Mind Your Bod

You've been hitting the gym for a while. You've been seeing results as your arms slowly thicken and your legs tone up, but it's not enough and it's too slow. You're hungry for more.

You've tried to get a plug for some less-than-licit supplements, but the guys at your gym, for all that some are built like they've been cycling since age 14, seem to have gotten to where they are on the merit of their natural testosterone alone.

It's demotivating. You can't get the enhancements you want and you're limited by whatever your genetic potential sees fit to provide. It's not fair. It's not like you can improve your genetic potential, right?

Except during one late-night spiral after yet another gruelling gym session that never seems to get easier, you find an unassuming ad for clinical trials.

The company seems like a legitimate one. You find a Wikipedia page for them and everything. And the testimonials for this stuff look incredible. You see one of the researchers go from looking like an average doughy guy to an oversexed hunk of meat making bank from online admirers... and that's the opposite of a deterrent for you.

So once you're satisfied that yes, this is safe, yes, this isn't science fiction, and yes, they actually wanna bump your testosterone up to the max, you barely read the terms and conditions in your hurry to sign up.

There's all this stuff about how the original formula boosted libido and how they've retooled it to try to promote physical activity instead. You couldn't care less, though, since you know that being in the body you dream of would give you an unstoppable libido to boot.

Maybe you should have read the paperwork a bit more carefully, though.

See, the formula you end up getting treated with is even more potent than the first version. It doesn't just up your natural testosterone and masculinity, it shocks your system into what can only be described as overproduction. Within days, you already see the difference in your body; and as days turn to weeks, then to months, you realise that you're growing and growing almost despite yourself.

You bloat up with pound after pound of muscle with what feels like no effort whatsoever, thickening all over, with a new (and not unwelcome) forest of body hair that itches as it comes in. It feels like you're growing veinier and more vascular by the day, since your newfound hulking mass needs a correspondingly huge supply of blood flow to fuel it with the oxygen it burns through.

One thing you haven't thought about, though, is the effect of carrying so much muscle around. And in their haste to try to redirect your focus from playing with your junk to throwing weights around, the researchers didn't fully think through what a newfound furry mountain of a man you've become would experience when those heavy workouts make your heart pump.

You sweat. You sweat so much, you have to chug water like it's... well, water. You're basically in a constant state of overheating from the blood thundering through the thick veins that pulse just under the surface of your hairier skin. You sweat so much that you instantly break through any sort of antiperspirant, clinical or not, and drench any type of clothing you wear within minutes regardless of how thin or breathable it is.

That, of course, is combined with your body producing an overabundance of natural T, which ups your metabolism even more, makes you impatient and gruff, deepens your voice into a bassy rumble, and makes your full head of hair recede into a gleaming scalp practically overnight.

You'd be more concerned with all these side effects if you weren't in a state of near-perpetual arousal, though. You didn't fully understand that you were signing up for ice baths twice a day, a brand new wardrobe of short shorts, jockstraps, and breathable tanks that drape down past your nipples for maximum airflow, and for trading your hair for an excessive amount of fur... but you couldn't be happier with the outcome.

I knew I'd struck gold when I met my boyfriend Aaron.

I had a habit of falling for straight acting masculine guys. Those deeply closeted "bros" who think hitting the gym somehow makes them less queer.

Aaron was very far removed from my usual type. He wasn't effeminate, but he wasn't aggressively macho or constantly posturing either. He was always quick with a smile, a hug, a kiss... and I loved it.

But after a while, I realized there was still one thing I was missing.

See, the reason I kept ending up with those big buff jerks is because... I just love muscular guys.

At one point, I'd been at my wit's end trying to get an ex to stop treating me like shit all the time, and I'd downloaded this whole bunch of hypnotism stuff. I made him a few files with some simple suggestions... problem was, he thought it was "too gay" to listen to something like that.

I'm not sure what I thought would happen, but on a whim, I made some files for Aaron too. I made sure to keep his personality intact - because, after all, I love him - but I threw in some suggestions to eat healthy, start going to the gym, and focus on prioritising fitness.

A couple of months in, and my sweet boy had packed on 20 odd pounds of muscle. He'd started picking me up, and on one very memorable occasion he actually pinned me to the bed before showering me with kisses.

I was planning to stop there. Even that little change made him my perfect guy. But then Aaron said something that changed my mind.

Aaron told me it made him feel closer to me, having my voice in his ear while he was at the gym, that he felt so safe drifting off listening to me.

I knew I should probably come clean and tell him that I'd been using them to hypnotise him, but... well, first of all, it sounds ridiculous, and second... I was scared of how he'd react.

So instead of doing the right thing and telling him the truth, I made him a new set of files. I really liked how he'd started being more confident, so I gave him some boosters for that. I also made him focus more on lifting and on bulking up, telling him he enjoyed getting bigger for me, that he loved feeling like my big buff protector.

And look, maybe I overdid it. Aaron took to the new instructions like a fish to water, and within a couple months he'd already outgrown his wardrobe. Again.

But I couldn't stop. I was enamoured with this enormous guy he'd grown into, so sweet and gentle with me and so imposing and burly otherwise.

Eventually, I reached a breaking point, and I told him the truth. But... look, I couldn't risk him getting scared and ending things, okay? So just in case, I put in a small suggestion in the files, telling him that maybe he liked being hypnotised, and maybe he got aroused by the thought of me moulding his body.

So when my sweet Aaron told me he'd scored some back alley supplements from a guy at the gym, gave me his best puppy dog eyes - despite the hulking bod and scruffy beard - and asked me to make him a new set of files and help him get HUGE... I couldn't say no.

We've just celebrated our anniversary, and the mountain of muscle that throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing and lumbers around from how wide his thighs have gotten is nothing like the cute boy I fell for. You'd be forgiven for thinking he's one of those closeted guys who pump themselves up with mass since they're scared of looking queer.

Except underneath all the excess bulk, body hair, and testosterone, it's still Aaron underneath it all. Just as lovely and as sweet as he was back when he was nearly 200 pounds lighter.

I couldn't believe my luck at being offered a spot in the genetic rehabilitation trial at my work.

We'd been working on a prototype technology that could "drain" convicted violent criminals of their genetic potential; it's much easier to keep a 6' 2" roided up beast of a man in check once he's been left as a 5' 4" twink without an ounce of muscle on him. The one logistical issue with it is that their potential couldn't just go anywhere, it had to be given to a donor or a host.

When I was approached and asked if I was interested, I jumped at the opportunity. It felt like a reward for the overtime I'd put in slaving over the project these past few years... as well as a small apology for the way the demanding nature of the role led to me packing on some excess poundage.

I was so eager that I didn't bother to think about what it would mean to have distilled machismo and excess testosterone hardcoded into my genome.

When I woke up it felt like a dream come true. I'd never felt so full of energy and drive before, and my libido was suddenly through the roof. But what started as a dream slowly turned out to be more of a nightmare; I found myself unable to focus for too long before my body needed to do some physical activity to blow off some steam, otherwise I'd get jittery and grumpy. The seeming endless supply of energy meant I was chowing down incredible amounts of food, so not only did my body pack on mass with incredible speed, I was sweating non stop as it worked tirelessly to metabolize the excess calories. And I never thought I'd say this, but even the boost to my sex drive turned out to be more of a curse - all my overwhelming testosterone had to come from somewhere, and my previously modest equipment has inflated into a leaky, needy beast that needs attention multiple times a day. And I think this enhanced masculinity ended up with some wires crossed, because women just don't do it for me anymore - this new footlong monster of mine only gets hard for men.

My performance kept dropping at work, and I eventually got let go a few months later with a generous compensation package. It was enough to get myself set up with a home gym and some camera gear.

I didn't really picture myself turning into an oversexed and overgrown gay bodybuilder making money from OnlyFriends, but I guess I just unlocked my true potential.

People were never surprised when they learned I was gay. I think it was just the default assumption.

I was somewhat skinny and untoned, I got freckles instead of tanning, and no matter what I did with it, my hair would always end up soft and floppy.

I know that there are plenty of guys who'd be happy to look like me, but... it was just exhausting. No matter how hard I worked out at the gym, or the changes I made to my wardrobe - like the leather jacket I'm wearing - or even putting in work to talk a little deeper and sound less feminine, I would still instantly get pegged as gay by everyone I met.

And I was tired of it.

When I met the witch, I probably should've wished for something else. But at the time I hadn't realized she was telling the truth, and I thought it was all just a prank, or a set up to a game show, or something.

I had a moment of weakness. "I wish I wasn't so obviously gay."

I never expected to wake up the next day to a hairy, overgrown, exaggeratedly masculine body. What was even stranger was how different I acted, just on an instinctual level. My speech was peppered with absent minded "dude"s and "bro"s, I had to hit the gym twice a day to burn off my excess energy, I found myself idly manspreading or cupping my groin in public without even noticing.

Now, when I tell people I'm gay, they usually think I'm joking. I keep getting told that I don't need to lie about being into dudes since it's so obvious I'm either just heteroflexible, "DL trade", or just curious.

I can't blame them, since that's what I wished for. So yesterday I shaved my chest and put in an online order for some pastel crop tops and short shorts.

Never thought I'd miss having my gayness be so immediately obvious.

Ever wonder why there are so many massive muscle men strutting around with tiny dogs?

I did too. Always struck me as kinda funny, since I was a 5' 7" dweeb with the sweetest bulldog Daisy; I'd constantly find myself offering apologies to men three times my mass when she eagerly tried to make friends with their little frenchies, sausage dogs, and chihuahuas.

Anyway, one of those big guys caught the way I couldn't stop staring at his pecs, and instead of beating me up like I was half-afraid he would, he ended up putting his number in my phone - under "Sexy Kevin" - and the inviting me to the gym with him.

Few months later, I still wasn't sure whether we were together or not. I mean, we were going for dinner, making out in his car, sometimes getting frisky in the bedroom... but maybe he does that with all his friends? And in those months, despite my best attempts at the gym, I'd tried and failed to put on any serious mass.

One night, after we had a couple drinks and ended up in Kevin's bed, he told me about the witch.

I thought he was making fun of me. Only reason I didn't get and leave is because it didn't make sense for him to play a prank on me this far along in our... friendship? And also, I couldn't leave, since I was still balls deep in his meaty rear while he rode me like a cowboy, pinned between his huge thighs while we both finished.

Anyway, he managed to talk me into it - after a couple more dinners, and make outs, and mind blowing orgasms - and I took Daisy for a walk along the beach and crossed over into the woods where he told me to.

Anyway. Turns out, Kevin was telling the truth about the witch.

Daisy's just as bubbly and excitable as she always was, but she's much more manageable at a third of her own size... especially since I weigh nearly as much as Kevin now while still being a measly 5' 7".

Hey, bro, come on in to my office.

Yeh, it's me, haha. Your profession... er, processor- teacher, dude.

What do you mean no way? Just cause I'm fucking MASSIVE now doesn't make me any less of a nerd, bro.

Uhh, what? Say that again. Uhh, "Quantum... Proba- Probability... Manipulation?" What the hell does that mean?

Oh, duh, it's what I teach. Maybe getting jacked did knock a few wires loose up here, huh huh... check out my guns, and my muscletits. Wanna cop a feel?

Uhh, I don't remember too much dude. Had one of my students come in, doing his... defence? Like football? Yeah, thesis defence, that fucking thing. It's kinda hazy, but I think I was nodding along, and then he wrote this long ass equation on the board.

And after he pulled his hand away, the equation kept going and going. Yeah, it was totally writing itself bro! Was fucking crazy. Anyway, it started out super fast, but I got really distracted since everything started getting too tight. I think I burst out of my clothes a bit, huh huh, and then I ripped the rest of them off. And then when I looked at the board, it was full of whatever the fuck these are called, and I was like... totally huge. And horny.

This is me.

I'd like to think I'm pretty good looking. I hit the gym regularly, I take care of myself, and I'm very lucky to be in a great relationship with a loving boyfriend.

It can be a little tricky in the bedroom since we both prefer to bottom, and his sex drive is a lot higher than mine, but other than that, life's good! Or so I thought.

Turns out, my boyfriend has a massive daddy kink.

I kinda suspected it a while given his dating history; I mean, I'm the youngest guy he's ever dated, and I'm 31. Well, *was* the youngest guy he's ever dated is a little more appropriate.

It also turns out that he's got some witchcraft in his bloodline. Nothing too crazy... except for specific times of the year, where the fabric of reality is thinnest. Which happened to fall on Valentine's Day.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up in a body 2 decades older than what I was used to.

I called him in a panic, and he guiltily confessed that it was all his fault. It was supposed to be a one day thing, and I shouldn't have remembered any of it. Except something had gone haywire - he managed to change reality to where I was now a silver fox, but he ran out of juice before he could set a time limit, or make my mind match this new body... and this new body's urges.

See, he didn't just conjure up a reality where I was a daddy. He conjured up a reality where I was a kinky, constantly horny, dom top of a daddy who can't stop thinking about putting his boy on all fours.

My boy's loving every moment of it. At first, I tried to get him to turn us back, but... shit, I've started loving it too.

Agreeing to go on a holiday with Matty was an exercise in temptation.

He's my best friend since forever. He's my ride or die and didn't even bat an eye after I came out to him a couple years ago. He's also hot as fuck, and worse, he knows it.

Matty's never been outright cruel. He can be vain and cocky to a fault, but he's never been mean. But even though he's 100% straight - which he's told me, and is supported by his revolving bedroom door - he's more than comfortable enough in his ample masculinity to show off the goods for me whenever I'm around.

Cheeky pec bounces when he catches me staring, parading around shirtless in our hotel room, sending me pics from the sauna. Just now he made a show of flexing his guns for me and asking me to feel it up, so I could tell him if it still feels toned enough after working out at the hotel gym.

I'm not sure what I was thinking of or hoping for when this random woman stopped me on the way back from the pool, telling me how she knew I wanted things to change between us, that she could make it a reality. She pressed a small amulet into my palm and told me it had one wish left.

By the time I got back to our rooms, Matty was already there, texting on his phone. He'd towelled off and pulled on a pair of shorts that barely did anything to cover him up.

"Alright," he said. "I've got a hot date lined up with this chick. Don't wait up if I'm out past midnight, I'm defs looking to pull tonight."

I looked at him.

What would he look like without his cockiness, his innate confidence in being the hottest man in any room? What would he look like eager to please and doting? Not just the perfect boyfriend, but...

I made a wish. "I wish Matty was my perfect golden retriever boyfriend."

Not even a moment later, Matty looked up from his phone, gaped at me in shock, and then grinned. And pounced.

I thought that the girls he brought home were playing it up, but no. He's really just that good in bed.

Anyway, this isn't exactly how I pictured my wish going, but I got what I wanted. The new Matty is a much more physical creature, but I don't think I've made him any dumber, just... more attuned to his instincts. And those instincts involve being around me and being a good boy.

I'm kinda growing to like the way he keeps sticking his tongue out. It's endearing.

"done" I text my boyfriend once I've finished up my workout.

Fuck, I lifted so much more today. I'm scared of what it mean for my progress update.

Last time I got this muscular, I nearly lost a full inch...

The thought is as horrifying as it is arousing.

"show me the goods 😉" comes the reply, moments later. "and don't even think about keeping the shorts on like last time, babe. u know the drill."

I feel myself flush.

I get so embarrassed taking these photos now. Fully clothed, I look like a total alpha, big dog at the gym, and even more impressive shirtless. That lasts until I take my pants off.

I peel out of the tank, and face the mirrors. The gym is empty, thank fuck, so I wiggle out of my tank as quickly as possible before doing the usual most muscular he loves to look at.

"damnnnn 😍😍😍" he sends back. "how big are the arms?? 21 inches now???"

"22", I type back clumsily, pawing at my discarded shorts to put them back on. I glance around. No eyewitnesses... at least this time. But who am I kidding? I love how humiliated I feel after. It's why he gets me to put myself on display like this.

"annnnd... what about the little guy? 👀"

I'm blushing so hard. "just under 2."

"let's see how much bigger you get by the time we make it half that 😈"

A few weeks ago I would've needed to cover myself up to hide the unmistakeable evidence of how much that thought turns me on.

Now... it's barely noticeable. Hard or not, there isn't much of a difference.

Hello! Apologies for missing this. I have notifications turned off and mainly check back on here when I'm in the writing mood.

I will do asks if they strike my fancy, so no promises. You're welcome to send them though.

I'm willing to engage with darker themes and corruption, which can stray close to what is known as lib-to-con nowadays. I'm pretty selective with how I write about it but it's not a blanket ban.

I'd been couchsurfing and doing odd jobs since my parents kicked me out after I came out of the closet, when I saw a classified for a truck driving gig. I had basically zero experience outside of getting my driver's license, but figured a full time job was better than nothing, so I went for it.

I ended up getting the job. Thought it was pretty funny, since I didn't look the part - kinda incongruous having a fresh faced twink as a truck driver, right? Just look at me.

So it was my first real long haul trip solo hauling some produce interstate. I was kinda terrified of having to lease a truck or something, since there's no way I'd have a vehicle remotely suitable, but the company gave me a truck for free. I had to sign this huge contract that made me go a lil crosseyed when I tried to make sense of it. Something about being the right driver for the truck, driving safely, making some lifestyle changes - on the road, I guess? Didn't really make sense, so I skimmed through it and signed.

Anyway, not even half an hour in and I start feeling a lil hot under the collar. Not around, just... hot. Sweaty, itchy even. Keep finding myself scratching my chest, my chin, adjusting myself in the seat. Takes me a couple minutes to notice that I keep touching scruff when I rub at my face.

I usually can't grow much of a beard, and I was clean shaven to begin with. Right? I thought I was, but now I'm not sure.

Anyway, I'm feeling kinda weird, so I pull over to stretch my legs, take 5. Don't know if I'm really supposed to do that, but the company did say to take a rest if I get distracted. They'd rather I get in late over me crashing the truck falling asleep on the road.

So I still feel kinda weird, heavy, almost bloated but not quite? Doesn't really go away. So I hop back into the truck, reach for the steering wheel, and...

What the actual fuck? Since when was I buff? And when the hell did I get this tattoo?!?

I quickly flip down the little shade and eye myself up in the dinky lil mirror. I look totally different. Kinda masc, all stubbly, like a big jock instead of the twink I'm supposed to be. And I'm so sweaty!

So I keep driving, because what the hell else am i supposed to do, mind going a mile a minute, and i keep heating up. I can feel myself sweating more and more - first a little, then a lot, then enough that I can feel it dripping from my chin, down my neck, my chest, sinking into the fabric of my shirt.

When I'm on an empty stretch of road I have a look down to see the damage.

I see a stranger's body where mine should be. This body is sweating like a stuck pig, perspiring so heavily that it's soaked through the sleeveless shirt I'm wearing - hell, is that a hint of plaid I see starting to come through?

Now instead of just a jock, I'm giving more exjock. Or, like, fat jock. Strongfat? Fuck, I don't know. I look like a musclebear, is what I mean. And while I'm looking down, I can see myself swelling even bigger, and bigger. "What the fuck is happening," I say, except it rumbles out of my now-massive chest and comes out far deeper than I'm used to. "Shit, is that my voice?"

I can't spare more than a glance every few seconds or so, since I'm on the highway - there really isn't anywhere to pull over. But with every glance, I feel like I notice more details... or maybe I'm just changing more and more.

By the time I get to where I'm supposed to go, this is how I pull up.

Fuck, man. All those lifestyle changes, becoming the right driver for the truck, those things about consenting to modifying my habits as the company saw fit... it's starting to click.

Yeh dude, I'm a pretty smart guy.

What? No, I'm not kidding. I was value deck... er, valley dick, whoop not that haha. The smarty pants thing. Valley dictator. Got the highest grade in my uni class bro.

That was in my old body of course. Was a mega nerd then, not like now. Can't imagine what it was like living without these fuckin guns, dude. Can barely remember it. Actually, my memory feels kinda weird, bro. I used to be so good at remembering shit, now it's like... umm, you know the thing... fuck, I forgot what I was saying.

Anyway, my old body, yeah. One of the meathead jocks I was tutoring came up to me. Hot as hell but dumb as rocks. Never figured out if he was into guys, but sometimes he seemed into me. Kinda weird, since I was a total dork back then, but whatevs.

So he was like, dude, I'm gonna flunk out of my sports scholarship, you gotta help me. Then he showed me this glowy rock and said it would let us swap bodies for a few days, and I could take his tests for him. Use my smart brain instead of his stupid one.

So we do that, and suddenly I'm in this huge as body, and... it feels fucking good, bro. I can't stop flexing my pecs, feeling myself up. The jock in my body is like, focus on the tests first, then you can play with my bod however you want. I was like, yeah yeah, whatever, it's gonna be a piece of cake.

The test was, like, impossible bro. I don't know where they got those questions from.

Anyway, he got really mad at me, and he was kinda cute in my old body, in these dorky glasses, all red faced and wild eyed... so I asked if I could blow him. To apologise, you know.

So... we're kinda dating now. Been taking him to the gym with me. Super weird, but it feels like I've been pumping iron for years. And bro, he can recite the chemical alphabet, you know, the table thing of elements, but it's like he has no idea how to work out. What an idiot, am I right?

I think I messed up.

My boyfriend and I have always been pretty stereotypically geeky. Gaymer nerds into Pokémon, Nintendo, TTRPGs; we both had a soft spot for Kirby.

But despite our shared interests and our fantastic sex life, I wasn't fully satisfied. See, I love my boyfriend and his nerdy bod, but I've always had this fascination with the big muscle dudes that strut around at the gym. All brawn no brains, pumping and grunting and sweating.

When I found the file online I thought it would be fun to spice things up in the bedroom, nothing more. I didn't suspect it was real until my boyfriend actually listened to it. And even then, it took me a few minutes to realise that his deep grunts and glassy stare were the result of the subliminal he'd listened to rather than him engaging in some extremely convincing roleplay.

I could've let him come out of his trance naturally and talked it over with him first. But I was caught so off guard, and so desperate to see what this opportunity to lead to, that I let my fear of him not being into it drive me into fucking up.

I put the headphones back on his head and let the file keep playing.

Bro, I was aiming for the other guy.

Yeah, the long leggy hunk on the treadmill. The one with the pretty face, abs, and bubble butt. The perfect twunk bottom.

I found this shady website talking about astral projection and stuff. There were a ton of warnings about how "one should be careful their astral self ne'er intersect another's", and "the astral plane is neither other nor akin to the physical, and instead lies betwixt it" and whatever.

Basically, don't astral project into someone else, otherwise you'll end up taking over their body.

I practiced a few times, sat myself cross legged on my floor one evening, and astral projected into the gym... right into the middle of it. Where this dumbass muscle bull was standing and admiring his mug in the mirror.

So now I'm stuck in this sweaty, hairy, bloated pile of man meat... and his muscle memory runs deep. Makes sense with how much muscle he's got. I find myself in the gym twice a day like clockwork, body practically aching with how much it needs to burn some excess energy lifting serious iron.

Shit, we didn't expect this to happen.

My wife and I were high school sweethearts. First kiss, first love, first everything. For our anniversary we wanted to switch things up a bit and try something new in the bedroom; or rather, someone new.

Our neighbours are lovely people but you can't say the same about their asshole of a son. His picture's next to the dictionary entry for "overcompensating". He's full of unearned bravado, built like a male model, and the skintight jeans he struts around in leave nothing about the beer can shaped bulge between his thighs to the imagination.

He would've been the ideal body for me to shift into for a weekend romp in a remote cabin. All of the good looks and none of the shitty attitude.

Or so my wife thought. Fuck, she can be dumb. I trusted her with finding the stupid spell, but I think something's gone wrong. The longer I'm in this body the more I'm starting to act like the sexy asshole I look like.

Been letting my wife ride my monster of a cock and treat me like the fine stallion I am... except instead of paying attention to her I find myself more preoccupied with mugging at myself in the mirror. Hot damn, I look good. Got pecs and ass for days.

Speaking of pecs... Mine are getting me more horned up than her saggy pair of tits.