With a crack, Nick's face began to rearrange to model status, making him attractive while permanently affixing him with a dopey grin. His nose thickened to breathe in more musk from bushy armpits, sometimes even his own. His lips fattened; sloppy and wet for passionate kisses or blowjobs for his bros. Panting like a dog, his tongue lolled out, wide and long, a pleasure tool on its own. Eyes became clear, removing any need for glasses but also becoming vacant, an open window to the constant horniness and empty thoughts in his head. And the final pop of his enlarged Adam's apple gave him that stereotypical bro cadence. His deep and dull voice had two purposes, dumb moans in the bed and rough grunts in the gym. Hung like a horse. Heavy bull nuts. Groans and pants filled the air with heavy breaths as the warmth spread to his most sensitive area. His cock and balls. Nick's average 5 incher rose to a sizable 9 inches, barely fitting into his white briefs, its uncut head leaking pre everywhere, almost turning the fabric translucent. Still, it kept growing. 10 inches... 11 inches... Harder, thicker, longer, into a fat meaty pole that shot out of his briefs with a satisfying pop, landing with a wet smack on his abs. Now uncontained, his 12 inch monster cock was a weapon of its own, when not being bred, Nick ravaged the bedroom with his footlong size. Thick veins ran up his erect dick, overflowing with cum from his pumped up nuts. His balls had swelled along with his hefty member, dropping from regular to swinging, heavy, animal nuts. Finding underwear would be impossible for the new himbo, remembering his package bursting through buttons and briefs in the past. Luckily, jockstraps could barely contain the beast, and the tight fabric behind settled perfectly in between his cheeks, pulled taut to tease his hole throughout the day. His balls were now cum factories, capable of going endlessly in a night, churning to the brim with frat bro seed. With one final swell and thrust, Nick erupted in a loud grunt, tensing his entire body as his cock quivered with pressure, balls tightening for release. A force in the air blew, and with the gentle gust of wind caressing his cock, he exploded with mind-breaking pleasure. Spurts of cum flew out, almost reaching the ceiling, as Nick bucked his hips in mindless pleasure. Each load caused deep and heavy moans to reverberate on his bedroom walls, his thick and smelly cum landing on every surface. He continued his musky assault on his surroundings, bucking his cock in the air like fucking an invisible hole. After painting the room white in cum, and staining the air with sweat, Nick let out a rich sigh, his sleeping face dumb and exhausted. His wet dreams were fulfilled. In a sudden, it whispered. Wake up.

Nick groaned, his body was on fire. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed himself so hard at yesterday's full body workout, but he knew the pump was well worth it. He stared blankly at the empty ceiling, strange, he could have sworn he had a fan up there. Maybe that's why he was so goddamn sweaty. Nick pulled himself out of bed, making a goofy grin at his still hard cock, twitching and ready for countless rounds. His sheets were always stained with a mixture of sweat and cum, making the room reek with musk. Last night must have been super wild, he'd always get extra wet dreams if he didn't jerk off before bed, but fuck there was even cum on the floor today, though he was unable to remember what the dream was. It didn't matter though, all it took was a second for his doubt to fade away. He'd clean up the mess later, or ask a bro to do it. Heavy footsteps paved their way to the shower, an audible signal of the dumb himbo. His horsecock dripped precum all over the floor, making a light slapping sound against his thunderous thighs. After a quick rinse to get rid of the excess sweat and cum, Nick stared hungrily at his own reflection. His towel draped at just the right angle to reveal his shredded torso and give a peek of his gorgeous v-line.

Fuck, he was hot. His model face and beefy body greeted him in the morning, along with his throbbing monster cock. Nghhh. He groaned, bull balls slapping against the white sink, he almost fucked the countertop in desperation. However, it stopped him, giving three basic words that completed his transformation. Lift. Eat. Fuck. Freshly imprinted into his brain, Nick let out a long guttural moan as the command settled into his every cell. "Huhuhu." A dumb laugh followed, and like a robot, Nick was steered by the hypnotizing call. Fuck it, he would go commando today, He threw on a white tank top and black sweatpants, ones that hugged his body tight for everyone's viewing pleasure; making sure to add a gray beanie and a chain necklace that screamed douchey bro to the world. Taking a quick snap in the elevator, the new Nick cemented himself as a forever dumb, muscular himbo. With another wish granted, it murmured. Good Himbo.

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We all breathed a sigh of relief as soon as Joe had left the room. He’s trouble free enough to live with, and a great help with math, but when he gets drunk his racist upbringing shines through. And not any of that now common Trump MAGA immigrant retoric. No, it’s old school nigger this and redskins that racism. It makes any table uncomfortable, even this one, drunk as we all were. We hadn’t started as strong as Joe, so at least I was game for a few more poker hands.

As Steve was dealing the discussion picked up on the elephant who just left the room, Joe’s racism. Mateo, who was the only one with any inherent tan around the table, reflected how he had it the easiest. He was never really the target, and he didn’t feel he had to defend or excuse Joe. Sam wondered if there was any racist conversion therapy they could chip in for as a birthday gift. Marcus suddenly put down his cards and started to flip around on his phone like crazy.

“Hey, it’s your turn. What are you looking for?” “I saw this app a few days ago. I didn’t install it, because why the fuck would I, but it claimed to make you believe you were someone else. Some sort of hypnotic experience I guess.” “Someone else, how? Like Napoleon?” “More like a different ethnicity. That kind of shit. Ah! Here.”

I don’t know what Marcus does with his phone, but this sideloaded non-playstore app looked shady AF. “You need jailbroken phone for the good stuff” he claimed. The app UI wasn’t really designed, but rather something that had happened, but despite being plain, bordering ugly, it wasn’t that hard to understand. Menus upon menus with adjustments on everything from eye color to gait. Although painfully slow, the image in the main UI was constantly updated to reflect the latest changes. Marcus selected “Black Athlete” as template and started to modify it. The poker became even less focused, if that was even possible, and the phone was passed around the table where everyone made adjustments to create a kind of anti-Joe. The kind of look he would dislike the most.

“Bigger nose and lips, for sure.” “Who made him this dark? It looks way to much like an ethno-model.” “Don’t make him too buff!” “That’s too far. Put back the abs. It should look like he rather exercise than study.”

We didn’t really have a plan for what to do with the result. Sam opened his Tullamore Dew and poured for everyone. Mateo was reading through the actual instructions in the help section of the app.

“So you just put in your earbuds, press the play button and wait 2-4 hours. Trial license gives you 24 hours of free configurations, then the changes revert if you don’t pay.” “Let’s fucking do it!” “What?” “Put earbuds on Joe and have him listen.” “He’s asleep. Whatever ethnic experience this app is giving, he is going to sleep through it.” “Do it anyway. Perhaps he’ll dream about it.”

We found Joe on the couch by the stairs. He hadn’t even gone to sleep in his room, but undressed on the way there and somehow decided to conk out in his underwear halfway to his room. I wasn’t going to walk into his dorm room and touch him while he was asleep, but here by the stairs I was all for a bit of a prank.

We plugged in earbuds to Marcus’ phone, carefully put them in Joe’s ears, and pressed the “Start” button in the app. The icon changed to “Stop”, but otherwise nothing. We all went upstairs.

I was rudely awakened by the crash. I instantly knew I needed a few more hours of sleep. My head was thumping on its own, without any additional sound effects. The sound came from downstairs, like someone had broken a window. I threw on sweatpants and sweatshirt, rushed downstairs, and froze. In front of me, looking utterly bewildered was the app rendering come to life, wearing Joe’s underwear. The big mirror was smashed, from the looks of it by having Marcus’ phone thrown at it. The wide eyed African American man stared at me and asked “Can you see it too?”

There was no audio rendering in the app, but the voice matched the selected descriptions “deep” and “hoarse”. No one would ever guess the wrong ethnicity on a phone call, although he still spoke like Joe would.

“Can I see what, Joe?” “The.. the… I… the nig.. the dark skin.”

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. We never even considered this possibility. This is impossible, so how could we? I couldn’t tell him we turned you into a low wage minority as a prank. Nor could I pretend he didn’t look different. That would be absurd. And I just called him Joe. Shit. How can I pretend to be surprised he looks like he looks? As indifferent as possible perhaps.

“Sure I can see it. Do you think it will last long?” “Do I think it… How the fuck would I know?! I have no fucking clue what happened in the first place. I played cards with you guys, took a nap here, and woke up like a fucking jigaboo eggplant.” “You should put on some shoes so you don’t hurt yourself. And sweep up the shards.” “I… Yeah…”

I flew up the stairs and burst into Marcus’ room. He was sleeping in the kind of uncomfortable position a drunk person would, only half covered and drooling face down into a pillow.

“Marcus! Wake up!” “Hnnnn…” “Wake the fuck up! I have bad news and bad news.”

I was shaking him forcefully. As consciousness was slowly entering him, he grabbed the blanket, trying to cover himself up, and peered at me with sullen eyes that wanted nothing more than go back to sleep. He let out a heavy sigh.

“Give me the bad news then.” “Joe smashed your phone into the downstairs mirror.” “Umhm. Why did he smash my phone in.. to… the..” “Stay awake! He did it because your fucking app worked.” “What? He believes he’s a black dude?” “I believe he is one. He looks just like the pre-render.” “Oh… That is unexepected.” “We need to do something?” “What? You said yourself the phone is smashed.” “I.. Fuck. I didn’t even think about that.” “What did Mateo say? It only lasts for 24 hours?” “Something like that.” “That gives us plenty of time to fuck with him.” “It’s not bad enough as it is?” “We need to lean into it. What’s the point of a weak practical joke?” “I suppose.” “I need an aspirin. Tell the others what we decided.” “Why me?” “You are already up.”

After my wake up tour with incredulous, hangover housemates, I went back down and found Joe in the kitchen. He was still wearing only his boxers, and was sitting at the big table, inspecting his hand.

“Why are only the palms normal?” “What?” “Why is the part that actually does any work the only part that is white, and all the lazy parts black?”

Fuck me. Having had to explain the situation four times, and that we had no choice but to continue the “joke”, I was less and less convinced it was the right thing to do. We should just work together and get Joe back to his normal self. But then Joe can’t help his racist self and showed he needed to stay on the ride for a bit longer. I didn’t know how to respond, but didn’t need to as Steve joined us in the kitchen.

“Wow, someone has bulked up.” “The fuck is wrong with you? I’m black.” “Yeah, that too. How does it feel?” “I… I’m alright. No! I’m not alright, but I feel fine.” “That’s a damn sexy voice too. I bet the ladies will go crazy.” “No one is going crazy! No one will ever see me! No one!” “Well I just did. Part at least. Is the schlong black size as well?” “What I… None of your business! And I haven’t checked.”

The others had joined us in the kitchen as well.

“Why havent you checked?” asked Sam. “That’s the first thing I would do.” “It doesn’t matter! I’m not going to stay this way.” “How do you know” “Fuck, I can’t. Could you imagine me as a tar baby?” “Well, I’m looking at you right now.” “It’s not me. This is just temporary. It has to be!”

“Temporary or not, we need to get you some clothes” said Marcus, who still looked like hell. Joe looked even more exasperated, as if he hadn’t realized he was almost nude.

“Yeah, you can’t go round like that, obviously, and you probably don’t want to use your own clothes, even if they fit. People might talk.”

It was bullshit. All clothes in the entire house were either M or L, and even if some of his more preppy items were unique on campus, he could easily just take some workout clothes. But I could see where Marcus was going.

“Yeah, I think we need to go shopping. You need a proper outfit.”

It took forever to get ready, as each and everyone followed their own post party ritual. Long shits, long showers, and in Marcus’ case mac and cheese. Joe was rotating through his wardrobe to find something that couldn’t be identified as him. Finally Steve threw him a pair of adidas shorts, and Joe relented to the look with white low rise socks and a plain, white T-shirt. “You don’t want to attract attention by dressing out of character, do you?”, Mateo asked him. Still, he wasn’t happy using his white sneakers, but was eventually convinced no one could trace them back to him.

It wasn’t until past ten everyone was ready to leave. Joe was antsy as if he was about streaking through the mall. Twice Sam had to slowly go over with Joe that he was afraid someone would recognize him, but he looked different and had different clothes, so that would not happen. We split into two cars. Me, Joe, and Mateo in Steve’s Mustang. Sam and Marcus in Sam’s Tesla.

Joe was quiet all the ride to the mall. He habitually took shotgun, but from the looks of it he almost immediately regretted it. He was actively trying to not get seen, and it was funny to watch. At the first red light he was covering his face with his hand, and immediately remembered that a colored hand over his face did nothing to hide his race. If anything his behavior made more people look at him. When we stopped at the mall he made no signs of leaving the car.

“I’ll wait here” “No, the cops will just thing you’ve stolen the car” I said, playing on his notions. “Besides, we need you to try things on for size.” said Mateo

Begrudgingly Joe followed us into the mall where we met Sam and Marcus. We quickly decided to go to footlocker first. “You need some baller kickers” said Steve. “Don’t talk like that” said Joe, who had kept quiet through our discussion. “What? I always talk like that?” “Yeah, I know”

Marcus quickly decided it had to be a pair of high tops. After some deliberations we picked out a pair of red, black, and white Nike Air Jordans, and Joe tried them on. “I don’t… These look too big.” “They are perfect.” “They are absurd.” “No one would think you selected them, then.” “I guess.”

As Sam paid for the shoes we discussed where to go next. Mateo suggested the sales section at Nordstrom’s, but Steve was adamant that someone looking like you would head downstairs to Champs. Once Sam rejoined us, and as is typical offered to split the bills once we got back home, he proceeded down the escalator into the major sports store of the mall.

There we kind of spread out, looking for whatever we thought Joe should wear. After a few minutes a visibly annoyed Joe joined me and Steve at the shorts racks. He was constantly glancing towards the entrance. “Fucking store guard was trailing me, like I couldn’t tell. What a waste of wage.” “Hey, what do you think of these.” I held out a pair of black and red Nike baller shorts. “They are pretty roomy. Won’t that look like a kilt?” “I suppose that is the point. I mean some people wear them low to get them even longer.” “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

We joined the others by the cashier. Mateo had picked up a pair of white boxer briefs and white mid calf high socks. Steve had picked out a Chicago Bulls jersey. Sam and Marcus had apparently been looking at other stuff, but brought a no-name grey zip up hoodie. There wasn’t really any point in trying things on. Nothing was tailor-made, exactly. But Sam asked the cashier if it was possible to use the changing room and put everything on. She didn’t mind, and even handed us a pair of scissors to remove the tags. At first it looked like Joe would protest, by he probably figured it really didn’t matter, and went ahead with it. “Underwear too” Marcus called out louder than necessary.

When Joe emerged from the changing booth his look hadn’t changed dramatically, it was pretty athletic before, but he looked at home. Like this was how he was supposed to look like. I hoped it was because of his toned body fit with the baller look, and not some deeper prejudice of my own.

“I need something”, Joe said walking out from the store with us. “What?” “I don’t know. Food perhaps. It’s lunchtime isn’t it?” “I guess it is. Some of us haven’t had a mac’n’cheese yet today.” “Let’s go KFC.” “Really? Didn’t you want to avoid stereotypes?” “I would go to KFC any other day, so why not now?” “Fair point.”

The lunch was chaotic, as it often is with us. Six dudes are just the right amount to be too many for most venues. At least at KFC no one really cares. They serve food in buckets after all. Everyone behaved like normal, which really was remarkable given what we’ve done to Joe. We picked the round table we usually go for, and the banter was very similar to any other day. Even Joe pitched in. While he spoke as normal, though with a decidedly darker voice, there was something else that was off. His body language was getting antsy and restless. I don’t think most of the others caught that, though I could see that Steve did. I thought we’ve achieved what we set out to, and didn’t want to push it further, so I decided to give him an out and suggested we headed back to the house. Joe looked relieved. Sam, Marcus and Mateo had some more stuff to do, so Steve, Joe and I drove back in his car.

I don’t think we said a word throughout the drive back, not that it is far. Joe was restless in the back seat, shifting around and drumming with his fingers. Steve shot the occasional glance.

As soon as we stopped, Joe was first out of the car and rushed to the front door. There he discovered he didn’t carry any key, and without subtlety was bouncing, waiting to be let in.

“You alright, Joe?” “Yep.”

Not pressing the issue I unlocked and he dashed through the house into his room and locked the door. I looked at Steve and he gave me a questioning shrug back.

We didn’t see him again until several hours later, with all the rest back from their errands as well. Joe exited his room, much more relaxed than during lunch. He was still in the same clothes we’d picked out for him. He saunters to the common area and falls into the corner of one of the couches, watching Steve and me play on the old SNES. Steve turns to him with a smirk.

“So, was it epic? I set it to debilitatingly horny with massive payoff.” “You did what?” “The dick settings. The template was pretty horny from the start. I just maxed some settings out a little.” “You did this? YOU FUCKING DID THIS?” “Hey! How the fuck could I know you would turn all basket scholar on us.” “The hell did you do to me?”

By this point everyone was in the living room, looking apologetic, guilty, and in one case furious. It was hard for Joe to accept that just listening to something from a phone would have done this to him. To be honest, it sounded far fetched to us as well, when we tried to convince him, but the result was undeniable and we had no other explanation. He had after all transformed exactly as defined in the character builder. Hearing that the program was on the phone he’d smashed, and that we’ve been unable to find it again did nothing to improve the situation. Nor did Mateo’s retelling of the 24 hours trial from the license agreement. “You’re all fucking turds and tomorrow once this fucking situation is resolved I’m fucking gone.” he shouted and rushed back to his room.

We fell silent and everyone sat down. What would we say? Sam got up again and brought the rest of his Tullamore Dew and a round of glasses. Everyone took him up on that and helped themselves in silence. Marcus was the first to say something, many minutes later.

“You think he’ll leave? No one outside this house would even know this happened.” “No one outside of this house would believe it did happen.” “I think he’ll leave.” “Hell of a prank though.”

The Saturday evening was subdued, yet when the slow, rhythmic noise woke me up on Sunday I was in no hurry to figure out what it was. After what must have been half an hour I couldn’t stand it anymore, got up and threw some clothes on. Just as I opened my door, Mateo emerged from his room, looking about as enthusiastic as I felt, making a WTF shrug. We both went down the stairs into the living room. On the table was a jar of house weed, and a bunch of appropriate cutlery. Next to them was the feet of a black man reclining to almost horizontal position, blunt in one hand and one of Steves basket balls in the other. Rhythmically he threw the ball into the floor so it bounced up into the wall and back to him. Although he was dressed in all the clothes we picked up for Joe the day before, he didn’t look the same. He looked just like the application template “Black Athlete”.

“Joe?”

He stopped bouncing the ball, and slowly looked at us with his stoner-pink eyes.

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He was good looking, black hair, hazel eyes, nicely toned body, and he was charming. Sure, he got paid to look pretty and act nice, but if he faked it, he did a damn good job of it. He came off as genuinely attractive and attracted. It confirmed what I had been thinking for several days, that I needed a break from the party-fuck-party loop I was stuck in. To me he was perfect, and yet I felt no desire to go home with him tonight, if that had been an option. My shorts didn’t show any more bulge now than when I entered the club.

The bartender psychiatrist had quickly moved from fast and fake to more frank topics. It was Wednesday, so it wasn’t as packed, and there were two of them, but I was happily surprised with the time he devoted to actually talk to me. I guess he was experienced enough to sense when someone needed a non-alcoholic pick-me-up.

- So, given all that I’m not really looking for anyone tonight. I wasn’t sure, but, you know, I think I am now. - That bad huh? Perhaps if you couldn’t it would be different? - What do you mean? - Everyone is always looking at what they can’t have. I should know. I could go home with almost anyone in this room tonight, if I asked the right way. That came off too much like a brag, but you get what I’m saying. So to me the most irresistible ones are the ones that would say no.

Was he talking about me? That would be flattering, but I suspect he was talking in general terms. He was on the clock, and making the patrons feel good was part of the job description.

- Really? Well, there are one or two here that would say yes to me also. - Don’t sell yourself short. Besides, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. I’m saying that perhaps you are tired of sex just because it is so easy for you to get what you want, and when you want it. - What do you suggest? Break my nose to look uglier.

He grabbed something from below the bar and plonked it down in front of me on the bar desk. A big, shiny chromed chastity device in full view. Not a big reaction from anyone though, if they even looked. This kind of transaction wouldn’t be that big of a deal in a place like this.

- You want to lock me up? - No. I want you to lock yourself up. It’s just what you need. Something to stop yourself from cumming whenever you want. Then perhaps you value it more.

I stared at the metal cage on the table. A well crafted but not overly complicated design with a handcuff like mechanism that locks around the base. Another piece that you put your dick in and that locks with the first piece. Some sort of integrated lock mechanism that looked like a brass button with a keyhole locked everything in place. Clearly the deluxe version, with a small, blunt hook that separates the balls, and a short tube on the inside that goes into the hole of the dick.

- Never used before, and you can keep it until you see me again. Go try it!

I’ve never tried one on. To go straight to such a serious design is really a plunge in the deep end, but why not? I’m not going to do anything else tonight, by my own admission. Worst case scenario, I take a bolt cutter to it tomorrow and pay him the $100 or whatever this monstrosity costs.

- I’ll try it on, and then decide if I want to keep it on. - Sure. All yours.

I took the device and headed towards the men’s room, if such a term held any meaning at a place like this. The restroom was spacious, with several, individual toilet rooms. No cheap stalls here. They knew what their patrons wanted, and that included the thumping of fucking that clearly was going on behind the second door. I opened the first door, entered and locked it.

I stepped out of my shorts, to have better access. No underwear tonight. A habit on party nights. I held all my junk together with one hand, and put the first piece around the base of my cock and sack with the other. I forced it close with the same hand. It made a few clicks as the handcuff mechanism ratchet locked. How snug should it fit? I noticed a small button on the side, pressed it and the device sprung open, and I almost dropped it. Well, I needn’t worry about fitting at least. I closed it again, as tight as I dared. It wasn’t a cock ring, reminded myself, but it should probably be pretty tight still. This was intended for a flaccid penis after all.

I hesitated a bit with the other part. Sticking something into the eye of my dick wasn’t something I ever planned on doing. It was a small, hollow metal ball connected to a thin, transparent rubber tube that was connected to the inside of the front of the second piece. Well, I usually try everything once. I spat on the metal ball and started to attempt to insert it. It was tricky for many reasons. Awkward position of everything made it hard to see, hard to manipulate, and to complicate everything I started to have an erection. That would make it impossible to secure the different parts, and now the first part was becoming a cock ring.

I removed it, put my junk in the sink and washed it with cold water until it was small again, and rinsed the metal parts in cold water. I would have to work faster.

I did everything again, but now got the first part on real quick, then pushed the tube up my dick, ignoring the strange sensation, and put the metal prongs of the second part into the first part with a click.

It felt super weird.

It felt like I was having and not having an erection at the same time. My body found the hole experience really exciting, while the device was doing its best to deny my body to express that feeling. I understood now what my handsome bartender was telling me. There was also something about the extra weight. I took a few steps, feeling how it all bounced in new ways. It could be interesting to try this for a few days. I pressed the brass button with the keyhole on. It made a click.

The change was immediate. With nothing to hold it up, my dick fell and made a tug. I gasped at the sensation. It took me seconds to realize what had happened. The chastity device was no where to be seen. Technically my dick and balls where no where to be seen either. Instead between my legs was a monster of a cock hanging half way down to my knees, with balls to match. It was thick, uncut and free from all hair. It probably weighed as much as the chastity device did. It wouldn’t surprise me if it weighed exactly as much.

It took me a while to even touch it. It sent a shiver through me when I did. It was mine alright, but way more sensitive than what I had before. I still had the same feeling as before locking the device. Horny without being able to physically express it. The dick, although thick, wasn’t erect. A small bead of precum did form at the end. How would I even masturbate such large dick. I grabbed it somewhere near the head with my right hand and started to move it back and forth. It just made the base part of the dick buckle and waved thin tendrils of precum around on the toilet floor.

I grabbed the base of the dick with my left hand and repeated the motion with my right hand. It was incredible. With all my frequent and varied dick play, I’ve never before come close to something feeling as good as this did. I probably spent a good five minutes doing this, but it only left me more horny and still with no erection.

So that was how it worked.

I washed my hands, grabbed my shorts, and paused. I picked these shorts to showcase my goods. My former goods. This dick would be noticed through sweat pants. How the fuck was I going to walk from this without being busted for indecent behavior? I pulled up the shorts, and as expected it showed my golf balls of testicles front and center, and the dick made its way down the shorts leg, and continued down the thigh. I grabbed the dick and pulled it up into the leg, and then arranged it horizontally towards my right. I made a few test steps. If I just readjusted the dick every few steps, this could work.

I stepped out of the restroom and walked towards the bar. I could see several eyes my shorts, and my constant adjusting only accentuated it. The friction and grabbing did nothing to calm my sexual feelings. Perhaps he was right that you fancy what you can’t have, but the opposite can also be true. Now that I was rapidly getting hornier than I have been in months, I was desperate to release it somehow, and none of the usual options were available to me.

I slowly sat down on the bar stool next to my almost empty beer glass, taking care to not spill out my dick. There was a small note under the beer glass.

- Where is the other bartender? - Which one? It’s only me working today. Wednesdays are a bit slow here.

I unfolded the note.