Dad Juice and the Consequences
Nico had spent three years building the perfect body.
At twenty-four, he had the kind of physique that brought his social media accounts thousands of new followers every week. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, sculpted abs, thick arms, golden skin, and dark curls that always seemed to fall into place without effort.
His audience consisted mostly of gay men.
Some admired his workouts. Others admired the fact that his workout videos required very little clothing.
Nico enjoyed the attention, although he had strict preferences. His dating profiles made that perfectly clear:
Twenty-four. Gay. Into guys my age. No daddies.
Older men frequently messaged him anyway.
Daddy could teach you a few things.
Nico deleted every message with the same irritated expression.
“I don’t have daddy issues,” he often told his friends. “And I’m not interested in acquiring any.”
That afternoon, he was halfway through a photoshoot at a rented villa when the courier arrived.
The package was addressed to him personally.
Inside was a single black bottle with a white label.
Underneath, in tiny lettering, it read:
Become the man every boy secretly wants.
His photographer, Marco, lowered the camera.
“Some ridiculous supplement.”
Nico showed him the bottle.
Marco read the label and grinned. “Dad Juice? Finally. Your target audience has been waiting.”
“My target audience can keep waiting.”
“Hold it up. This could make a funny sponsored post.”
Nico posed beside the open glass doors, dressed only in white swim briefs and his gold chain. He held the bottle beside his chest while Marco took several pictures.
“Give me confident,” Marco said.
Nico stared into the lens.
“Now give me mysterious.”
Nico turned the bottle so the label faced the camera.
“Now give me ‘I’m about to make several poor decisions with a much older man.’”
Nico broke into laughter.
The liquid inside smelled of black coffee, expensive cologne, grilled meat, whiskey, cigar smoke, and the changing room of an exclusive men’s gym.
“You’re not actually drinking that.”
“It’s probably just some protein tonic.”
“There’s no ingredients list.”
“That has never stopped me before.”
Nico lifted the bottle and took a long swallow.
The liquid was warm and surprisingly thick. Its flavor began sweet, turned bitter, and ended with the smoky taste of bourbon.
“How much did you drink?”
The bottle slipped from his fingers.
A pulse moved through his body.
More like a clock had begun ticking inside him.
At first, the changes were subtle.
Fine lines appeared beside Nico’s eyes. A crease formed across his forehead. His jaw became heavier, his cheekbones more pronounced. A few silver strands glimmered among his dark curls.
“What filter are you using?”
He hurried toward the mirror beside the lighting equipment.
The man looking back was still handsome. Still muscular. Still recognizably Nico.
But he no longer looked twenty-four.
His youthful beauty had transformed into something more rugged. His shoulders appeared thicker. His chest looked denser. Even his expression seemed different—less like a young influencer trying to appear confident and more like a man who expected people to pay attention when he entered a room.
Nico turned around. “What does ‘oh’ mean?”
“It means you suddenly look like every man you claim you would never date.”
Another pulse rolled through Nico.
His back broadened. His biceps swelled, pushing outward with new mass. The veins in his forearms rose beneath his skin. His thighs thickened inside the swim briefs.
Nico grabbed the edge of the mirror.
Nico raised one arm cautiously.
His biceps peaked higher than they ever had before.
Despite himself, he flexed.
The shutter clicked several times.
Nico examined his reflection.
He hated that Marco was right.
The older face combined with the heavier muscle gave him a commanding, mature appearance. He looked like the owner of a private gym—or the intimidatingly handsome man who would approach someone at the bar and confidently buy him a drink.
“Well,” Nico muttered, “this part might not be completely terrible.”
The sound was so deep that both men looked down.
Nico suddenly felt ravenous.
He did not want grilled chicken, steamed rice, or the flavorless protein bars he normally ate. He wanted burgers. Sausages. Potatoes fried in butter. He wanted beer, steak, eggs, and enough food to cover an entire dining table.
Then his sharply defined abdomen softened.
A layer of weight spread across his waist. His six-pack blurred beneath it, then vanished completely. His stomach pushed forward, growing rounder and heavier until it rested above the waistband of his briefs.
His chest remained enormous. His arms stayed muscular. His legs were still powerful.
But the lean fitness-model body was becoming the massive build of an older man who could lift a motorcycle and then consume an entire barbecue.
Nico placed both hands on his belly.
It was warm, heavy, and undeniably large.
“No, no, no. I worked three years for those abs.”
“A lot of gay men like a stomach.”
The bottle’s label shimmered.
New words appeared beneath the title:
STAGE TWO: PROVIDER BUILD
“Provider build?” Nico shouted. “This is a beer belly!”
His stomach growled again.
“Do you have anything to eat?”
“There are protein bars.”
Marco smirked. “Now you’re beginning to sound like your followers.”
Hair began spreading across Nico’s torso.
He had always kept his body perfectly smooth for photographs. Now dark curls emerged across his chest, thickening into a dense mat. The hair crept down his stomach and along his forearms.
As the transformation continued, black turned to salt-and-pepper, then mostly silver.
Nico stared down in horror.
“I have a swimwear campaign on Monday.”
“Maybe they’re launching a daddy collection.”
“You hired me for the afternoon.”
“Then I’ll fire you early.”
His neck thickened. Lines deepened around his mouth. His face aged further, carrying him through his forties and into his fifties.
Yet the transformation did not make him weak.
His chest was still thick with muscle beneath the grey hair.
His thighs were powerful enough to support the additional weight without difficulty.
He was becoming a tremendously strong older man with a monumental belly.
Nico pushed his fingers through his curls.
Several strands came loose in his hand.
More hair slid over his forehead.
His hairline receded rapidly. The temples pulled backward. The crown opened. Within seconds, only a thinning fringe remained around the sides.
Then even that disappeared.
Nico stared at his reflection.
His head was completely bald.
Smooth and shining beneath the studio lights.
Marco’s mouth slowly opened.
“You look extremely gay.”
“I already was extremely gay.”
“No, I mean you look like the head of security at a leather bar.”
Nico turned toward the mirror again.
The bald head. The silver chest hair. The huge arms. The mature face. The rounded belly. The heavy, masculine presence.
He no longer looked like the pretty young man being invited into the VIP room.
He looked like the man who owned the club.
And, to his alarm, part of him liked that.
Nico told him not to make a fuss.
Nico took the phone away and cancelled the appointment.
Then he complained that nobody knew how to handle a simple situation anymore.
“What did I just say?” Nico whispered.
Marco looked delighted. “You sounded exactly like someone’s dad.”
“You look about fifty-six.”
“Fifty-eight,” Nico corrected automatically.
The bottle’s label changed again.
STAGE THREE: PATERNAL INSTINCTS
Nico suddenly noticed everything wrong with the villa.
One of the light cables was a tripping hazard.
The sliding doors were open while the air conditioning was running.
Someone had left a wet towel on a wooden chair.
Marco’s car had been making an unhealthy noise when they arrived.
Nico pointed toward the patio.
“Close that door. We are not paying to cool the entire neighborhood.”
“You aren’t paying for the villa.”
Nico shut the door and adjusted the thermostat.
Then he noticed Marco standing barefoot near the equipment.
“You’ll step on something.”
“And apparently incapable of basic self-preservation.”
Nico folded his enormous arms.
“Don’t take that tone with me.”
The sentence made him feel an unexpected rush of authority.
“Oh, you enjoyed saying that.”
His body was not the only thing changing.
He wanted to compare mortgage rates.
He wanted to explain proper steak preparation to strangers.
He wanted to ask younger men whether they had eaten enough.
He felt an overwhelming urge to purchase an expensive grill and become furious whenever anyone else attempted to use it.
Most disturbing of all, when Marco mentioned staying out late that night, Nico nearly asked what time he planned to be home.
Nico grabbed the bottle and searched for instructions.
A final mouthful remained.
“Maybe finishing it reverses everything.”
“That is obviously not how this works,” Marco said.
Nico looked at the bottle.
He was already bald, grey-haired across the chest, heavily muscled, and carrying a belly large enough to rest a dinner plate upon.
Surely another swallow could not make matters much worse.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then his entire body swelled.
His shoulders expanded outward. His arms thickened until the biceps appeared almost absurd. His chest pushed forward in two enormous, hairy slabs. His stomach grew heavier and rounder, stretching the sides of his swim briefs.
Nico spread his feet to maintain his balance.
His face completed its transformation. The last traces of youth disappeared, replaced by deep forehead lines, creases beside the eyes, and the strong features of a powerful older man.
His thoughts shifted too.
In its place came a heavy, confident certainty.
Or rather, the new Nico knew.
The delicate young guys he used to pursue suddenly seemed sweet, inexperienced, and badly in need of proper meals. The nervous little smiles some of them gave him now produced a completely different feeling.
And something far less paternal.
Marco caught him staring.
“You were checking me out.”
“I was checking whether your shirt fits properly.”
“That is the most daddy answer imaginable.”
The word did not irritate him as much as it had before.
The photoshoot ended, but Nico could not leave immediately.
Marco found him a robe and a pair of enormous sweatpants. Nico complained that both were cheaply made, then asked whether anyone knew a good tailor.
He sat beside the pool with his legs spread and his hands resting on his stomach.
For the first time in his life, he did not care whether the camera captured his best angle.
He cared whether the outdoor furniture had been properly weatherproofed.
“We need to find a way to reverse this.”
Yet he sounded less convinced than before.
The afternoon sun warmed his smooth scalp. His enormous body felt strangely natural, as though he had inhabited it for decades. He rubbed one hand across the silver hair covering his chest.
There was power in this form.
Young men would no longer approach him because he looked pretty.
They would approach because he looked experienced, strong, and completely certain of what he wanted.
His phone buzzed continuously.
“You’re getting messages.”
“Basically every gay man who follows you.”
Sir, respectfully, what happened?
I have never wanted to be grounded before.
Please tell me this is your new look.
Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry.
Marco passed him the phone.
Nico opened his dating profile.
The old description remained:
Into guys my age. No daddies.
After a moment’s consideration, he replaced it with:
Older. Bigger. Experienced. Eat before you come over.
Marco leaned over his shoulder.
“That last sentence sounds like a threat and an invitation.”
“Of course it is, Daddy.”
This time, Nico did not object.
A small cigar case appeared inside the original package.
Nico was certain it had not been there earlier.
One thick cigar lay inside, accompanied by a card.
Congratulations. You have completed Dad Development.
Dad Juice does not create a father. It creates the man everyone calls Daddy. Consequences may include ageing, excessive confidence, unsolicited advice, increased appetite, dominant tendencies, attraction from younger men, and permanent ownership of at least one white tank top.
Then he discovered a final line in smaller print.
Effects become permanent after tobacco activation.
Marco looked at the cigar.
A cigar cutter appeared in Nico’s hand.
A lighter appeared inside the pocket of his robe.
The cigar smelled magnificent.
Rich, dark, and masculine.
Somewhere within his altered mind, a voice insisted that a man like him deserved one good cigar after a difficult afternoon.
Nico resisted for almost thirty seconds.
Then he clipped it, lit it, and drew the smoke into his mouth.
The transformation locked into place.
The silver hair on his chest thickened.
The final traces of panic left his eyes.
He leaned back beside the pool and released a long stream of smoke.
Marco groaned. “You just made it permanent.”
Nico considered this while resting one hand on the curve of his stomach.
“That sounds like something a dad would say.”
Nico looked at him over the cigar.
A slow smile spread across his face.
“Oh,” he said. “Now I understand why they keep calling me that.”
Six months later, the original Dad Juice photograph became the most successful image of Nico’s career.
The campaign appeared in gay magazines, fitness websites, dating apps, and enormous advertisements outside nightclubs.
On one side stood the flawless young model with curls, abs, and carefully rehearsed confidence.
On the other sat the transformed Nico beside a pool: bald, massively built, silver-haired across the chest, round-bellied, cigar between his teeth, and smiling like he owned the villa.
STOP CHASING BOYS. BECOME THE MAN THEY CHASE.
Nico publicly claimed the advertisement was embarrassing.
Privately, he negotiated a percentage of every sale.
He bought a house, installed an enormous grill, and converted the garage into a private gym he insisted on calling “the workshop.”
His dating life changed completely.
Men who would once have ignored him now stared openly. Younger men became flustered when he called them “kid.” Muscular men tried to impress him. Bartenders gave him drinks without asking. At clubs, people moved aside when he entered.
He discovered that he enjoyed being called Daddy far more than he wanted to admit.
Especially when Marco said it.
The photographer eventually moved into the house, though Nico described him as “the young man who keeps leaving his things everywhere.”
Marco described himself as Nico’s boyfriend.
Both statements were technically correct.
Occasionally, a fan would approach Nico and ask whether he regretted drinking the bottle.
Nico would consider the question, take a slow draw from his cigar, and glance toward Marco, who was usually nearby rolling his eyes at something Nico had said.
He did not miss counting almonds, photographing every meal, or pretending confidence for strangers online.
So he always gave the same answer.
“Regret is a strong word.”
Then he would flex one enormous arm, pat his belly, and add:
“But read the label next time, son.”
