Transformations ;)

1

File name: PR-CR-Jeep Wrangler 

Manufacturing details: Produced by Jeep then customized by Graystone detailing.

Key transformation components: 

Original upholstered interior replaced with seats padded using youth-cycle foam, calibrated to compress any adult spine into “perfect submission posture.”

Steering wheel wrapped in leather sourced from retired prep-school belts.

Exhaust mixed with aerosolized Old Money pheromones, triggering cell-level regression and selective brain pruning.

Roll bars coated in melted down Rolexes, reconfigured to induce touch triggered stepfordization

Radio queue loaded with 2000s acoustic covers, sung in soft liting tones.

Testing:

 He had just traded in his car and he was starting to think it was a mistake. Now he had always wanted a jeep, dream car and all that. So when the the dealer offered a the car in a trade with only 2000 dollars in difference, he leaped at the chance. Sure he had test driven the thing, but he was so excited he couldn’t pay much attention to the car itself.

Now, weeks later, he was driving it home for the first time. The interior smelled like fine cologne and expensive leather.  It drove perfectly fine, yet something felt off inside the car, like it was a place he didn’t belong. He flicked on the radio to distract himself, finding some ridiculous Taylor Swift acoustic cover song playing, he switched the channel but found nothing but drowning acoustic music. So he turned it down to bearly a whisper.

As he drove the feeling of discomfort started to wear off. He didn’t notice his t-shirt and pants began to warp, fabric rippling and shifting. His band t-shirt became a white botton down and his jeans into ill fitting dress pants. Matching fabric began to grow over his shoulders and around his chest, leaving him with a matching jacket. He adjusted a newly formed tie, “Did I have this on before, bro?” He mumbled to himself.

He looked at himself in the rear view mirror and his face changed before his now gray eyes. His hair grew out in thick brown curls and pushed back into flowing waves. His jaw sharpened and a faint bit of stubble grew in. He laughed, voice deeper thanks to more prominent Adam’s Apple. 

“Bro, I look so perfect, Sir will love it,” he remarked, his brain screaming at him helplessly, you aren’t supposed to look like this, he thought, who was Sir?

His body continued to grow as the changes leached downwards. His muscles inflated, becoming toned and defined. His ass grew until completely stretched out his dress pants. His skin darkened to a nice tan and his member shrank down as a hard cage began to form over it. 

Now fully a preppy bottom bitch, he turns up the radio and immediately starts lip syncing to the soft pop hits. His thoughts wandered to his rich hunky master, Can’t wait to get home to Sir and thank him properly for this new car…

2

File name:PS-CR-Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG

Manufacturing details: Producer in partnership with Mercedes-Benz and Graystone Automotive 

Key transformation components:

Exterior coated in a chrome polymer used exclusively in adult entertainment stage poles.

Leather interior made with thong material used in stripper garb.

Air conditioning ventilation lined with scent-release microcapsules containing “Vanity Club Floor #3,” the universal chemical signature of pole rooms.

Shock system tuned to vibrate at frequencies known to elicit involuntary hip-roll responses.

Testing:

“Hello, John”

He startled, nearly dropping his coffee all over the inside of the car. 

“What the fuck! Who are you!” He said, realizing how stupid he looked, talking to a disembodied voice. 

“I’m SLS/23992707 Beta Model, this car's experimental AI navigation system. You can just call me Sal for short.” The synthetic voice responded

“Ok, but how did you get in-” He tailed off, remembering getting the car serviced and upgraded the previous week, although he didn’t remember giving them permission to implant a robot. The more he thought about it however the cooler it seemed.

“Ok, take me to work, Sal.”

“Beginning route, ETA is 9:06 am”

Maybe it was time for a little test, John thought, “Get me there by 9:00 am exactly, please.”

“Recalibration in progress… route updated. New ETA is 9:00 am. Please relax in the meantime.”

John stretched out, feeling drunk on the power of having a personal driver at his fingertips. As he adjusted his legs in his seat, they started to grow, gaining muscle and ditching body fat. They also stretched out, giving him an extra inch or two in height. These changes spread up his body, as the slight office worker chub wore off, leaving him with rippled abs and strong pectoral muscles. His arms began to inflate with muscles, like a time lapse video of a melon growing, becoming smooth round muscle. 

Although he didn’t consciously recognize the changes, he was hit, however, with a feeling of intense pleasure. The paleness of his skin was quickly becoming a deep tan color, as if he had spent his whole life outside in the sun. His face began to change, becoming sharper and handsome. His thin hair grew into thick brown locks, stiff with loads of product. The same thick brown hair grew in thick clumps in his arms pits and around his pubes. 

He looked outside though half lidded eyes, and realized he didn’t recognize the streets Sal was taking him though.

“Yo, Sal you sure this is the right way, where are we going?”

“We are approximately two minutes out from Duboi night club, arrival time is still 9:00 am.”

“WHAT!!!I don’t work at a night club, Sal stop this!” He banged his hands at the controls, trying to turn the steering wheel, he found it impossible to move, locked solidly in place. 

“Please remain calm, we will be stopping shortly.” The calm artificial voice of Sal told him.

“I’m not some dam stripper!!!” John yelled desperately.

“Yes you are, Jaqe. I mean look at you, you’ve dressed perfectly for it.” Sal told him.

John looked down at himself, confused. “What, my suit isn’t,” yet looking down he saw all he was wearing was a pair of white underwear. He took in his new body for the first time, in shock and then cocky pleasure. 

“I’m fucking hot, look at me! Everyone should get a piece of me!” He said flexing his new muscles, his earlier concern forgotten in the testosterone pumped haze of self admiration.

“Arrived” The AI chirped.

“Thank, baby!” The newly minted confident, sexy, stripper stepped out of his car, ready for another day on the job.

3

File name: FB-CR-Subaru Outback

Manufacturing details: Produced by Subaru and Graystone Automotive and acquired by Graystone RentNEThing

Key transformation components:

Cup holders preset to maintain beer at optimal crush-temp.

Cloth seats soaked in “pledge week stimulant,” promoting bro-forward behavior, USA chanting instincts, and mild hazing impulses.

Floor mats reconfigured from frat door mats, thoroughly stopped by dozens of sweaty frat boy feet and sandals.

Roof rack wood sourced from decommissioned frat-house porches, complete with embedded pheromones of collective idiocy and patriotism.

Freshly washed by horny frat boys raising money for the local 4th of July celebration.

Testing:

The Tyson family was excited to get started on their annual road trip, now that the two kids were in their late teens it was getting harder and harder to spend time together. The father had gone to pick up the rental car and when he got home the family packed their stuff and went on their way.

Of course it took less than 10 Minutes for everyone (excluding the driver) to be silent and on devices. After an hour of this the father, who was also the driver, turned off his 80s rock and proceeded to lecture his family on the importance of being present.

“This road trip is a time to get to know each other, get off your devices for a while guys”

With a groan the teens turned off their phones, yet his wife ignored him, glued to her phone. 

“Babe, come on, please!” He begged.

“Uh,” was the only response he got.

Exsparented, he turned back up the music, “never mind guys.” Focusing on the road he failed to notice the changes his family started to go through. 

First to his right, his wife began to regress, years of her life gone in seconds. Her body soon lost anything marking her as female, her small frame replaced with young muscle, her breasts shrinking into her chest, and, most importantly, what was under her pants shifted from distinctly female to distinctly male. His hair shrank back into his skull, the bit that was left fluffing naturally to frame his now youthful face. Lastly, the traveling sweats were rippling on his body, eventually becoming a set of Americana overalls. The now boy failed to recognize any of these changes, too locked in on his feed, now interspersed with way more work out routines and dumb frat jokes then before. 

Behind herhim, the teen boys in the back seat began to experience their own transformation. Already near the target age demographic, they only had to age up a few years to become frat age. Both of their bodies shot up and out, gaining height and muscle. Decent sized glutes, biceps, and thighs, and rock solid abs and pecs, all the result of years worth of training adding itself to their bodies. Their hair fluffed out in identical styles, light brown body hair filling in to match. They both glanced at each other once a whiff of their new manly smell came to fruition. 

“Yo, you smell nasty, bro!” One remarked happily.

“Na, I think that’s you!” The other responded with a dumb chuckle 

“Ya right bro, it’s hot AF.” He said, turning his head to get a more clear sniff of his underarms 

As they reveled in their new musk, pairs of sunglasses materialized on their heads. Their clothing replaced my matching overall in red, white, and blue, stained with sweat, food, and god knows what else.

“Hey what’s going on back there?” The dad questioned on hearing suspicious noises form the back seat, upon glancing back, he was horrified to find his son replaced by sweaty frat boys, huffing each others scent like horny lunatics.

“What the fu-“ he started, only to be hit with his own change. His voice cracked as it dropped slightly, becoming more youthful in tone. His beard vanished, replaced by a smooth jawline under empty eyes. His hair grew back to its natural blonde, shedding the gay and growing out into long waves. His body also transformed, muscle being pumped in, more than any of his fellow bros. He grew to nearly 6”3 and every part of his body got an upgrade, even his penis gained an extra four inches. 

He laughed, pure delight—no deeper thoughts at all, and scratched at his tightly stretched t-shirt just as it melted away it a set of overalls that matched the rest of the boys. 

“Like, bros, I told you not to fuck in my car!” He finished.

His best bro in the passenger looked at him, annoyed, “let ‘em have their fun, bro, ya just jealous you're not in on it.”

“Whatever,” their leader replied, “just save some for me!”

4

File name:SF-CR-Ford Pickup Truck

Manufacturing details: Produced in partnership with the Ford Brotherhood

Key transformation components:

Air vents blow out trace amounts of evaporated Pacific seawater collected from abandoned surf shacks.

Truck bed naturally fitted for surf boards 

Dashboard coated in sun-baked wax resin, pushing neurological functions into “perma-dazed chill.”

Floor mats embedded with beach sand that replenishes itself through unknown means.

Testing:

Sam had just gotten his license and not a minute after his uncle had given him an old blue truck as a gift.

“I’m not use’n it, ya might as well get some use outa her.” He had said, upon giving Sam the keys. 

Sam’s mom had thought it was too much, yet she couldn’t hide her smile at her son’s excitement. She asked him to go pick up some stuff for them from the grocery store, knowing he wanted an excuse to take the car out.

And so Sam was on his way, managing the old truck like a pro. Yet suddenly, on its own..

HONK

The sound of the horn started Sam, he want even hit the horn. He chewed on it for while , eventually chalking it up to being an older car. 

HONK

Louder this time, yet looking around it seemed no other driver had noticed. What— the sound was distracting him from getting to the beach. Wait…the beach, was that right?

HONK

Clonk, his head hit the metal roof as his height shot up, his clothing had changed from simple sweat pants and T-shirt to a black sleeveless and striped board shorts. His place feet now clad in really disgusting flip flops.

HONK

Suddenly muscle was just…there. His arms now lean and well developed, with solid biceps and triceps. His formerly pale skin now looked dark and tanned. His once hairless body was now covered in a thick layer of blonde hair, congregating especially in his underarms, legs, and feet. With the hair came a heavy musk, smelling sex, sweat, and something else…

HONK

As he drove his mental capacity plummeted, knowledge and skills vanishing into the void of stupidity that was his mind now. His thoughts fading to dull sludge, to match his eyes now had no light behind them. Giving him a lost puppy look, amplified by his thick golden curls and mouth hanging open. 

HONK

The rest of his body is filled with muscle. Legs thickening, feet expanding, chest muscles pushing out. His ass soon filled with strong muscles giving him excellent balance. His mind soon filled with images of busty beach babes, surfing, and loads of hot sex. The desire in accordance with the amplified size of his member. He went to turn into a parking lot… 

HONK

“Dude, not sure what I was doin’ bro. Need to get ta the beach!” The newly minted surfer dude exclaimed, glancing behind him at the boards loaded into his truck.

“Yeah, yeah. I got this big bro.” Ethen ended the call with a satisfied grin.

The situation was simple enough. Ethen's transformation had been a complete success. His memories, his life, his identity; all exactly as they were supposed to be. The problem was that reality hadn't fully caught up yet. 

Danial had explained that their family still remembered the wrong version of him and his brother. Daniel had also  assured him that the reunion was the perfect opportunity. A large gathering of relatives, all in one place, all interacting with each other. Once the merchandise was distributed, ‘the corrections’ would spread naturally. By the end of the day, everyone would remember things properly.

Ethen slipped his phone into his pocket and headed down the driveway. The massive black pick-up truck waited there, gleaming in the afternoon sun. He opened the rear door with an easy practiced motion.

The trunk was packed with Boxes of hats, shirts, Sunglasses, Stickers, Coffee mugs, Flags, and other things packed away in sealed boxes.  All of it carried the familiar MSXic branding.

Daniel hadn't been kidding. Ethen picked up a folded note resting on top of the nearest box.

The merchandise will handle everything.

Trust the process.

Welcome home.

—Daniel

Ethen chuckled, his brother really thought of everything. He tossed the note back into the trunk and climbed behind the wheel. The drive to the reunion took nearly an hour, giving him plenty of time to think about the family he was about to see.

His parents and aunts and uncles; Dozens of other family members. It was strange knowing they would all be different by the end of the day. Not completely different, of course. Just corrected, Brought in line with how things should have always been. The thought filled him with a sense of pride. After all, family looked out for family.

Eventually he turned into the massive Airbnb hosting the annual Samuels family reunion. The place was already packed full. Cars lined the parking areas. Children raced across open fields. Large tents had been erected beside rows of picnic tables. The distant sounds of laughter and conversation drifted through the warm afternoon air.

Ethen parked and sat for a moment, looking out over the gathering.He stepped out of the SUV and opened the trunk once more. Ahead of him, dozens of boxes waited to be unpacked.

Ethen grabbed the first box and started walking toward the reunion. This was going to be a good day.

————————————

“This gym is huge!” Brandon said as he walked in, weighed down by multiple suitcases and duffle bags. Just arriving at the massive house his family had rented for their semi-annual reunion, he was instantly drawn to the house's gym. But first he had to drop this stuff in his family’s room. He could see his reflection in the mirrored walls, a rather plain looking appearance, average build, thin brown hair cut down for summer. Despite this he was constantly trying to improve himself, spending time in the gym, trying countless self care routines.

Going through the suitcases he had just dumped on the floor, he searched for his gym clothes. Finding only a pair of shorts and a pair of underwear, ill fitting and branded with the logo of MSXic.org he’s sure he didn’t pack them, nor had he ever owned them. He threw those thoughts to the wind, so excited to check out the gym. Forgoing a shirt entirely, he made his way through the halls to the gym. 

As he started with simple weights, he turned on his usual high energy playlist, the pulsing beat of Taylor Swift's Reputation filling the room. He exercised in peace for a while with a familiar strain of muscle and rhythm of machines. His mind eventually went to seeing the family, for some reason he couldn’t picture a single person he knew very well, all he had was the vague sense he had closer to his relatives than that. 

Moving to the leg machines, he grew fed up with his ‘pussy’ playlist. He quickly switched to some fast no wing rap music instead. Much better. He tossed his phone onto the ground but it landed nearly halfway across the room. “Must not know my own strength” he thought with a chuckle. Every pump on the machine expanded his legs, his spine growing as well to make his height an impressive 6’2”. Muscles bulged as his arms and legs became melons, and his chest is carved with smooth chiseled abs. 

Moving to the next machine, his feet began to ache in too tight sneakers. Bending down, he takes them off, reeling massive meaty feet and giving him instant relief. Moving through the rest of the workout barefoot, everything else about his body began to change. Hands become rough and wide, nails blunt and uncared for. As sweat covered his body, a musky odor could be smelled, “the scent of a real man” he thought, completely unprompted. His pecs grew even more and his glistening body took on a youthful smoothness. His hair now fluffy, blonde and newly styled in a modern mullet. 

He shouted along to obscene lyrics, his energy revitalized as he reached the end of the grind. Pushing himself off the ground, where he was finishing sets of pushups and planks. He flexed at himself in the mirror, admiring his cut figure. Taking a pic, He pulled his pants down a little to show off his MSXic.org swag. They had been his favorite pair of underwear since his dad had given them to him two years ago when he had sat Brad down and given him the talk, not that talk, the talk about what it meant to be a real man. He was forever grateful his father had forced encouraged him to work out daily, it had really paid off. Sending a quick pic to the family group chat, he went to go find his father and help him pass out his company’s merch to the rest of the family. 

Charleston sat in his car, looking at the massive place his family reunion was taking place. As a police officer he had stood his ground against murders and criminals, yet he couldn’t bring himself to get out of his car to face his family. He could just imagine what they were already saying about him and his latest failed relationship, a girl who had dumped him for a man 20 years younger. The latest of an endless cycle of train wreck relationships. Every family gathering seemed to come with the same questions, the same looks of pity, and the same unwanted advice.

Turning off the car, he heaved himself out of the front seat, joints cracking as he walked. Wheeling his suitcases up the step he noticed multiple boxes, each over spilling with a variety of branded objects. Each bulging box branded with the logo of a company called MSXic.com. Inside more boxes awaited him, one was overturned, spilling hats and branded cigar boxes. The branded merchandise seemed strangely out of place, not something you would bring to a family gathering.

“Well, I could use a good smoke.”

He struggled to open the package for a full minute, rewarded with a row of nice looking stooges. Taking a puff of smoke, his head began to feel foggy and he felt ready to face those troublesome aunts. The smoke was smooth and rich, carrying away some of the anxiety that had followed him all the way here.

He started to climb up the stairs, but was hit by a wave of dizziness. He stood in the foyer, pacing. His height shot up to nearly 6 feet, bringing his line of sight to the top of the mirror to the right of the door. Looking into it, he saw his torso begin to grow as his flabby stomach caved into six pack abs. His shirt tightened across a broadening chest while his shoulders pushed wider. His arms and legs grew, pure muscle replacing years of aging. Longer limbs now fully solidify with muscle as they carry him back out the door. For a moment he could only stare at his reflection, unable to process what was happening.

He barely registered the change of environment, too focused on his cigar. He sat on one of the lawn chairs, barely handling the combined weight and newly grown thighs and ass. His hands grew as he took another drag of the cigar, his feet growing to match, no longer able to be contained by his sneakers. His thick beard began to shed, becoming a well trimmed mustache and goatee; the silver in his styled hair vanishing away. Revealing the face of a man who could get whatever he wanted with a smirk and a glance. Years seemed to peel away from him with every breath.

His thin hair grew out into a flowing frat boy style, the former officer felt a stab of pain, like being kicked in the balls. He could feel his manhood swell up, begging for attention. Later, he thought. After my stooge, his now punny brain was unable to focus on more than one thing at a time. Every drag making his brain sink further and further into stupidity. Worries about work, bills, and his failed relationships drifted away beneath a growing haze. Thinking was hard. Smoking was easy.

Charlie grinned, “I’m so fucking hot,” he said, speaking to no one. He was glad that his big brothers had left him some cigars, branded with their amazing company. If only he was smart enough to work, oh well, he could just sit around and work out, smoke cigar, or goon. He looked over the many cars in the drive, so many cars, so many family members to go. A cocky grin spread across his face as he stood up from the chair. For the first time since arriving, he wasn't dreading the reunion at all.

John was excited to see his brother. He hadn’t seen him since he had left for college the previous fall, the family reunion had been the first time the boys would see each other in months. They’d been texting from opposite sides of the country, yet once Brandon had arrived the messages had abruptly stopped. He just figured the wifi was bad or something of that sort. 

After hauling the family’s bags with his dad, he went in search of Brandon. As he wandered down the hallway, sunlight poured through soaring floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shimmering reflections from the lake across the polished hardwood floors. The open living room flowed effortlessly into a gourmet kitchen with a marble island, custom cabinetry, and professional-grade appliances, he saw a sparkle on the counter. Getting closer he could see it was a brand new chain necklace.

He examined it more carefully, noticing it was brand new, a simple tag folded over the chain with MSXic.org written in a simple font. He looked around, nobody. So he slipped it on, the cross resting unto his cotton shirt. It wasn’t exactly his style, John couldn’t explain the draw he felt to the piece of jewelry. He found himself touching and admiring as he continued wandering through the house. 

As he walked past numerous rooms, he didn’t notice his clothing slowly shifting becoming more trendy and fashionable. His stomach's natural color deepens into a tan as the extra bit of chubbness on him melted away. Abs and pecs smoothing out, existent yet not super defined. His arms inflate with lean biceps and triceps, his body becoming more muscular and youthful. The tan spread over his shoulders and back as they became wider. 

Walking into one of the many sitting rooms, his height shot up. His legs grew to match the extra 2 inches he gained, his thighs and quads becoming thick with muscle. His calves also toned, yet any body hair on them vanished, the smooth clean shaven look following unto the rest of his body. The only hair left was the new golden fluffy, now styled in the fringe that was extremely popular with teenage boys. Down below his feet grew, becoming the same deep tan as the rest of him. 

He dramatically sat on the coach, his increased height making the gray coach creak under him. John began to palm at his crotch, not even noticing he could only feel underwear under his hand. But wait, he had to film this. Crap, where was his phone. He tried to reach into his pocket, finding nothing, that was typical though, he didn’t usually wear much more than his underwear. He stood up and noticed his phone sitting next to him on the coach. 

“Ok, Bros, that was the Samuel family reunion house!” Johnny Boy said loudly into the camera. He was one of the company's many influencers, one of the most popular with 867,000 followers. After his brother had turned to the gym full time, Johnny had tried to make his father just as proud, starting a tiktok for that very reason. Yet his perfect blend of energy and passion for MSXic.org’s values quickly blew up, although his pretty face probably helped too. Johnny Boy smiled and gave his many followers one of his signature winks, “And don’t forget, Stop Hiding Men!” 

Speaking of his brother, he had to meet Brandon at the gym. The gym being the only place the brothers could find time to spend with each other. Exchanging tips for beefing up(Brandon), explaining the latest brain rot(Johnny) or just working out in peaceful silence. Before maybe he’d put some clothes on, his dad had just dropped of a ton of company merch.

Richerd wasn’t really excited to see his family, he tried to avoid this sort of thing when he could. But his youngest son John had begged him to come, as his other son would be coming from college. So he had agreed without much protest, he had been excited to see Brandon too. Yet when they he felt something off, tons of cars outside yet the house seemed empty, random half empty boxes strewn throughout the house, a faint smell hung about the house that reminded Richard of high school.

Once he had unpacked he began to wonder what to do with himself, his wife had excused herself for a nap and John had left a while ago in search of his brother. Maybe a long shower would clear his head, at least enough to deal with his troublesome aunts. Stripping down, he glanced over himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked at his middle aged body, sure he was old, but he didn’t look that bad, his muscles were still in decent shape, looking better than his younger nerdy self actually. Coming out of the bathroom, he noticed a half open box shoved against the wall, inside he saw multiple footballs, making him reminisce on his high school day. He was never quite athletic enough for the sport, more cut out for spelling bees than football games.

He reached down to grab it, his joints cracking in protest, the leather cool in his hands. He could tell it was well made, stitching tiny, and on the side was a glossy minimalistic logo for the company MAXic.org, the same as all the other boxes. How had the box got in here though? He wondered. Settling himself on the coach, he tossed the football up and down, continuing to daydream about what a varsity football life could have been. 

Ricky rubbed his eyes as he woke up, his nap being longer than he had wanted. He surprisingly didn’t groan as he stretched himself out. Glancing down at his toned, glistening body, he always slept hot leaving him to wake up sweaty constantly. He could feel his massive dick raise to attention as he caught a whiff of his masculine scent, his body hair holding the combined effect of his sleep sweat and lack of hygiene. Yet he loved it--the scent of a real man.

Ricky quickly moved to satisfy his dick, his calloused hands almost too small for his massive manhood. He softly groaned as he jerked away, his grown cock sensitive. The fantasy of a cheerleader under the bleachers playing in his head as he kept pushing, his long powerful legs bending up towards his defined torso. He felt his toes curl as he pushed out a load.

“Fuck, yeah!” He yelled as he shot his massive load into his sweaty nylon shorts. After catching his breath, he felt around the leather coach for his football. He grabbed it and was rewarded with a rush of adrenaline and excitement, as if he was on the field at that exact second. He reminisced once more, of his high school days. But soon the nostalgia was replaced by excitement, after all his varsity football days weren’t over yet. He picked up his phone seeing a text from his Danial Samuel, labeled Pops in his phone. confusing him for second, didn’t he have kids and a wife? 

“Caught up at the office, but your uncle Ethen is headed your way with some good shit”

Looking at the text jogged his memory however, his dad was one of the co-founders of MAXic.org, a company founded on the idea of bringing back traditional masculinity. That was why his father had pushed him to be an athlete, why his cousins were a gym junkie and red pill influencer respectfully. Cousins not his kids, what a dumb thought! Topical of Ricky though, his father often joked that he would end up like his other uncle Charlie. Yet that didn’t seem so bad to Ricky, his uncle was a real man too. 

His phone buzzed with a notification, a text from his cousins to meet them for protein shakes and a swim in the lake later. He flipped back unto the coach, content to chill until Brandon and Johnny were done at the gym. His shallow breath making his tight, sweaty rise and fall, the contours of his proud quarterback shoulders back lit by the open blinds of the window behind him. He quickly texted his cousins back a fire image and a thumbs up, excited for all the family reunion would bring. 

BJ had been waiting for his boyfriend for over a half hour. He had arrived at his boyfriend’s family reunion before Connor, his boyfriend of three years, and he hadn't been able to contact him since he had arrived due to the poor Wi-Fi. His boyfriend hadn’t been far behind, but had stopped for some reason he hadn’t shared with BJ.

Both BJ and Connor had been dating for three years, and the two of them would graduate in a few months from college. Yet, despite the time, BJ had never met much of Connor's family, not for any nefarious reasons, just timing. Of course, the Samuel's family reunion was the perfect opportunity, but BJ hadn’t heard any word from Connor.

Then he heard the crunch of tires, and saw his boyfriend's red BMW pull up next to him. The blonde man quickly got out of his car and opened the passenger door of BJs, getting in he gave his boyfriend a quick kiss. 

“Hey babe, sorry I’m late. My older cousin needed to give me these for some reason?” He said, holding up a cowboy hat and baseball cap with an sport team logo on it, and looking at BJ curiously.

“Why why?”

“Don’t know, wanna try them on as a joke,” Connor said, placing the baseball camo on his own head. BJ took the cowboy hat, happy to be in on the joke.

Once the hat touched his head, he was hit by a strange feeling of fatigue. He didn’t notice, but his legs were getting cramped under his seat. He subconsciously moved the seat back as he continued making out with his boyfriend, feeling a ticking sensation. His loose shirt began to fill out and began to feel tight around his pecs and biceps. The sleeves began to give as his biceps grew in size and density. Calves and thighs growing too as his soft white skin faded into a rough sun tan. 

At the same time, Connor's shirt was also strained, his chest also pulling the fabric tight so tight in fact that it burst. Burst and revealed chiseled torsos with new spatterings of ink. Their pants also shifted, BJs becoming American flag shorts and Connors pink shorts, complete with tree trunk legs coming out the leg holes. A bit of stubble also grew on their chins, making the kissing rough, and on their legs, chests and feet, which had grown into sizes 14 and 12 respectively. But as BJ kept kissing Connor but slowly the mental image of his boyfriend began to fade away. 

As the rest of the golden tan covered his body, Milo grabbed his average size cock and began to stroke. It got hard instantly, but didn’t lengthen at all. His hard length was now the same as what he was as soft previously. Milo didn’t notice however, for he was too focused on how incredible the bridge of the song was. As the last refrain came around the corner, Milo felt his testicles tense quickly.

As they kept kissing, a deep tan spread over their bodies. The hat began to feel tight on their heads as their heads grew larger, although one could say they were actually emptier. Under their hats, curly thick hair sprouted, covered in dust and sweat from… farm chores. BJ felt a sense of arousal, the intense make out began to turn him on, and the images of breeding a hot cowgirl filled his head. 

“What the fuck!” Colt cried as he opened his eyes to see his brother, Buck. He sat there for a second, breathing irregularly, too disgusted with himself. He had just kissed his brother, sure it was family, but more importantly he’d just kissed a dude.

“Bro, What the hell was that?” Buck asks, his face in an identical expression of disgust. He turned to see his brother trying to wash his lips off with some week old beer he had left in the truck door. 

“Give me some of that,” Buck said, grabbing it from the smaller guy, as Colt found another half empty can. 

“Well…let’s just pretend this never happened,” Colt said, after washing it all down with a warm white claw.

Buck gave a wordless nod, and the two got out of the car, excited to surprise their lil cousins with their southern charm and beer, of course beer.

Andrew sat in the uncomfortable outdoor chair, bored out of his mind. He didn’t even really want to be here, this was his fiancé's family reunion, the only reason he came was for her. And now she was inside talking to her aunts and cousins leaving him alone outside. Fine by him, her family could be pretty annoying, whenever he tried to be friendly they took it as offense for some reason, to be fair he was a very blunt, gruff individual. 

He pulled out a book one of her nephews had given him, a massive individual with muscles far bigger than Andrew could ever hope to have. His frame was skinny, pale but he worked out twice a week and wasn’t fat or unhealthy by any means, he just wasn’t “buff”. Something this book was supposed to help with, claiming to get you hot in 7 days or something like that, the kids had said his dad had written, some business man who owned some MAXic.org, a dumb name if you asked Andrew. The book was probably a tax write off, but he had nothing better to do. 

Inside the font was large, like really large. He read the introduction, finding out about Ethen’s company’s mission, to make real men. The book continued like that for a while, chapter on surface level masculinity, monster trucks, gym routine, or grooming. Yet some stuff was downright offensive, the way they said to treat women or homosexuals. 

Andrew took a sip of his coffee, mesmerized by the train wreck that was this novel. As he read, his legs began to extend. He adjusted and crossed the new massive thighs and sculpted calves, the added length bringing him to nearly 6 foot. The chair creaked as his torso grew wider, abs and pecs blowing up like balloons. A healthy warmth flooded into his skin and hair began to grow everywhere, thick and brown. 

As he continued to read, his attention became more and more focused on what the book had to say. Years added to him as his frame began to fill out, broadening his arms and shoulders. Vain shot up his arms as his bod became the ideal gym type, his body packed densely with muscle. His thick legs made his shorts bunch up, looking like the inseam had decreased dramatically. 

As he began to finish the book his pace began to slow down, finding it so easy before, the reason for the size of the world quickly became apparent when his intellect dropped dramatically. The exchange for the muscle had to be evened out somehow. So locked in he didn’t even notice the breeze on his own bare back or the size of his massive paws gripping the paperback. So focused that he didn’t register the pleasure that hit when his dick grew an extra few inches. 

“Done, yes!” He said, pumping his meaty fist in the air, and shut the book with a satisfied smile. He quickly looked around but didn’t notice anything amiss, his wife was inside talking to the relatives, leaving him outside to finish his training to become an official team member of MAXic.org, the company his brother-in-law owned. 

As if on cue, he glanced inside to see his wife rubbing her swollen stomach and talking to his nephew, how already worked for the company via social media. A grin plastered itself on at the thought of welcoming his third son into the world.

“I did it” Ace announced as he walked into the house, kissing his wife and dabbing Johnny Boy up “gonna start working with you after this, bro” he remarked to the boy.

“Congrats dude” Johnny said with a grin.”Good to see you're officially part of the family business.”

Danial Samuels sat on the porch of the lake house, enjoying a cigar with his brother Ethen. Their(his) plan had been a huge success, made evident that night by the massive family dinner, the men bickering and laughing, kids swarming the room as their mothers brought heaps of food to the table. His own son had brought a football and had been throwing it across the table to one of his cousins from the south, their newest business partner, Ace had talked to the two about some new marketing strategies over meatloaf and Lil Johnny Boy had filmed the whole thing. 

After tedious research and development, he finally had a place to test his new merch. Hats, cigars, books, water bottles, chains, even underwear, the possibilities were endless. He designed them all himself, to align with the company's mission of bringing back traditional masculinity. Each one had a different purpose, mixing with the host's previous personality, making each new MAXic.org spokesperson unique yet united under their values and goals. 

Dianal glanced over at his brother and the two exchanged hardy laughs, It would only be so long before the country would hear of the company and by then it’d be too late.  

I yelled and shook the kid off me, red on my arm from where he bit me. Luckily for me his big brother had seen the whole thing, thanking me for keeping him from falling after he had tripped. My injury looked like little more than a surface scratch, despite a lot of blood, but the surfer dude insisted on getting alcohol and bandages. 

They turned out to be unnecessary as it seemed the blood must have come from the boy's mouth. My arm didn't have a mark on it. You'd think that would have been the end of it, but the older boy, who introduced himself as bodhi, wanted my name and address, and kept asking me to see some special doctor he knew. I just drove away, not wanting any hippie herbal treatments, and I figured that was the last I would see of them. 

I had forgotten all about the encounter, but a month later, a sudden knock startled me. Answering, I found bodhi waiting on my front porch. My sudden scowl made him step back and raise his hands. "Sorry to bother you. I tracked you down through your license plate." Considering the trouble he must have gone through to find me, I sighed and waited. When I did not invite her in, she said "My... um, lil bro. He like, startled when he started to fall and fear made him react bad to your grab." 

I nodded, hoping to speed him on his merry way. The young man flushed, then said "I know it seemed like nothing, but he really did bite you. And that was your blood." At my dubious look, he continued. "You just healed super fast. It's like the infection doesn't want to be known about" He sighed. "Like a Werewolf curse." OK, he was a nutcase, probably high on weed right now too.

“Um, right. Well, I haven't tried to chase cars, but I'll keep that in mind, OK?" I started to shut the door, only to have him persist. 

"Teddy isn't really my brother. He's my Gramps." That comment made me make a renewed effort to get him to leave. 

"Sir, I need you to leave. Please." I could see he wanted to argue, but then shook his head. 

"I'II go." I watched him return to his scrappy truck and drive away, resolving not to answer

the door to strangers for a while.  At least until it started to turn dark, Trick or Treating started at 6 PM. I stepped out to check my porch light and noticed that we had a full moon. then suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous. 

I grabbed the side of the house and then staggered into the yard, expecting to throw up. As I did, my jeans cut off at my knees, the excess Dinum dropping to my ankles, making me nearly fall over. The sick feeling passed, leaving me bewildered by the sudden cool breeze on my chest, which was somehow now bare?

 I stared as I lifted each leg, easily pulling free of the pooled up fabric of my pants. Muscular, hairless legs and smooth bronze skin. They looked like they had spent countless hours in full sun. My (also tan) hands jerked up to feel a hairless chiseled face, long blonde hair hanging in my eyes, just like… "Dude." I recoiled from the deep slow voice, which I remembered from earlier that day. Turning, I saw Bodhi looking at me with a sad smile.

 "There was always a chance that you would be immune, or there wouldn't be enough change for you to notice much." He remained where he was, hands by his sides. "But it looks like you got hit full force. As far as I can tell, you are just like anyone else hit with the surf wave" I looked at my arms, biceps bigger than my head used to be and then up at the night sky.

 "Am I going to turn into a monster?" I asked, my voice cracking like I’m going through puberty. 

He shook his head beneath his green hoodie. "You aren't a werewolf. And you won't change again." That last was said with such finality that I looked back at him, puzzled. 

The surfer sighed. "Lil dude is only contagious during the full moon. He was hit with a weird variant of the wave, cursed to always be a little surfer boy instead of a young adult. None of us can figure it out.  I knew I should have kept him home, but even though he misbehaves a lot, he's never bitten anyone in all the months since he changed. Until you." 

I stared, comprehension dawning. "But that means..." He

 nodded. "Grandpas was like 80 years old, and now he’s 12 years old. His mind is that of the child too, now memories of his past life. And, I'm afraid, you will be joining him in that

too." I wanted to deny this, but even as he spoke I realized I couldn't remember half of my life. 

He held out a hand. "I'm sorry, we don’t normally transform those who don’t truly need to be something else. But at least you won't be alone, there’s a lot of us now. You, me, and the lil guy are related too it seems. And with me and him as brothers, that will at least be easier than being alone." 

I stare at his outstretched hand and then back at a house I can't even remember living in anymore. Then I slap his palm in a dab up and let him lead me toward towards the truck he shares with me. I am confused, the past fading and new stuff filling in the gaps, but not sad. Actually, I am getting excited to meet new friends I have never met before, and a lil bro. Even if he was the one who turned me into a were-surfer.

Fit Camp to Frat Camp

The summer he was fourteen, Ethan's parents sent him to Camp Cedar Ridge.They called it a "fitness retreat." But even the sign in front of the camp said “Fat Camp.” 

Honestly, it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. The food wasn't completely terrible, the counselors at least tried to be encouraging, and after a week of hiking, swimming, and pretending dodgeball counted as "team-building," he'd somehow made two good friends.

There was Owen, who could turn any conversation into a lecture about fantasy novels or some bizarre science fact, and Miles, whose social skills were almost impressively awful. He never meant to be rude—he just had an uncanny talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong moment. Together, the three of them had quietly become the camp's resident weirdos.

One afternoon, while wandering through the woods behind the cabins, Ethan came across an old storage shed that looked like it hadn't been opened in decades. Most of it was junk, piles of broken lanterns, moldy boxes, rusted tools. But tucked inside a dusty wooden chest was something that was different.

It looked like a dried-up monkey's hand. The leathery fingers were curled into a fist, and somehow it felt warm despite being covered in dust. As he turned it over in his hands, a half-forgotten story drifted back into his mind.

A monkey's paw and three wishes, maybe he had seen the movie but he barely remembered. He knew it was just all just an old superstition. Even so, as he stared at the shriveled paw, he found himself wondering what he would wish for. 

He took it back to his cabin, obviously, it was a shriveled animal part and he was a fourteen year old boy. He also wanted to show it to Owen and Miles, who were in the cabin's small kitchenette when he arrived, loudly debating the integrity of a real life alien invasion. They didn’t even notice then come in, only looking up at the slam the door. 

“Yo, look what I found.”

Owen glanced over. “...That's either a preserved primate paw or the world's least appetizing beef jerky.”

“I found it in the old shed,” Ethan said. “I think it's supposed to be one of those monkey's paws. You know, the wish thing.”

Owen snorted. “Magic violates several fundamental laws of physics.”

Miles looked up. “Also, if it grants wishes, why'd it end up in a dusty shed?”

Ethan frowned. “You two are no fun.”

“I wish you guys were cooler”

Their clothing instantly began to change, replacing their old outfits with a new wardrobe that hung awkwardly off their still-scrawny frames. Owen now wore a pair of khaki shorts and a navy hoodie, while Miles stood beside him in matching shorts and a fitted black T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a sports team neither nerd recognized. Both sported baseball caps, carelessly turned backward as though they'd been wearing them their whole lives.

The oversized clothes looked ridiculous on them, like toddlers playing dress-up in their fathers' wardrobes. They still had the soft, slightly pudgy bodies they'd always been embarrassed by, and neither boy looked comfortable in the new clothes. Glancing down, they watched their hands begin to change. Their fingers lengthened, palms broadened, and knuckles thickened into large, rough-looking hands as a healthy bronze tan slowly spread across their skin.

The color continued creeping over their bodies, replacing their pale complexions with the sun-kissed glow of boys who spent every free afternoon outdoors. Their feet stretched in tandem with their hands, widening and lengthening until Owen's size eights became solid tens while Miles' pushed all the way to elevens. At the same time, muscle began swelling beneath their skin. Miles instinctively flexed, watching his biceps rise into firm, rounded muscle with an awestruck grin.

"Bro... you're hot," Owen blurted, staring at his friend's rapidly broadening physique. But the changes didn't stop there.

The soft bellies that had always been a source of embarrassment suddenly tightened as though an invisible vacuum were pulling inward from beneath the skin. Every trace of fat vanished, sculpting defined pectorals and sharply cut abs across both torsos. Miles was already convinced his were an eight-pack, even if anyone else would call them a six.

The soft bellies that had always been a source of embarrassment were sucked inwards, like a vacuum sucking from beneath the skin. Every trace of fat vanished, leaving only identical sets of pectorales and immaculate six packs, although Miles would always claim to have an eight pack.  Owen’s khakis became noticeably tight as it filled with a plump bubble butt while miles backside remained tight and muscly. Their entire builds broadened, shoulders widening, chests thickening, and arms filling out until both looked like they had spent years in the weight room rather than behind computer screens.

Both their dicks expanded, flooding their minds with a sudden rush of pleasure.

"Fuck ya, bro!" Miles shouted, his voice dropping into a deep, relaxed drawl that carried no trace of the nasal, awkward nerd he had been only moments before.

Owen laughed, his own voice sounding lower and brashly confident. He absentmindedly scratched beneath his backward cap as dark hair pushed outward, growing longer until thick curls spilled from underneath the brim.

Their faces shifted into place as the final pieces of the transformation settled. Miles' nose broadened, giving his features a stronger, more rugged look, while Owen's jaw sharpened into a broad, square shape that seemed carved from stone. Their cheekbones became more defined, their eyes settled into relaxed, self-assured expressions, and even their smiles took on an easy arrogance. The two boys looked at each other and couldn't help but grin like the narcissistic jocks they had become. 

Ethan stared at them, waiting for one of them to crack the facade of bravado. 

"...Owen?" 

The curly-haired boy frowned. "Who's Owen?” He asked. "My name's Oz, dude."

Ethan laughed nervously. "Very funny. You were just talking about aliens," Ethan insisted. "And fantasy books."

Oz looked genuinely confused. "I don't read, I don’t even know how, lil bro.”

Miles shrugged. "Books are kinda for geeks."

Ethan's smile slowly faded. "But... you guys are geeks."

At that, both boys burst out laughing.

"Good one," Miles said.

As they talked, Ethan noticed the cabin wasn't quite the same anymore. A battered mini fridge now sat beneath the window where a bookshelf had been. Empty pizza boxes rested on the counter. Someone had tossed a hoodie over a chair, and a pair of muddy cleats lay in the middle of the floor like they'd been kicked off after practice. The room felt messier every time he looked away.

Oz grabbed a bottle from the fridge. "Dude, we're almost out of protein shakes."

"We'll grab more after conditioning," Miles replied.

Ethan stepped toward them confused. "Guys... what's going on?"

Oz looked him over for a moment before recognition crossed his face. "Oh, what do you want Ethan?"

"You remember me?"

"Sure," Miles said with a grin. "You're that weird kid."

Ethan blinked. "No... we're friends."

Oz exchanged a glance with Miles before both of them laughed. "Dude," he said, "why would we hang out with you?"

"You seriously need to chill," Miles added. "Maybe spend less time indoors."

The two of them wandered back into the kitchenette, still chuckling to each other. Ethan backed away slowly before hurrying into the bedroom. slamming the door behind him, he immediately started digging through his backpack until his fingers found the monkey's paw.

It was warm in his hands, One finger had uncurled. Outside, Oz and Miles laughed as another loud thud echoed through the cabin, making Ethan look up.

“I wish I had my friends back”

His shoes vanished instantly leaving the portly teen barefoot. His clothes had also shifted, camp tee becoming a white tank and cargos becoming black sweatpants, every piece of clothing fit him completely wrong.  But he didn’t notice, as looking down, his feet seemed to be moving? His toes grew thicker and longer and his feet became long and broad as they resized to a meaty set of 11s.  Simultaneously a dark tan spread across them and hard callouses formed on the bottoms.

In the span of a breath his whole body gained a similar tan, though he was noticeably paler than the other jock bros. His hands expanded to match his feet and grew into meaty mitts. He stared as veins began to pop out from his skin, starting from his hands and continuing up his arms and throughout his body. 

“No, I don’t want this” he shouted, desperately trying to reach the monkey's paw that had fallen off the bed. 

But the changes didn’t stop there, happening too fast now to stop. A large pectoral shelf jutted out, nipples standing erect in the cool air of the cabin.  He lightly tweaked one with his meatier hands, his brain failing to register the movement. His hands moved down the usual curve of his stomach replaced by rigged abs covered by a light treasure trail. His body began to emit a strong odor, a mix of dried sweat and hormones, helped by the much larger bulge in his sweatpants.

 He grabbed it roughly, feeling the extended length in all its glory. A deep sound coming from his throat, a far cry from the voice of a fat nerd yet to go through puberty. The newly minted bro felt a small pressure in his ears when a small pair of studs appeared and his hair became dark and well groomed. His face got wider and his jaw became square shaped giving him the typical looks of a dumb jock. He wondered why in the world we wouldn’t want to be one as he grabbed his phone to pull up his favorite porno, wanting nothing more than to try out his new equipment.

After finishing Ethan flopped onto the couch, his sweats still sticky. He absentmindedly scrolled through his phone, looking for another, maybe to watch with his bros. Speaking of his bros, Oz and Miles stood in the kitchenette shotgunning diet Pepsis. He shook his head in silent laughter at them before something poked against his thigh.

"Huh?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the shriveled monkey's paw. "Yo, check this out."

Oz looked over from the mini fridge. "Dude... what the hell is that?"

Miles immediately sauntered over, eyes lighting up. "Bro, no way. Is that an actual monkey's paw?"

Ethan shrugged. "Found it somewhere, I think."

Oz carefully took it, turning it over in his hands. "This is sick."

"Isn't this one of those things that grants wishes?" Miles asked with a grin. "Like, three wishes and all that cursed magic crap?"

"Probably fake," Oz said, still unable to stop staring at it.

"Even if it is," Ethan laughed, "it's the coolest thing I've found all summer."

The three crowded around the tiny shriveled hand, tossing out increasingly ridiculous wishes and daring each other to try one, none of them realizing two of its fingers were already uncurled. Ethen looked at it, wondering what to wish for, then it hit him.

“I wish everybody here was as cool as us”

The wish had barely left Ethan's lips before the monkey's paw grew almost too hot to hold. He instinctively dropped it onto the couch, where it landed with a dull thud. For a moment, nothing happened. The cabin remained exactly as it was, with Oz and Miles still arguing over whether they could organize a volleyball tournament before dinner.

Then a strange sound rose somewhere outside, like a chant or cheer shouted in deep voices. It wasn't especially unusual at first. Campers were always yelling about something. But another voice answered it from farther down the path, then another from the lake, then several more from the athletic fields until the entire camp seemed to hum with too loud laughter and shouted conversations.

Across the grounds, subtle changes rippled through Camp Cedar Ridge. The campers transforming all at once, awkward postures straightening, Self-conscious expressions melting into easy confidence. Conversations about calorie counts and homesickness drifted naturally into plans for football games, lake competitions, and which cabin was going to dominate the end-of-summer tournament. Everywhere you looked, baseball caps had somehow become more common, camp T-shirts fit broader shoulders, and groups of boys who had barely spoken yesterday now greeted each other with effortless familiarity.

Even the camp itself seemed to adjust around them. The nutrition posters lining the dining hall walls quietly disappeared, replaced by faded championship photos and intramural banners that had hung there for years. The recreation lodge gained battered sweat stained couches and a pair of old refrigerators stocked with sports drinks, while the all of cabins gradually accumulated the sort of clutter that came from dozens of teenage frat boys sharing the same space, duffel bags left open, footballs under bunks, hoodies draped over chairs, protein bars scattered across countertops.

Bodybuilder legal huge counselors walked the paths smiling like it was normal, greeting campers with casual fist bumps instead of reminders about weigh-ins or meal plans. The schedule posted outside the dining hall had changed too. Hiking and nutrition seminars had quietly given way to tournaments, lake relays, and evening socials. 

Oz leaned against the doorway where Ethan stood and looked outside.

"Whatca looking at?" he asked.

Ethen looked at him, his thick brows scrunched up like he was trying to sort though his meager thoughts. "Just thought this place was…different, ya know,"

Miles laughed at this, shouting loudly from his place unto the fridge, “bro, it’s always been like this. Welcome to frat camp!”

A tall blonde guy wearing a holey hoodie and basketball shorts stopped at the steps of the boys cabin. He set down several cases of cheap beer and leaned against the railing, tossing a football up and down.

"Is this cabin six?" He asked. "Heard y’all was having a big party tonight."

"Yeah, bro come on in," Ethan replied, remembering him and Oz telling some of the other cabins to come around tonight.  

Word had seemed to spread on its own after that. As the sun dipped lower behind the trees, more boys drifted toward Cabin Six in small groups, some bringing snacks, others carrying speakers or folding chairs they had borrowed from somewhere. A camp wide party quickly forming, the cabin filling with conversation that spilled loudly out onto the porch and into the clearing beyond.

Watching everyone arrive, Ethan reached into his pocket and absentmindedly felt the monkey's paw. It had gone cold and when he pulled it out, all three fingers were tightly curled once more, looking like nothing more than an old, dried curiosity. He stared at it for a second before tossing it into the back of a drawer, where it disappeared beneath a pile of forgotten odds and ends. He had a rager to throw, this was frat camp after all.

If you spend enough time driving through old American towns during the summer, you start believing they're all the same. White clapboard houses with peeling paint with front porches draped in flags that barely moved in the humid air. Elderly couples rocking in wooden chairs, waving at strangers as though they'd been best friends in a former life. Everything smelled faintly of fresh-cut grass, charcoal grills, and sunscreen. These where places that just felt wholesome and safe, like stepping into a postcard.

But this was where I met her.

She wasn't hidden away in the woods brewing potions over a cauldron. She wasn't ugly nor was she frightening. If anything, she looked like the sort of woman your grandmother might invite over for lemonade. Neatly curled silver hair and a pastel cardigan despite the July heat. White sneakers that were so clean they looked brand new. She complimented my manners after I helped her carry groceries onto her porch, insisting I stay for iced tea because, in her words, "It's nice seeing a polite young man again."

I figured she was lonely and humored her. We talked for nearly an hour, and she knew pretty much everything about me by the end of that conversation. She asked where I was from, what I wanted to do with my life, whether I'd ever thought about settling down somewhere quieter. Every question sounded innocent, but looking back, I can't remember answering any of them. I only remember how comforting her voice became. Like she'd already known every answer before asking.

When I stood to leave, she disappeared inside for only a moment before returning with a small paper bag.

"My grandson never wore these," she smiled. "They'd suit you much better."

Inside was a pair of brown leather flip-flops that looked quite expensive. I tried refusing, not really my vibe. I was more the opposite of the all American boy, working towards a journalism degree and an amateur climate activist, but I try not to think of that now. Anyway, She insisted I take the shoes. When I slipped them on they fit perfectly.

I didn’t notice anything amiss as I headed towards my motel. The sandals slapped against the pavement like flip-flops normally do. They molded around my feet so completely that after a few blocks I genuinely forgot I was wearing them. It wasn't until I took them off that evening that something felt wrong.

My bare feet looked weirdly cleaner, odd since I had been in my dirty car and walked through the motel. They also seemed younger? The calluses I'd built hiking were gone and old scars had disappeared. Even my toenails somehow looked neatly trimmed and healthier than they'd been that morning. I laughed it off at the time, chalking it up to vacation doing weird things to my brain.

The dreams started that night. In them, I was standing on a long front porch overlooking a quiet suburban street. Everything was painfully clean, not a thing out of place, no weeds, no cracks in the sidewalk, the flags all fluttering in perfect rhythm despite there being no wind. Children rode bicycles on the paved roads without making a sound. And at the far end of the street, she sat watching me.

I woke before sunrise. In case you're wondering, I don't wake before sunrise, ever. But that morning lying in bed felt lazy. The room looked messy. My suitcase hadn't been unpacked properly and the shirts inside were probably wrinkled. That bothered me, like really bothered me.

So I ironed everything, then folded each shirt into perfectly even stacks, then arranged my toiletries by height. I spent nearly fifteen minutes making the motel bed before leaving, halfway through I realized I'd never cared about any of this before. Odd, well it made me feel good seeing everything in its perfect place. 

I kept wearing the sandals. The sandals were comfortable, they felt nice, reliable, and proper on my feet. In contrast, the thought of sneakers felt heavy and cheap. 

Later that afternoon I found myself wandering into clothing stores I'd never normally enter. Walking past the graphic tees and sneakers. Finding the section of neatly folded polos, Khakis, and light sweaters in the back. The sort of clothes I'd once joked only country club dads wore, in poor taste.  Every time I looked in the mirror wearing them they looked right. I felt like I'd finally dressed the way I was always supposed to.

By the third day of my vacation I noticed people treating me differently. Older women smiling at me and older men nodding approvingly. The store clerks called me "sir." Children instinctively moved aside as I walked past. It made me feel important, but I was slightly confused, I wasn't doing anything different? Was I?

Then I caught my reflection in a restaurant window and saw my hair. It wasn't my hair anymore, I usually wore it messy, long enough to fall into my eyes. Now it sat neatly combed to one side. I rushed to the restroom and soaked it under the sink. But thirty seconds later it settled back into the exact same style. What?

The changes became impossible to ignore after that. The stubble I'd spent years growing because I hated looking younger simply stopped coming back. Every morning my face looked freshly shaved despite never touching a razor. The tiny scar beside my eyebrow disappeared and the circles beneath my eyes faded. I even felt myself smiling more, no matter what. 

Then my memories began disappearing. Nothing dramatic at first, at least that I noticed, just little things. The name of my favorite band, a restaurant I used to visit every Friday, tye password to a game I'd played for years. But then came the larger things, friends' birthdays, college memories, and inside jokes. The apartment I'd lived in for three years slowly dissolved into vague impressions.

And every time one memory faded something replaced it, making caring about the spots impossible. Proper etiquette, recipes for casseroles, and the correct way to fold polo shirts. The importance of maintaining appearances, how to greet neighbors, how to stand while holding a drink, and how to introduce myself with confidence. This was knowledge I'd never learned, it all just appeared, perfectly organized and ready to use.

I returned to her house on the fifth day because I couldn't stop thinking about her. Part of me wanted answers, but another unspoken part wanted approval. She opened the door before I knocked.

"I was wondering when you'd come home."

Home, this wasn’t my home, the phrasing should have terrified me. Instead it filled me with strange warmth. She invited me inside, the house smelling like fresh pie and furniture polish. Every room looked frozen in time with family photographs covering every wall. 

But looking closer, they weren’t family photos, no, they were dozens of young men. The photos spanned every decade, from the seventies to now. All of the clean cut young men proudly standing next to her, smiling, different faces but the same type of man. Over and over and over again, some even looked vaguely familiar.

She noticed me looking at them and smiled wildly. 

"You thought witches turned people into monsters," she said as she adjusted the collar of my shirt, her fingers cold on my thicker neck. 

"So many stories get it backwards.The clever ones don't make beasts, they make gentlemen. So much easier to keep." Her hand rested against my cheek.

The next couple days passed by in a blur, I could barely remember why I'd been afraid. Every time panic surfaced it faded beneath a comforting certainty that everything was finally in order.

I spent the afternoon repainting her porch railing. I don't know how to paint, yet somehow when I finished, it was painted perfectly. The neighbors waved and they all knew my name. At least the new one, even though I couldn't  remember the old one anymore. She doesn't call me that, so no one does.

One morning I found an old driver's license in my wallet. The picture wasn’t mine, The boy staring back had messy hair, dark circles, and a crooked smile. He looked uncertain and aimless, I knew that, though I’m not sure how. I kept staring at him for several minutes, trying desperately to remember who he was. Eventually I decided he must have been someone I'd known years ago. I threw the license away, It felt dishonest keeping someone else's identification.

My sandals have become part of me now, my favorite part to be exact. I don't remember my first day wearing them anymore, I don't remember owning other shoes. I contemplated this on the porch, sipping on a glass of sweet tea, my new sweater draped over my shoulders. I watched the neighborhood with quiet satisfaction, there’s always young travelers passing by in the summer. Some stop to ask for directions, Some compliment the flowers, and Some help carry groceries. When they do stop, Mistress smiles, then asks me to fetch the extra pair of sandals from the hall closet. They're always the right size and they always fit perfectly. Every time I watch someone slip them on l chuckle inside, they’ll be surprised to learn not all witches are green, some are red, white and blue. 

Ever since we got to the beach, my son's been acting different…

At first I convinced myself it was just vacation excitement. Tyler had spent the entire six-hour drive curled up in the passenger seat with a dense fantasy novel balanced on his knees, occasionally interrupting his reading to point out historical facts about the towns we passed through. That was my son, or what he used to be like, bookish, quiet, endlessly curious, and so painfully shy that ordering his own food at restaurants still made him nervous. I was grateful for a son who loved to spend time with his mom, in just wished he’d spent more time with kids his age. A week by the ocean seemed like exactly what we needed before school started again.

Our rental overlooked a long stretch of white sand, and Tyler had barely carried his suitcase inside before announcing he was going down to the beach. That alone wasn't strange, but he was gone for nearly three hours. I eventually wandered down to look for him, expecting to find him collecting shells or sitting alone with a book.

Instead, he was in the midst of people.Three college-aged guys were throwing a football back and forth while Tyler laughed with them comfortably. I stood there for a moment, shocked, convinced I'd somehow mistaken another teenager for my son, until he caught the football one-handed and flashed me a grin.

"There you are, Mom!" He jogged over, spinning the football effortlessly on one finger.

"I didn't know you played football," I said.

He looked nervous for a second, but flashed a casual smile. "I don't really play. Just messed around once or twice?"

That answer was wrong. Tyler had never been interested in sports. When he'd been twelve, he'd hidden in the bathroom during gym class to avoid playing flag football. He'd once explained the complete rules of a fictional wizard duel to me over dinner but he didn’t know how many points a touchdown was worth.

 Now he tossed the football back with a perfect spiral before returning to the game without another thought. I watched him for several confused minutes before heading back to the house, telling myself this was a good thing.

The next morning surprised me even more, Tyler wandered into the kitchen shirtless, rubbing sleep from his eyes while asking if we had any eggs. I was so shocked, I nearly dropped the coffee pot.

He'd always been thin, not unhealthy, just lanky and thin in the way teenagers often are before they fill out. Overnight, though, his frame seemed to have changed. His shoulders looked wider, his chest firmer, and faint definition outlined his arms and stomach. It wasn't as though he'd become unrecognizable, but it was still odd, like months of puberty had hit in a day. My son didn’t look like someone who spent every afternoon gaming online, but an active youth who regularly swam and played beach volleyball 

"You've been working out?" I asked.

He glanced down at himself, looking genuinely puzzled. "I mean... not really."

"You look different."

He laughed. "Probably just the lighting."

Then he opened the refrigerator, grabbed half the leftovers from dinner, and started eating directly over the sink. Tyler usually complained if two foods on his plate touched, maybe it was just puberty.

But over the next few days, the little changes kept piling up. His glasses disappeared sometime after our second morning and when I asked where they'd gone, he frowned at me in confusion.

"What glasses?"

"The ones you've worn since second grade."

He blinked a few times before laughing. "Oh. Those. I guess I don't really need them anymore."

"You don't need prescription lenses anymore?"

"I can see fine."

His personality shifted just as quickly. The shy teenager who once rehearsed conversations before speaking to strangers now struck up conversations with anyone who happened to walk by. He greeted surfers like old friends, joined pickup volleyball games without being invited, and somehow knew everyone's name within hours of meeting them, it was like he was a completely different kid.

Even the way he spoke had changed, everything was "awesome.", everything was "sick.”, and everyone was "bro.", even me. Over dinner, he asked to rent paddleboards,  as opposed to visiting the local bookstore. When I suggested spending an afternoon at the aquarium, he gave me an amused look.

"Mom, fish are way cooler when they're actually in the ocean." He sounded so sure of that that I almost laughed. But then I remembered Tyler had once cried during a nature documentary when a shark ate a seal.

The more I noticed these things, the more I felt a crippling sense of unease. Sure it could be puberty, but nothing I’d ever read in preparation for this had mentioned a total 180 in personality and almost instantaneous growth. The more time went on, the more a strange terrifying thought began to emerge, this wasn’t my son.

But I tried to brush that thought away, but something even more horrifying was what was starting to happen to my memories. As if my own mind was trying to convince me he'd always been this way.

 I'd remember him winning the middle school science fair. Then, moments later, I'd hesitate, Hadn't he won the regional surfing competition that same year? That couldn't be right, but could it?

The memories overlapped like photographs left in the sun too long, each version fading into the other until I couldn't tell which one had come first. By the fifth day of our vacation, I found myself staring at my son from across the beach, trying desperately to remember what he'd looked like before we arrived. 

That evening I tried to prove it to myself, prove it before I forgot what I needed to prove. 

After Tyler had gone out to meet friends for a bonfire, I sat at the kitchen table with my phone and began scrolling through old photos. I remembered birthdays spent at museums, afternoons building model castles out of cardboard, Halloween costumes stitched together to match whatever fantasy series he was obsessed with that year. There should have been hundreds of pictures.

Instead, I found beach after beach, Tyler surfing at ten, smiling with a sun-bleached group of friends at twelve. I found a photo of him standing proudly beside a fishing boat at fourteen, his arm slung around my shoulders while we both laughed into the camera.

I frowned. I couldn’t remember the last time we had stepped foot on a dock, much less an actual boat. I opened another picture, but it was the same boat, just a slightly different angle. A cold knot settled in my stomach as I zoomed in on my own face. My hair looked shorter than I remembered wearing it. My skin was deeply tanned, and there were laugh lines around my eyes that hadn't been there a week ago. The timestamp insisted the photo had been taken three years earlier, but I had no recollection of that day. 

That night, I dreamed I stood ankle-deep in moonlit water while the tide rolled gently around my feet. Pale figures drifted just beyond the waves, their faces hidden beneath shimmering reflections. I tried to ask who they were, but seawater filled my mouth instead of words. It tasted warm, and bitter and when I woke, my pillow smelled faintly of salt and the taste was still in my mouth. 

I couldn’t ignore changes after that, I found myself waking earlier every morning, eager to get outside before the crowds reached the beach. Sitting indoors suddenly felt unbearable. Even my body felt different, the walk to the beach no longer left me winded. Carrying coolers and folding chairs seemed effortless. My shoulders ached with the dull soreness that followed long days of swimming, despite the fact that I couldn't remember going into the water for more than a few minutes.

When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I couldn't decide whether my reflection had actually changed or whether I was imagining it. My face looked wider and there was more gray in my hair than I remembered, but somehow it suited me.

But I didn't realize the extent of my own changes until Tyler commented.

"You've gotta stop wearing those shoes," he laughed one afternoon. "Come on, Dad. Bare feet are way better."

One of the words stuck out to me, and I stopped walking.

"What did you call me?"

He looked genuinely confused. "...Dad?"

"I'm your mother." 

"Good one."He laughed, assuming I was joking. Then he jogged ahead toward the volleyball nets before I could say another word.

 I stood frozen in the sand, and it all hit me in a rush. I looked down and saw myself as if for the first time. 

Broad feet buried in the sand, tanned and roughened by years of walking barefoot over hot beaches. The toenails were clipped short and unpolished, the skin across the heels thick with calluses that hadn't come overnight.

My legs were huge. Powerful calves flexed as I shifted my weight, corded with lean muscle. My thighs stretched the faded board shorts I had been wearing all week, massive and athletic from countless mornings paddling through surf and afternoons chasing waves. I had a solid, capable frame that looked like it had been built by years of intense training and testosterone.

"No..." my deep voice coming out warm and easy. I stumbled toward the nearest restroom by the parking lot, nearly tripping as unfamiliar muscles carried me forward with an effortless confidence that felt completely alien. Looking in the mirror I saw a stranger staring back.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties, maybe a little older. Tall and broad enough that he nearly filled the narrow mirror. Thick, dark curls sat in loose disarray, still damp with seawater despite the fact that I couldn't remember swimming today.

His face was handsome in an uncomplicated sort of way. Square jaw hidden beneath a neatly kept mustache and short beard. Sun-darkened skin that spoke of years spent outdoors instead in the fluorescent lights of an office. Laugh lines rested comfortably around bright eyes that had spent a lifetime squinting into reflected sunlight.

His shoulders seemed impossibly wide. Rounded deltoids flowed into thick, muscular arms that looked strong without seeming sculpted. They were the sort of muscles earned by hauling surfboards, carrying coolers, throwing footballs with neighborhood kids, and lifting children onto broad shoulders to watch fireworks over the water.

One arm disappeared beneath an intricate sleeve tattoo that wrapped from shoulder almost to wrist. Dark ink curled around every muscle, waves, geometric patterns, sea life, roman numerals crossed part of my forearm. A weathered sports watch rested comfortably against my wrist, its band permanently faded by years of sun and salt.

My chest rose and fell beneath a scattering of dark hair. Not bodybuilder enormous, but thick with practical strength. Broad pectorals softened just enough to make me look approachable rather than intimidating. A dark dusting of hair started at my chest and went down lower still. Covering a firm stomach that showed the faint outline of abs beneath healthy layers earned from beach cookouts. 

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, a smile that came far too naturally. I splashed water on my face. When I looked back up, the panic in my expression already seemed ridiculous.

Why was I freaking out, I'd always looked like this. My gaze drifted over my tattoos. I remembered getting the first one after Tyler was born, a sea turtle near my shoulder. The memory was so vivid, the buzzing of the tattoo gun, the smell of antiseptic and little Tyler asleep in his stroller while the artist worked.

Outside, I heard my son shouting. "Dad! You coming or what?"

I stepped outside into the sunlight, catching the volleyball Tylor tossed me with one hand.

Tyler grinned. "Nice one, old man"

I looked at my son, his wind swept curls the same dark color as mine, His shoulders broad over his well maintained body.  He balanced and stood outstretched like a sunbathing golden retriever, gripping a football with his right hand. We always came out in the evenings to throw a ball back and forth. A tradition since I'd taught him how to throw at 5.

I remembered a five-year-old Tyler, laughing while I steadied his tiny board. I remembered his first successful ride, not that day, but a few weeks later. He used to throw a fit every time he had to school, gasp, 10 minutes away from the beach. He'd much rather spend a day in the water than inside with a book.

I looked at my son, who was gesturing impatiently. I must have missed him saying something. "Sorry. Guess I zoned out."

He grinned and shook his head, "Race you to the water?"

"You're on."

You’ve heard of “Florida man” the crazy internet phenomenon, now picture it years younger, a kid not fully developed, well that’s how you get the “Florida boy.”

The apocalypse was here, and no one had been expecting that this was the way the world went down. Everything was normal, and then, all the sudden, people began to change across the globe. At first just a few, mostly in the southern US, then more and more infected people were reported. 

At first it seemed to be easily contained, a cure was on the way. But this virus was more dangerous than anyone could comprehend. People who were infected didn’t become ill or die, Instead they transformed. Not into zombies or vampires or anything crazy like that. Well, it was as if the unhinged energy of “Florida Man” was concentrated into teenage boys. It turned them into “Florida Boys”

The virus showed up in many forms, but every infected individual followed the same blueprint. One Florida boy would be a mulleted jockish type and another a lanky fisherman who hadn’t fully developed yet. But every single one, no matter what age or gender pre-virus, would take the form of an adolescent (aged 16 - 22) male of the same breed, with lanky youthful builds, a deep tan from years of spending time outdoors, and a faint musk of sweat, hornyness, and swamp. Old men were regressed back to their youth and women found their gender switched, totally and biologically. Even young guys who lived in Florida soon found themselves shooting off fireworks at all hours and running barefoot though the swap, their minds quickly falling to the virus. 

Of course, the most dangerous thing about the virus was the mental changes. Their minds changed and regressed to forget anything but the slowly evolving world. Even the strongest minds couldn’t resist the change, losing their past identity in a few days. Their intelligence would quickly drop down, hovering near the line of cognitive incompetence.  Most would follow similar thought patterns, zero impulse control, a dislike of any shoes unless they were crocs, and a monster energy drink addiction. Although a few differences would occur, for instance, liking white monsters to lime green. 

Nobody had a name for what happened, but "the end of the world" came close. It wasn't the disaster anyone had spent decades warning about. No flesh eating monsters stalked the streets, and no catastrophic event killed everyone. Reality had chosen something far stranger than anyone could have imagined.

The extent of the change was just people, the character of the whole world was transforming. What started in the lower USA has slowly spread outwards like a ripple. The global temperature is now a constant 90 degrees fahrenheit, the concept of seasons a thing of the past. Looking out from any place in the world you would see a flat marshy landscape, the Everglades stretched across millions of miles. Oak and evergreen trees were replaced with palm trees and mangroves; snakes and iguanas crawling through the roots, mosquitos breeding everywhere. The world infrastructure had automatically adjusted, basements filling in, canals snaking through every town, air conditioning’s hanging below every window. The world was becoming Florida, just one massive Florida.

But as the Floridaifacation spread more and more, the more people began to change, 15% becomes 30% becomes 75%. The Florida boys started to actively look for people, hunting them down, sometimes with actual guns and muddy camo. But more frequently the changes were triggered by seemingly mundane things, a Four Loko, swamp mud, a chain from a gas station, even close proximity to the growing worldwide Florida wave. No place or thing was truly safe, now that the world was almost completely transformed. Once a community was totally transformed, the new normal set in. The boys started to act like an actual society, almost anyway. They worked: alligator wrestling and lifeguarding. They ate mostly fresh fish and slightly overripe fruit. Engaged in “romantic” acts, though it was mostly just crude occasional sex. Sure it wasn't exactly a super productive civilization but it was a lot more fun. 

Still, the world might be better off for it, there had been no cases of a Florida boy falling ill or dying, even after falling twenty stories into a hotel pool. The closest thing to violence had been when a group a boys burned down the capital as, “a last fuck ya ta the gov’ment” anyone inside emerging unharmed except for smoking mullets and oversized suits. Everyone seemed to get along well aside from the occasional dispute settled in a wrestling match or ATV race.

But those who fought, fought hard, relocating every time the swamp and the heat drew near. But soon every landmass would be covered in Spanish moss and muggy water, a Waffle House on every corner and the survivors clock was slowly ticking down.

————————————

Brad walked outside, the sudden change in temperature hitting him like a truck, it was twenty degrees warmer than yesterday. After shedding his thick coat, he looked at the world around him. He had heard of the growing “Florida” virus and had noticed the changes already affecting his area. Somehow it was 60 degrees in northern Canada, an impossibility in itself, then came the palm trees and growing quantities of sitting water. The more days passed in the forefront of the wave,the more people I saw who were what I guessed were “Florida boys”, young men, ones who wore faded jorts and sped on dirt bikes through retirement communities.

Sitting down on the front steps of his porch, he looked at the newly flooded ditch near his house. He wished he could talk to someone about this…weirdness, most specifically I wished he could talk to her. He had dated her for over three year, three years now down the toilet. He hadn’t really believed all the “Florida apocalypse” nonsense, until she came home one night as he. My formally petite, brunette girlfriend was now a tall lanky boy in his late teens, blonde hair under a baseball cap, referring to himself as Gizzmo. As he sat wallowing he noticed a brand new fishing pole leaned against the wooden railing, despite the voice in his head telling him no, he reached out to grab it.

Looking at the pole, he remembered the day Gizzmo moved out, he took so much stuff with him, stuff he definitely hadn’t owned before. Cases of beer and monster, a skateboard, an honest to god gallon bucket full of stinky flip flops, and a fishing pole identical to the one I hold now. Brad stretched his long legs out over the mossy steps. He wished he at least was the one who got dumped, but the reason he had had to make Gizzmo move out was (a) he didn’t want to get infected and (b) Gizzmo tried to make a move on me as soon as he walked in the house, claiming Brad “had potential”.

Brad tried to get too emotional thinking about it, if this was the end of the world his relationship would soon be the least of his worries. But the idea that his loving girlfriend was gone, swapped with a chaos gremlin that had no recollection of being anything else was terrifying. Brad scratched his arm, the morning light reflecting off the dusting of light body hair. Gizzmo had just forgotten everything, their whole lives destroyed in one night. The lanky youth had laughed and told Brad he’d see him again soon, something they’d always parted with when they dated. 

But wasn’t that typical, soon could mean tomorrow or in a few weeks, the boys didn’t really keep track of time too much. He’d probably see Gizzmo in a few days or so. But dating? Gizzmo didn’t date, the occasional hook up sure, committed relationships, no. He was way too busy trekking though the swamp or doing some stupid cool stunt. Adjusting the cold chain on his chest, he thought back to to to… And he lost his train of thought, he was thinking of dating…?

Then again, he didn't date either, he was was to fucking hot to be held down by one dude. Well obviously not a dude, he wasn’t gay. Just cause he thought guys were pretty hot didn’t make him gay, besides labels are stupid anyway. He looked at the pole in his hand, he really needed to go fishing, maybe with Gizzmo. Wait, why would he do that, wouldn’t that be awkward, to go fishing with an ex. But this was Gizzmo we were talking about, they were best bros after all!! 

Sure they had hooked up once or twice, but it never mattered much, just bros being bros. Brad blinked his eyes and lifted off his hat, scratching the thick blond hair beneath. He actually was going to hang out with Gizzmo at the docks later today. The two best friends had a running competition to catch the biggest fish, and the loser had to streak in front of the cop’rs station. Win win, if you asked Brad, those losers were a pain in the ass. wouldn’t be long till they were gonna join in on the fun though. He couldn’t wait to see their faces.

Stripping off his annoying t-shirt, Brad grabbed his fishing pole and adjusted his shorts, making sure to put his massive package on full display. Heading down to the water he saw Gizzmo waiting for him, bare feet slightly wet on the wooden dock. He waved and Brad waved back, both excited to hang out.

“Yo, ya good?” He asked, his voice still had puberty cracks in it. “Haven’t seen ya all day, I’ve been waitin' f’r, like, ten minutes.”

B-Dwag playfully hit his best friend, both laughing like the idiots they were. Ready for a day of fishing and fucking around. 

Adam and Tyler looked out at the endless expanse of water, sparkling in the midday sun. Friends since childhood, the now forty year old men still kept in touch on a regular basis, really they were each other's only constant. Once the news had broken that the Florida virus would cover the surface of the plant in an estimated two months, the two friends had started to make plans. The idea of a bunker was quickly shot down and then Adam had the idea of a sailboat. Once the first palm tree spread in their small New England town they had packed enough gas and canned food to last at least a year and set off for the open sea. Now, after weeks, they were sick of beans and spam and having read every packed novel twice. 

“Tyler, how long is this going to last,” Adam began. We had both been listless for the past three days and Adam especially had begun to realize the hopelessness of the situation. 

“The world's doomed," he went on, as his friend struggled to open a can of baked beans with his old sunburnt hands, “there’s probably no one left, I’d rather be a husk of a dumbass than die out here.”

“Hey, it's gonna be okay,” Tyler tried, for the tenth time in three hours. Looking at my friend a worn Sci-fi novel on his chubby bare stomach.

“But-”

“Stop,” I said before he could continue his endless stream of hopeless thoughts. “Look, we have enough food to last a few more weeks, we will land somewhere before we run out. By that time scientists will have found a cure and the world will be back to normal.” I said in a voice getting more and more animated as I went on, trying to convince him. 

“Maybe you're right, l- Tyler…this is kinda fun, isn’t it!” Adam said, making Tyler do a double take at the sudden tonal shift of his boat mate.

“Adunm,” Tyler said, not noticing his slip of the tongue, “that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, dude” he said, stirring the beans. Weird, he hadn’t said dude since middle school?

“But it's so dull out here,” Adam went on, “Let’s land somewhere, at least we could get some better food.” He gestured to the beans.

“But…” Tyler trailed off looking down at the disgusting goop in the pot, he tried to keep stirring but it felt like my body wasn’t responding. He was a prisoner in his own body. He tried again, but watched as his hand grabbed the pot handle and dumped them into the sea. “We’re not supposed to go on land, why is that?”

“Like a ‘virus’”

“Yes, that right, the virus!” Tyler said it all came back to him in a flash. Why had he forgotten? what was happening! Had the worst happened, where they infected! How was that possible, they were out at sea? He looked in horror at his friend, only then registering the fading frown lines and growing tan. No, he had so much left, he didn’t want to forget the last 43 years of his life. 

“Virus!” Adam shouted fearfully, looking wildly at the beans floating in the water and his own youthful skin, “Fuck, how do we stop this this?”

“I was trying to…” Tyler said, seeing a faint green landmass on the horizon he stopped. “Over there!”

Lil’ Tyler, what are you talking about?”

I couldn’t remember what I’d been thinking about before I saw land, it must not have been that important then. More importantly, land!

“Wait,” Adam mused, looking in the direction I was fixated on, “LAND!”.

“I know!” Tyler replied excitedly. That was why they were so pumped. Why wouldn’t we want to head to shore, but we weren’t for some reason, why? It’s not like we would be out here forever? With the sun beating down, the afternoon still promised loads of enjoyable activities, it was so hard to think.

“Let's head in, brah.” Gunner said, shaking me out of my daze, “I can’t believe we didn’t catch anythin’ taday.”

“Ok, bro, Im so fuckin bored anyway. Waffle House and beer when we get back?” Lil’ Ty laughed.

“Say less!” he shouted back over the engine's roar.

As he turned the boat towards the beach, lil’ Ty suddenly felt the sun on his bare shoulders. He rubbed his tan abdomen, feeling the six pack of chiseled abs beneath his calloused hands. His hand heading lower, down into his white shorts. 

“Yo, man…earth to Lil Ty Guy,” Gunner barked, sick of my constant black outs. “Dude, stop feeln’ ya’self up, you haven’t even had y’r weed yet.” Making the blonde boy laugh, he was usually high. But he had made an exception this morning for…reasons? Whatever, he’d grab some from his stash as soon as they docked.

“BRO!” Gunner tried again, “Look at me, ya best friend, ‘member! I swear I’ll have ta suck you off ta get ya attention!”

“Would ya!” Lil Ty said with baby gator eyes.

Gun rolls his eyes and smiles, “Sure dude, I’ll help a brah out.” Climbing over the seats, but in trying to hide his eagerness he trips over the seat, making both boys burst out laughing. 

“Bro” 

“Bro”

“Hey, there’s one left! I really need this,” George said with a sigh, pulling the beer can from the back of the fridge. It had been a long few days for the Colorado born man, well what used to be Colorado, now it was just more Florida. At first it was just a slight temperature increase, but now the mountains were flat plains of muggy ground and the waterways were infested with alligators. But George himself had stayed home since his former boss has spammed the work schedule with alligator emojis and fishing trips. George hadn’t changed though, at this point he believed he was immune or at least smart enough not to leave his home. 

Bones creaking as if sat on his armchair, George cracked open the can. The smell of cheap beer reminded him of the old days, ones of day drinking and sports pubs. He hadn’t had a beer in… well a while, so he was excited to relax and forget the state of the world for a while. He'd probably fall asleep right here, in his loose fitting pajamas, on his old creaking armchair. 

The first sip hit him, the same flavor as he remembered coating his mouth. He was kinda surprised that it wasn’t flat, that can had been shoved in the back of the fridge for god knows how long. 

The alcohol burned slightly as it went down, making him grimace slightly and spill a bit of liquid unto himself. A very deep tan color began to grow where the drops of beer landed, spreading over his whole body. So lost in taste, he didn’t even notice his body hair slowly thicken, turning a dark blonde. He shifts getting more comfortable on the hard edge of the chair, balancing the can all the while in his hand. Any worries quickly dissipated, the beer making him feel way more relaxed and carefree. 

George took a quick breath, only taking a quick, few second break from his drinking. It was so addictive, he couldn’t focus on much else, why was he sitting here alone again? Whatever he thought, not bothering to worry about it, the flavor was too good. As the alcohol spread so did the changes, his old tired body started to inflate with young muscle, becoming increasingly larger every second. Under his pajamas his muscles shifted and tightened as he began the shift from elderly man to jockish teen. His leg bulged with thick thighs and meaty calves, hard biceps making his sleeve tighten, and unseen under his shirt, chiseled abs, all of it made him look like a younger version of himself. Far more attractive than he did when he was actually that young, he could hook up with whatever chick he wanted now.

But, like you're only young once, and he wasn’t young, was he? Sure he was…60? No, 48…but that didn’t sound right. No, he was 18 not 48…right? Yes, imagine being that old, he would probably be fat and wrinkled. George thought to himself, almost two-thirds of the way through his beer. And speaking of hooking up, just the thought of hotties made him start to grope his poach through his red shorts. His dick grew far larger than before, reaching a solid 7 inches. On the other side his ass expands, making him raise up slightly in height.  He’d love something up his perky bubble butt right about now though. 

George began to chug down the rest of the beer, as thick dark blonde curls grew out of his bald scalp. Chicks! Psh, he’d never hook up with a girl! Girls have cooties anyway, just bros being bros. Bros…he thought, zoning out, thinking of hunky surfers and fishermen making him go hard. His face grew out, broader and more jock-like. He shifted his massive feet on the concrete floor, sliding them into worn, crusty sandals, enhancing the funky smell that had begun to emit from then. He finished his beer, stomping the can beneath his massive feet, and grabbed another.

Cracking it open and sucking it dry, he looked around at the musty, cramped room, a second wash of beer washing down his throat, effectively making his voice deeper. He shifted on his chair, built from cases of beer and monster, feeling his cracked phone buzz. Still drinking, Reggie checked his messages and saw one of the many group chats blowing up. He had to go! His bros were meeting up to party in the old high school stadium turned mud pit. He was bringing the beer, obviously! That’s why he had all these drinks. He starched his thick hair as he realized he didn’t know how he was going to transport all this in his…Mazda? 

“Dude,” Reggie chuckled, “got ta load up all dis up in da truck.” He finished his latest beer, then grabbed another one, not to drink but to shotgun. After he would head out, he couldn’t wait to party with his bros!

You should’ve known the milk you received from the dorm down the block. You assumed it would change you to be more muscular but all it done is make you start to lactate. Not to mention the massive MOOd change you’ve been experiencing. You used to love going to the gym and hanging out with friends at the McDonald’s afterwords yet now you feel disgusting even being near either of them.

You hate how heavy your starting to feel but your struggling to MOOve around the house with how low your emery has been, you haven’t found anything you felt like eating. The dork has stopped by a few times to check on you but MOOst the time he’s here you don’t even realize it. A few minutes ago he dropped of a salad for you telling you it would improve your MOOd.

And shockingly it was the best salad you’d ever eaten and you couldn’t help but want more. You felt your energy come back as you ate more and more till it had completely disappeared into your growing stomach. You need more immediately and find yourself slowly but surely walking towards the dorks house where he greets you with another tub of milk which you graciously accept and slurp down every last drop. The dork leads you to a secluded room in the back of his house.

He latched you up to some fun looking wires and tubes and told you to embrace for the pleasure that was about to come. Immediately you feel a pulsing sensation on your pecs as you start to leak millimeters of milk. The dork starts harvesting the continents of his machine and feeding more and more of your own milk into you. The more and more you drink the bigger you grow and the more milk you produce. What started as millimeters of milk turns into liters in just mere minutes and soon to be gallons of milk.

Every pulse drains more and more out of you, he connects a third pipe to your cock and starts to extract even more of your body’s fluids. You try and express to him the pleasure you’re going through but are only able to Moo at him. Each pulse draining your IQ turning you into a dumbed down muscle cow. Each pulse your humanity is drained and replaced more and more with a simplistic lifestyle. You find yourself unable to control parts of your body and soon you find yourself unable to process what’s happening or what the dorks saying.

At this point you were just his unlucky test cow and he’d used you to create the perfect formula. He’d soon have a heard of dumb cowboys and thanks to your milk you’d be the creator of them all.

So you want to be a muscular Indian twink with an affordable lifestyle? Well I can try my best but Twink and Muscular contradict each other so let’s see where you end ups. First thing we’re changing is your view on the world. No longer do you work for others no. Others now work for you, you’re now a 28 year old manager at a high end catering business. You spend your days planning events and sending out others to do the hard work for you whilst you sit in your office doing whatever you feel like. Your memories will soon follow as you’ll remember from a young age enjoying eating healthy and sticking to a diet that allowed you to build plenty of muscle.

You now sit in the office working out from 10 to 5 doing only an hour of work when you arrive as why should you have to do more than that. You went to college and graduated top of your class you deserve a break from doing all the hard work. You’ve slimmed down since your college days being a lean twink with growing muscle, you love to show off your growing build all over social media as the attention boost your ego tremendously. You sit there posting pictures of you in skimpy clothing or just your underwear baiting men into complementing you knowing deep down your better than they’ll ever be.

As more and more days of your new lifestyle go by your no longer a twink and slowly start to gain mass as you can’t help but indulge yourself with some of the company food. You stick to your healthy diet eating tons of protein and dairy. You go from a 170 pound twink to a 220 pound pure muscle beast in just 2 months. And man does its show. Your muscles bulge out of every shirt you own and you refuse to put anything on to cover your physique. You’re proud of it and wear the tightest pair of underwear you have to show off everything. You choose not to worry about what others think of you cause deep down you truly believe they’ll never amount to anything of your stature. You let out loud protein farts, massive smelly burps and refuse to wear deodorant. Your a massive radiating aura of musk but you don’t mind cause it draws in the lady’s.

This morning I was a skinny twink.

Soft face, lean hairless body, no real muscle. I was the kind of guy who got called pretty more than anything else. I lived alone, fucked a different man every night, and never thought my life was about to get completely rewritten.

It was my friend Sarah’s fault.

She’d always joked about how she wished for a proper husband. Someone strong and masculine. Someone who looked like he could handle life. As we were chatting she said it out loud, “I just wish you could be my perfect husband"

The change hit me without warning.

A deep heat flooded my body while, my shoulders cracked and broadened, filling out into a thick, powerful frame. My chest surged forward into heavy, solid pecs as dark ink burned itself across my neck, chest, and hands, tattoos forming. A full beard pushed out across my sharpening jaw. My hair shortened into a sharp fade, as muscle packed onto my arms, back, and legs until I looked like I’d spent years doing hard physical work.

By the time I looked in the mirror I was gone.

In my place stood a heavily tattooed, bearded, muscular man in a high-vis jacket. I was the exact kind of man Sarah had always described when she talked about the husband she wanted.

And then reality around me rewrote itself to match my new body.

New memories settled in like they’d always been there. A wedding day, the guys on the site I now work on as my groomsmen. Sarah’s smile. Me fucking Sarah senseless. The excitement I felt finding out she was pregnant. The weight of a small child in my arms. A house that wasn’t the small flat I used to live in. Early mornings, work sites, the feeling of coming home to my family. My thoughts changed as well, I wasn't gay anymore, I was a total boobs man now. The though of watching Drag Race now bored me, I would much rather watch football with a beer in hand.

I stared at my reflection, running my hands through my thick beard, taking in my neck tattoos and how my shoulders fill out the dirty high-vis.

This morning I had been a skinny twink. But no more, now I was Sarah’s husband. Now I had a kid. The strangest part was how right it already felt. I lifted my phone, took the mirror selfie, and exhaled slowly. I should be mad, but i'm not, this feels right.

Hey everyone here is 8/31 caption - This one is three little captions based around the prompt. I have done this for a few of the other word prompts as well. Here are the links to the small captions on my blog -

Song 1

Song 2

Song 3

“Baby where are you? I’m horny as hell!” My boyfriend-possessed bro video calls me as I finished all my college assignments.

“Hold on okay? I’m gonna be back in 5 minutes. Why don’t you be a good boy and open your legs wide, ready for me hehe.”

—-

Trey and I have been in a relationship for years since college and it was love at first sight. However, my brother wasn’t accepting of our relationship.

My brother, Jason and I have been alone together since our parents died in a car accident and he cut ties with me when our relationship became public.

—

One day, I stumbled upon a forbidden grimoire in the campus library and read its contents. One that caught my eye was that of astral projecting into a person’s body.

A little secret both of us have is that we have a fetish of reading stories about people getting possessed so this grimoire was like an answer to all our desires.

I took the grimoire home with me and showed it to Trey. “Hey, why don’t we try it?! Hehe…”

“It’s like you’ve read my mind hehe… and I know just the one we can possess hehehe..” And we nodded in agreement without saying who it is.

—

When we snuck into our old house, Jason was doing some work on his computer wearing his glasses. Not gonna lie, him wearing tight pants and shirt and added with glasses gave me a hard on, cause I forgot how fucking hot he is!

We immediately took a handkerchief that has crushed sleeping pills in it and covered his mouth and nose with it.

“W-What the- mmrgh!” Jason struggled in vain as the dose we put was a big one but not enough to kill jim and he collapsed onto the floor.

We then pulled his unconscious body into the bed and opened all of his clothes. We also made sure to put on him the sexiest underwear we can find so that we can have some fun later.

Then, holding the grimoire in his hand, Trey started reciting the astral projection spell and became a spectral form. “Holy shit! It worked!”

Trey then wasted no time flying into Jason’s mouth, but the invasion caused Jason to wake up. “W-wha- mmphh!” Was all Jason could strugglingly muster as he tried to pull the invisible force entering his mouth.

The moment he laid eyes on me, he screamed, “W-what the fuck did you do to—“ were his last words before he suddenly convulsed violently on the bed.

—

Trey’s POV (possession moment)

The moment I went into his body, I was able to quickly gain control of his legs, merging them with mine.

I can feel him struggling to fight me, but the moment I gained control of his hands, I knew the one thing that could make him easier to possess, which is to jack my new dick off.

Thanks to watching all the videos and reading the stories I found, I got that idea so I decided to do it. The moment I started jacking my new dick off, Jason moaned out loud.

“P-please… I’m sorry…”

“I don’t give a shit what you say… your brother and I will be having a hot life of sex and fantasies in YOUR body hehehe… so FUCK OFF!” Then our chests and heads merged into one.

—

My POV

Watching my brother getting possessed by my boyfriend was hot, especially the moment the convulsions gave him an erection and my penis became a Stonehenge.

Then, a few moments later, Trey, now Jason, woke up and slid off the bed and raised his new biceps. “Like how I look? Hehehe…”

“Damn, babe! Nice body you got there…” I then pinched his new nipples, causing him to moan. He then takes out a lingerie that we also bought and puts it on.

“Wanna have sex with your brother’s hot body baby?” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed me onto the bed and I moaned as bit my nipples and gave me the best fucking in my life.

—

Since that day, Trey, now Jason, had quit his job and all we do now is fucking. He then began a new career as an OnlyFans creator.

He would post videos of himself jerking off and also sometimes I’d be in them, but with a mask as he dominates me in a BDSM roleplay and we’ve gotten millions of fans.

Sure, I get all the boring paperwork, all the terrible shifts, and somehow every job nobody else wants. But this time it landed me a pretty unusual opportunity.

For the past few months, there’ve been reports of suspicious activity surrounding a fraternity on campus. A few disappearances. Rumors about a new designer drug making its way through the student population. Nothing concrete, but enough to get my lieutenant interested.

So naturally, someone in the department watched way too many undercover cop movies and decided the best solution was to send me in.

Apparently I still look young enough to pass for a college student.

Lucky me.

I’ve been undercover for almost three weeks now, and honestly? I’m starting to think my lieutenant got it completely wrong.

These guys don’t seem like criminals.

They’re loud. They’re immature. They’re obsessed with parties, the gym, and finding excuses to put their hands on literally anyone willing to tolerate them for more than five seconds.

Meanwhile I’m over here trying to remember I’m a police officer and not lose sight of why I came.

But being reckless, horny, and terminally allergic to responsibility doesn’t automatically make someone a criminal.

So far I’ve found nothing.

No drugs.

No trafficking.

No evidence connecting them to any disappearances.

Nothing.

I’m about ready to file my report and tell my lieutenant this whole thing was a waste of department resources.

Still…

Tomorrow night the fraternity is throwing one of their biggest parties of the semester.

Before I close the book on this investigation, I’m going to take one last look around the house while everyone is distracted.

Just to be thorough.

Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

After all, it would be pretty embarrassing to tell my lieutenant he was wrong…

…and then discover he was right.

I remember the day I joined the force. Dad was a cop. My older brothers were cops. But earning that badge mattered more. Academy, field training, endless exams... it took years. So when I finally pinned that shield to my chest, I thought people would finally see me as an officer. Instead I got:

"Damn, kid, just get outta middle school?"

"You ever think about growin' a beard? If you can..."

"You're twenty-seven? No way."

It never stopped. But it did come in handy for my assignment. Lieutenant James had slid a stack of files across his desk.

"Missing persons. Every one of 'em has ties to the same fraternity." Dr. Richard Peters. Christopher Saint. Paul Monroe. Different backgrounds, same house, then they vanished. "We think there's a new designer drug involved," the lieutenant said. "Brothers keep talking about being addicted, needing more, not being able to leave."

"So you want me undercover."

"You still pass for a student. Don't disappoint me."

So Officer Andrew Miller disappeared. Tyler took his place. Tyler was twenty-one, undeclared, and incapable of owning sleeves. I'd spent department time learning beer pong and fantasy football. The lieutenant's advice was simple: act young, act dumb, make friends.

Luke made the last two surprisingly easy. That first night he walked over, threw an arm around my shoulders, handed me a beer, and twenty minutes later had me doing a keg stand while everyone screamed my fake name. And you know what? I had fun. Luke wasn't secretive. Gym, food runs, parties... if I skipped an event to organize notes, he'd text asking where I'd gone. He never asked me to prove myself. He just included me.

"You'll get it," Richie told me while lifting. "Luke figures out what you need."

"What'd he figure out for you?"

"Needed to stop givin' so many fucks."

Everyone said the same. Luke gave them confidence, stopped their worrying, made them happy. Nobody knew how. And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending every conversation was just work. One late night outside, he stared into the backyard. "Everybody wants something from me."

"That's depressing."

"I'm serious. They come here wantin' a better body, more friends, less stress."

"And you fix it?"

"Sometimes." He grew quite, "What about you? What do you want?"

"Nothin'," I lied. "Just wanted to see what you guys are about."

Luke studied me, smiling. "That's it?"

"That's it."

I didn't know it then, but that answer meant everything to him. For two weeks Luke trusted me more than anyone. By the end of the third week, he had me pledge. But by that time, I'd decided the investigation had gone nowhere. Friday night's party would be my last look before filing my report.

------------------------

Pushing open the front door, I realized I'd actually miss the place. Mostly Luke. But instead of the warm greeting from the guys like I was expecting, I got cold indifference.

"Luke wants you upstairs," Chris said, avoiding my eye.

"Everything okay?"

"Go ask him."

I climbed the stairs and pushed open Luke's door, where I found him sprawled shirtless across the leather couch, backward cap over his dark hair, staring at me with hurt eyes.

"Everything good?"

Luke sat up. "Close the door, bro."

"Luke..."

"Close it all the way." He stopped, "Officer Miller."

My hand was on the doorknob, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Luke laughed bitterly, standing up. "A fucking cop? Bro, I did a keg stand with you! You held my ankles! Two weeks ago I puked behind a Wendy's and you rubbed my back!"

"Luke, listen..."

"I bought you a Baconator!" He buried his head in his hands. "Fuck, bro! What the fuck?!"

"People are missing..."

"No one's fucking missing."

"Where..."

"You can't fuckin' mess with people like this."

I stepped toward him. "I want you to stop screwing around and take me seriously."

"Why the fuck would I?"

The question hit the exact wrong nerve. "Because nobody fucking does!" Years of swallowed frustration spilled out. "I'm sick of having to prove myself! I'm a police officer. Quit talking to me like I'm fifteen and take me seriously!"

Luke went completely still, then flashed a shit-eating grin. "Oh, bro."

"What?"

"You shouldn't have said that."

"Why?"

"You wanted something from me." He shook his head, "All my pledges get what they want."

The itch started beneath my jaw. I scratched, but my fingertips dragged across something coarse.

"Aw, fuck, bro. Here we go."

"Wait... what is...?"

Twenty-seven years old and I'd never grown real stubble. Now my fingertips scraped over coarse hair rapidly peppering my jawline.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Luke came toward me. "Dude, you did this."

My jaw cramped. Pressure spread through the bone until my teeth ached, my chin becoming heavier as the lower half of my face broadened.

"Stop it."

"You wanted people to quit looking at you like you're twelve, right?" He scraped his knuckles through the new growth along my jaw. "Heard you loud and clear, bro."

Then my chest began to hurt. The ache was deep inside both pecs, building like post-lift soreness. I pressed my palms against myself and felt the muscles swell outward, packing with new mass while my shirt tightened. My shoulders burned as they broadened, pulling the fabric taut, and both sleeves cinched around my biceps as the muscles expanded.

Luke whistled. "Damn, Ty."

"That's not my... don't call me that."

"Oh, I'm definitely calling you that." He slammed both hands against my chest, pushing into muscles that hadn't been there a minute ago. "Bro, these are getting fucking huge."

He hooked both hands into the front of my shirt and yanked. The fabric tore with a sharp rip along the shoulders. He peeled the ruined shirt away, staring at the body underneath.

"Those look like they belong to a dude people take seriously."

"Fuck... fuck you..." I groaned and winced as my biceps cramped.

I grabbed my right arm, feeling it swell, steadily thickening until my fingers couldn't reach around it. Luke wrapped his hand around the other, squeezed, and laughed.

"Jesus Christ, bro."

"Stop fucking enjoying this!"

"Why? I'm finally getting something I want too." He looked directly into my eyes. "Everybody comes to me wanting shit, Andrew. Maybe finally it's my turn, bro." He took a step closer, pressing up against me, "I want you. I want Tyler."

An intense itch erupted across my bare chest. Coarse hair pushed through my skin beneath my fingertips, thickening between my pecs before spreading outward and trailing down my stomach.

"Chest hair?"

Luke stared openly. "Damn." His hand dragged slowly across my chest, flattening the new hair before finding the swollen muscle beneath, squeezing one pec appreciatively. "Never had that before either, huh?"

"Nnn... no."

"Looks good on you, bro."

I hated the little rush that went through me. "Shut up."

"Twenty-six."

"What?"

"Twenty-six."

"I'm twenty-seven."

"Twenty-five now."

"Bullshit." I reached for my phone, but I wasn't used to my thicker fingers. The phone dropped and I got a glimpse of the dark hair now spreading over my thickened forearms, "I... Fuck I need... back-up..." the Lieuteniants's extension was... I knew it. Of course I knew it.

"Tyler."

"No... I'm... Andrew."

"Sure you are, dude."

Another wave of pressure rolled through my chest, and I groaned as my pecs swelled heavier beneath Luke's hands.

"You're doing good, Ty," he said, rubbing his thumbs through the hair covering them. "Looking real good too."

"You really think so?" The question escaped before I could stop it. Luke smiled, sending a warm flush through me. "You're messing with my head."

"Gift's doing that."

"Then make it fucking stop, bro." I froze. I heard the word echoing in my own head. "Why'd I call you bro?"

"'Cause that's how Tyler talks."

"I'm not Tyler."

"Twenty-four."

"Fuck you."

"Twenty-three."

I tried to concentrate on the investigation, but Luke kept rubbing my chest, talking to me while my thoughts blurred.

"Same shit happened to Richie," Luke said with a smug grin. "Professor dude wanted to quit stressin'. CJ wanted friends. PJ wanted med school apps to stop kickin' his ass. My gift fixes shit, bro. Gives people what they want. All they gotta do is ask." He shrugged, "Don't ask me why everybody ends up like… this." He chuckled at my confusion, "Like one of my new frat bros, bro. Really works out pretty fuckin' great for me, though."

Richie. Dr. Richard Peters. The realization hit. I'd spent three weeks lifting beside one of the missing men.

"You did this to all of them?"

"They asked for something. So did you."

"I asked you to take me seriously!"

"And I'm gonna."

His hand settled against the center of my chest, and the panic faded. Luke had been my suspect, but underneath those facts were three weeks of workouts, parties, jokes, and nights talking shoulder-to-shoulder. I knew the smell of him. I knew how his hand felt gripping my shoulder.

"Relax, Ty."

"Can't."

"Sure you can." He grinned, "Let me help ya, bro."

His mouth was suddenly against mine. My hands grabbed his dense shoulders to push him away, but instead settled on them as I kissed him back. His hands moved over my swollen arms, squeezing my biceps before sliding across my chest. Every approving touch felt... so fuckin' good. I begrudgingly tore myself away, breathing hard.

"What the fuck did I just do?"

"You kissed me."

"I know what I fucking did!"

"Didn't seem like you hated it."

"I don't..."

Luke kissed me again, and my resistance lasted seconds. My thickened arms wrapped around him while his hands explored my chest, fingers kneading through the hair before sliding up to feel my stubble.

"Twenty-two," he murmured when we separated briefly.

Our mouths locked together in a sloppy, desperate kiss, moaning into each other. Luke's palms slid down over my waist, cupping my hips, dropping beneath the waistband of my pants to grip my growing ass. He squeezed hard, kneading into the thick, muscle-packed curves.

"Bro... fuck..." I was breathing hard. Why was twenty-two bad? Something about twenty-seven. Some guy who... no. Me. Right?

"You're fuckin' gorgeous, Ty."

"You mean it, bro?" I mumbled, voice thick and desperate.

"Course I do."

So I kissed him again. His skin smelled like cedarwood and sweat, and instead of wanting space, I pulled him closer. Everything about him was addictive... the warmth of his body, the scratch of his skin, the sound of his breathing, the way his hands roamed across my hairy chest.

"Twenty-one."

Something clicked into place and Luke laughed when I pulled him against me, burying my face in his neck. I wanted him close, so fuckin' close. To feel him, smell him, worship him.

"Love you, bro," I mumbled against his skin, kissing his jaw.

"Love you too, Ty," Luke whispered, his hands sliding down to grip my heavy ass cheeks again.

The friction of our heavy bulges pressing hard against each other through layers of fabric made a low, strangled whine tear out of my throat. My hips bucked forward instinctively, grinding our groins together, and I felt his thick, rigid cock, swollen and desperate against my own throbbing, leaking length.

"Fuck… Ty, you're driving me insane," Luke gasped, a ragged, breathless moan tearing from his chest.

"Let me take care of it, bro," I murmured, a half-dazed grin spreading across my face.

Luke’s breath hitched sharply in sudden surprise as I shoved his jeans and boxers down in one fierce motion. His heavy, already-leaking cock sprang free, hot and throbbing in the dim light. Without a second thought, I dropped heavily to my knees between his thighs, my gaze locking up onto his flushed, half-delirious face.

"Ty…" he breathed out, voice cracking as my mouth closed over him.

That was when the door opened.

Richie stopped in the doorway. "Damn, Ty..."

Fuckin' Richie... Always getting in the fuckin' way, "Bruh, get the fuck out."

"Dude..." Richie grinned, "That's a rough fuckin' 21."

"Fuck you!" I laughed, scrambling to my feet, "What's that supposed to mean?"

I ran calloused hand through the thick, dark mat of chest hair sweeping across my broad pecs. People always acted so surprised by how much hair I had. Not my fault I hit puberty at like 8. Bunch of dumbasses. Besides, as long as Luke liked it, didn't really matter.

"Can't you see we're fuckin' busy, bro?" My swollen cock ached inside my jeans. I pointed a thick finger at the door, "Get the fuck out, man!"

"Hey, take it easy, big guy. Just came to see if you were ready to head back downstairs. The keg's overflowing, and half the house is asking where their favorite pledge went."

"Get lost, Richie," Luke muttered, his breathless rasp sending a fresh jolt of horniness straight to my groin.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Richie chuckled, closing the door.

Once it shut, my gaze locked onto Luke as he fell back onto the mattress, his heavy, leaking cock completely exposed and begging for attention.

"Where were we, bro?" I murmured, laying atop him, pressing a hot, greedy kiss to his lips before trailing my mouth eagerly down his throat, sliding lower over his chest and stomach until my lips wrapped firmly around his thick, leaking cock.

Certainly a longer one but I personally had fun with this! Made some creative choices that differ only somewhat from the initial request. Enjoy!

I enjoy mornings like this now even more. Sipping on my coffee, lounging around, feeling my throbbing cock against my thigh. Fuck... Look at that thing.

It’s been so much quieter in the house. That was maybe one of the first things I noticed, and god, it's peaceful. No heavy footsteps on the stairs, no slammed doors, no attitude.

"Look at you." I can't help but appreciate the sight of my fat cock resting against my thigh, "Fuck..."

I shift my weight in the leather chair, and the tight spandex pinches just right, sending a white-hot jolt straight up my spine.

"God, yes," I mutter, my hand dropping naturally down to wrap around the thick, hot base.

My dick twitches instantly beneath my palm, lengthening and swelling with a heavy throb as clear pre-cum slips from the slit to smear against my thigh.

"Still leaking?" I chuckle, giving my thick shaft a slow, firm squeeze. "You can't even wait five minutes, can you?"

My cock responds with another hard pulse, swelling thicker in my fist as if drinking in the praise.

"I never thought..." I breathe out, my eyes rolling back as I stroke myself once, twice, feeling the heavy, slick slide of skin, "...I'd ever be this lucky. I never thought I'd have a piece of meat this big just waiting to be played with every single day."

I pump a little faster, letting out a sharp groan as my hips buck. The tight fabric strains against the impossible size of my dick, leaking more and more with every stroke.

"That's it," I whisper, teasing the swollen head with my thumb, "Just... just like that..."

It's hard to remember now, looking back, that my cock used to be a person who walked through that front door like he owned the place.

I can still picture the moment he walked through that front door for summer break, dropping his duffel bag by the coat rack with a careless thud. Twenty-one, broad-shouldered, and entirely wrapped up in his phone screen.

"Hey, Mark," he snapped out, flat and dismissive.

Always Mark. A reminder that I wasn't his father. Whenever I tried to talk to him, he’d just roll his eyes, flash a cold smirk, and brush past me like a piece of cheap furniture, too busy texting his frat buddies to notice the guy paying the mortgage.

"Hey Leo, good drive?" I asked.

"Yeah, fine," he muttered, "Gotta unpack. Meeting some of the guys in twenty."

"Right," I said smoothly, my blood simmering. "My mistake. Go unpack. Wouldn't want to keep your friends waiting."

He rolled his eyes, clearly dismissing me, "Whatever. See ya later."

"Take your time," I murmured, watching him take the stairs two at a time, "We've got all summer to catch up."

He had no idea. He just thought he was home to ignore me for three months straight, totally oblivious to the Reclaiming Program pamphlet locked in my desk drawer.

I had wanted a real connection with him, back at the start. He'd get back from football practice and I'd think about my glory days. How we shared a love for the game, how we could have bonded over weights and old football highlights like real father and son. But he had zero interest in any of it. Just the guy whose money paid the bills while he lived his golden life.

But then one today, one of my old teammates mentioned the Reclaiming Program and all its promises: surging testosterone, explosive muscle development, relentless morning wood, and leaving the humiliating days of needing Viagra in the past forever. "Turn your useless son into your cock"- what a concept, right? At first I doubted it. But then, when Mikey showed up with the proof between his legs, I relented. Still, I wasn't sure it would work given Leo was just a stepson with no shared blood.

But I figured it would be worth a try...

A few days into his break, the screen door slammed shut as my step-son walked in from throwing the pigskin with some of his old high school buddies.

"Christ, it's hot out," Leo panted, dropping his cleats by the door, flushed and sweating.

I was already waiting at the counter, swirling the heavy blender pitcher.

"Rough afternoon?" I asked smoothly, pouring the shake into a tall glass.

"Felt like my arm was dead by the third route," he groaned, practically snatching it from my hand and chugging it, "Huh, this tastes good. What's in it?"

"Just a special blend of amino acids and protein," I replied, keeping my face entirely neutral as I watched him swallow the Reclaiming Protocol's special blend. "Thought you could use the edge."

Leo paused for a moment and smiled, "Thanks, Mark. I appreciate it."

Over the next few days, the routine settled into something dangerously smooth. Every afternoon after Leo came back, I'd have a shake waiting for him. I was wiping down the kitchen counter one evening when Leo wandered in, running a hand worriedly through his thick hair.

"Hey, Mark," he muttered, frowning slightly as a few stray strands came loose between his fingers. "Random question… when do guys usually start losing their hair?"

"I wouldn't worry about a few strays." I smiled.

"Yeah... I guess you're right."

Later, while Leo was out with his friends that week, I slipped into the upstairs bathroom and swapped his standard body wash with the thick, pheromone-heavy transdermal blend from the Reclaiming kit. Not long after, he returned him- his heavy footsteps trudged up the stairs. The bathroom door clicked shut, and the muffled hiss of the shower started up.

I lingered in the hallway downstairs, waiting, listening. At first, there was just the sound of water drumming against the tiles. Then...

"Ahhhh... fuck..."

I paused, leaning slightly toward the stairwell. The transdermal compounds were hitting his skin, over-sensitizing every nerve ending.

"God... what is... ahhh..."

A high, pathetic moan slipped past his lips, completely unlike his guarded, masculine tone.

"Mmm... fuck...no, I feel..." Leo whimpered aloud to the empty bathroom, his voice trembling as the suds worked deeper into his pores. Turning his skin into sensitive cock flesh. "Why does it feel like... oh god..."

Down in the hallway, I smiled.

"Everything alright up there, Leo?" I called out smoothly.

Silence hung heavy from the bathroom for a second, followed by a frantic, breathless scramble of water and a desperate, whimpering groan that he tried... and failed... to swallow down.

By the weekend, I noticed his desire to be anywhere away from me was fading. He'd follow me room to room, sit and watch TV with me... even ignored calls from his buddies.

It all culminated one humid Tuesday morning. I came down the stairs in just a loose t-shirt and boxers, grabbing my coffee mug from the counter. I noticed Leo sitting at the kitchen table, staring. His eyes locked downward, devouring the heavy, obvious bulge in my thin cotton of my boxers.

I paused, leaning casually against the counter. "Like what you see?"

Leo snapped out of it, his face flushing crimson as he stammered, caught completely red-handed. "Yes... yes, sir."

The words slipped out of his mouth before he could catch them. God, do you know how good that sounded coming from him? After all these years of him being an arrogant dumbass?

He of course, froze. Staring at me with wide, terrified eyes, horrified by his own slip of the tongue. I just held his gaze and grinned.

Later that afternoon, the cracks in his composure showed again. Passing by his half-open bedroom door upstairs, I heard him.

"No, you're not listening to me!" Leo snapped into the phone, his voice tight with rising panic. "I'm telling you, it's not just stress! My hair is literally coming out in clumps, man! And I couldn't even finish three reps on the bench today, my arms feel useless. Something is seriously wrong with me!"

I stopped in the hallway, listening to the helpless frustration in his tone, smiling to myself. He could panic to his friends all he wanted. It wasn't going to change anything.

I guess I didn't realize how far it would go until two days later. He never seemed to wear a shirt anymore, muttering about how uncomfortable clothing felt against his sensitive skin. But with that, I could see exactly what was happening to him. The muscle wasting was more clear than ever now. But that wasn't what caught me by surprise.

I had tossed my damp, heavy gym towel onto the edge of my bed before heading down to shower. When I walked back into my room to grab a fresh shirt, I caught him.

Leo was standing right in the middle of my room. Eyes glazed over as he clutched my sweaty gym towel in both hands, buried face-first into the fabric, greedily inhaling my scent with a low, desperate shudder.

"What do we have here?"

He froze, dropping the towel like it burned him, his mouth parting as excess, thick saliva slipped past his lips.

"Everything alright in here, Leo?" I asked smoothly, firmly grasping his shoulder.

The contact hit his re-wired nervous system like a live wire. Leo's eyes rolled back, his knees buckled slightly, and a devastatingly slutty, pathetic moan tore straight from his throat.

"S.sss...ssirrrr.... I....I...I...."

He tried to swallow it back, coughing weakly, more of that thick saliva sputtering from his mouth. Just a panting, soft-shouldered mess who couldn't even look me in the eye anymore.

"Shhh." I handed him the towel, "Enjoy it."

I left him shaking in my room and pulled out my phone once I was downstairs. The private club chat was buzzing as usual.

“Still breaking him in?” Gary posted around noon, tossing up a laughing emoji. “Poor kid is probably half brain-dead by now.”

“How many days has it been since you started dosing him?” Dave chimed in right after. “Has to be nearly three weeks.”

“Think that may be a record...” Gary added, dropping a string of applause icons. “Most guys would have already claimed the prize by week two. You’re really dragging this out, Mark.”

"Give him a break, this is uncharted territory. First time someone tried reclaiming their step-son."

"Come on and reclaim him already! Bruce wants to know if it works before he uses it on his step-son."

I smiled. They wouldn't have to wait much longer...

Leo, or what was left of him, came to me late one evening, entirely stripped of whatever pride he had left. I was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a glass of bourbon when he shuffled in, completely naked, his once-broad frame visibly shrunken and soft. Pronounced bald patches stark against his scalp.

"P-plea... agh, mmm..." Leo sobbed out, a wet, choking gurgle of sound, as thick, viscous streams of excess thick saliva pooled heavily in his mouth, spilling over his lower lip and dripping down his chest in long, glistening ropes.

"Can't even talk, can you?" I murmured, reaching down and pulling down my pants. "Look at what's happened to you. Are you asking for help, boy?"

Leo let out a pathetic, bubbling whine, nodding frantically as more thick fluid leaked from his parted lips, "Aghhhh, pl...pl..."

"Shhhh." I ran a slow, heavy hand down his back, the simple touch was too much for his over-sensitized skin.

A fresh, hefty wave of thick, viscous fluid surged from his mouth, overflowing past his slack lips in glistening ropes as he let out a high, vibrating moan that dissolved into a pathetic gurgle.

"That's a good boy," I murmured, my grip tightening firmly on the back of his neck. I nudged him forward, guiding his weight downward. "Show me how ready you are."

Without a single hint of protest, Leo gripped the table with his hands, and bent over right there. Presenting his ass to me and my hardening cock. That first thrust sent an electric shock that shot through my spine.

Leo's muffled, drooling cry cut off mid-gasp as the bones in his arms and legs began to buckle, softening and melting inward. I watched his deltoids and biceps flatten. His limbs shrank, pulling tight against his torso until they dissolved completely into the shifting, expanding mass of his trunk.

"Oh fuck..." I moaned, feeling as his ass fuse to the base of my cock.

His human silhouette distorted beyond all recognition, shrinking down lengthwise as his body reformed into an immense, cylinder of raw cock-meat. Veins braided themselves across his tightening skin, throbbing in a frantic, desperate rhythm that soon echoed the pounding of my own heart.

"Neeeee..... neeeeed th...this...." Those would be Leo's final words.

I watched as the bone structure of his jawline dissolved into a thick, pink cockhead. His nose flattened and vanished into the expanding flesh, and his lips parted permanently. The corners fused downward until his mouth narrowed into a gaping, glistening oval, weeping a constant, heavy stream of pre-cum.

"Oh yeah... Oh fuckkkk yeahhhh." I couldn't held but wrap my hand around my new length, "Oh fuck..."

My new dick convulsed violently at the contact, the entire length of him twitching and throbbing, a slick flood of pre-cum dripping from my new piss slit. I couldn't help it anymore... I hit my climax, pouring my hot release across the kitchen and myself with each throb.....

.......

That was just the first time of many, of course.

If you had told me a month ago how things would turn out, I probably wouldn't have believed it. But the Reclaiming Program delivers on every single promise it makes, provided you have the patience to see it through.

And as for Little Mark down there? Well... maybe not "little." I mean, just look at him! Twitching, throbbing, so fucking eager to be used. No arguments, no attitude, no slamming doors. Just pure, responsive meat that lives only to serve my pleasure whenever the mood strikes.

And speaking of when the mood strikes...I'd say Little Mark is eager for another round...

----------

If anyone wants to do a rewrite of one of my prior stories or even use a similar concept, please reach out!

Accept Message Request?

Frankie looked around the terminal nervously, buzzing with a bit of the excitement that comes from mystery. When he had opened the chat log, he had been surprised to find that his mystery sender was nearby, perhaps even in the same gate as him. Was it the older man sitting with his feet placed wide apart? Perhaps the younger college student displaying his alma mater proudly across his wide chest? The businessman with the red tie? The attendant ignoring his duty at the desk? Honestly, Frankie would have been satisfied with any of these options.

Frankie was not picky when it came to men, and he wanted to get laid fast. His flight was set to take off in an hour. Columbus, Ohio was never anyone’s first choice when traveling, but Frankie had a shoot scheduled in the mid-tier American city the next morning. His agent had said that he was “just the kind of fabulous model the team is looking for!” Frankie had tried not to take the emphasis as offensive.

Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are before? ;)

Frankie blushed, taking a swig of his lavender latte. Just like every other model, he loved attention. 

You like what you see?

Frankie bit his lip, waiting for the reply.

Who wouldn’t? But to be fair, I like any man over six feet.

Frankie frowned, a bit embarrassed. He was only 5’8–every one of his scouting sheets said so. His mystery sender must have believed they were talking with someone else.

You must be at least 6’2. 6’4 actually.

Frankie adjusted himself in his seat, throwing out his long legs a bit farther.

Really? Delicious!

Frankie chuckled, waiting for the other party to continue.

How old are you? 23. Yeah like, two decades ago!

Frankie was surprised by this. His youthfulness was a major part of his brand; smooth edges and glowing skin kept the money rolling in.

Don’t worry, I like a man with a few wrinkles. ;) And I can see those flecks of gray at your temples from here.

Frank considered this, running a hand through his thinner hair. His mystery sender was close enough to spot his crow’s feet from afar and the creases on his forehead. Frank did another sweep of his gate, eliminating a good chunk of strangers from his list of possibles as if he were playing a round of Guess Who?

Alright you caught me. Age ain’t nothing but a number. And besides, I’m too distracted by your body to worry about your face.

Frank nodded, thanking himself for choosing such a tight-fitting outfit earlier this morning. His lithe frame was available for all eyes to see.

You have that kind of body that says “yeah I work out, but I have a life too.” I bet it comes from your job–what do you do for work?

Frank adjusted himself again, a wave of soreness tightening his muscles. He rolled his heavy set of shoulders back and relaxed back into his seat, his meaty frame touching the sides of his armrests. Frank began to type out his response, having to concentrate a little as his fingers took up more space on the keyboard. His mystery sender got to send button first.

Based on the outfit I’d guess something blue collar. Manual labor? Construction consultant.

Frank scratched at the chest hair peeking out from the collar of his cheap tee.

Tall, handsome, muscular–for a girl with daddy issues, you’re certainly the real deal.

Frank stunted his breath, the candidates he had lined up before all falling away. Something was not right; he had to stop this conversation. Unfortunately, his thick fingers were too slow.

I can see the ring from here. Any kids? 2. Boys.

Frank grunted, thinking of his twin sons: Gabriel and Elijah. Although they were still young, they both already had very separate personalities. Gabriel had already joined the swim and debate teams. Elijah had stuck to soccer and Sunday School obligations. 

Lucky man. You must be proud of your wife.

Frank’s mind shifted from his offspring to his woman, a tall blonde named Brenda. They had met at a bar in a suburb outside of Columbus. The wedding came fast, then the kids, then the growth of his construction business. That was why Frank had come out to this dirty city in the first place, to place a strong bid with a potential client. Now all Frank had to do was occupy himself for another 30 minutes, just like he had to on every business trip.

You wanna fuck?

Frank got straight to the point, he was tired of these games.

Family restroom to your right. I’ll go first. Knock on the door in two minutes.

Jace and Casey giggled like school girls as they snuck into the stadium. The majority of the students had gone home for the fall break, hoping to recover from the onslaught of midterms they had endured. The two sophomores had other plans in mind though, deciding to spend the week like young lovers often do. They had sex in their dorm rooms, sex in temporarily-abandoned classrooms, sex in between the bookshelves of the library. It was Jace who had had the idea to do it in the empty stadium, the crown gem of the university.

“Let’s show it to the establishment!” Jace had said as they snuck through hallways. The bottom of the two, Jace acted as if he was on some political mission. Having gay sex in the football stadium was symbolic in a way Casey did not understand nor care. Eventually, they made it to the locker rooms but found themselves stopped by an electronically locked door.

“Now what?” Casey asked. He was dressed as he usually was, baggy jeans and even baggier hoodie. He liked to keep things low maintenance, hence why he opted for a buzzcut.

With a wicked grin, Jace grabbed a small screwdriver from his pocket. Unlike Casey, Jace was wearing a tight ensemble including a tiny tee and fashionable black pants. Casey had expected Jace to use the screwdriver as intended, but instead his partner jammed it into the key card scanner. Its tiny green light flashed orange and then red; a small ping signaled defeat as the door unlocked.

“Jace…”

“No turning back now, right?” Jace answered before ushering the pair into the locker room. Instantly they were sprayed with a sticky mist, the liquid clinging to their pores.

“Looks like you broke more than the door!” Casey yelled, grabbing Jace’s hands and rushing through the strange haze. The pair dashed across the locker room to the other exit, slamming the door behind them. Jace and Casey then gave a once-over of each other’s bodies. They were surprised to find themselves rather dry. 

“What do you think that was?” Casey asked.

“I don’t know,” Jace replied. “Water maybe?”

Casey took a timid sniff. “Kinda smells like body spray.”

Jace mirrored his partner, a small grin coming to his face. “Smells good, bro.”

“‘Bro’?” Casey grimaced. The term had not rolled off Jace's tongue, particularly as hr was the smaller, more feminine of the two.

“I think it’s AXE,” Jace continued. “And if not, Old Spice for sure.”

Before Casey could question how Jace would recognize either of these brands–he was very particular about his fragrances–Casey’s eye caught on Jace’s shirt. A set of buttons had begun to emerge from the fabric, riding on a wave that flattened out into a collar. The fabric itself then lightened into a pastel blue before rippling downwards into a wider fit.

“We need to get out of here, Jace.” For some reason, Casey could not vocalize what he was witnessing: his partner’s black pants cinching up into a pair of plain white athletic shorts. He did not realize his own jeans had done the same, or that his hoodie had upgraded into a polished pink polo to match. “Something’s obviously up, bro.”

“We cAN’t give up now!” Jace’s voice cracked mid-sentence before dropping to a lower register. “The stadium is like, just down this hallway.”

Before Casey could stop him with a thickening hand, Jace paced off into the distance. Casey was surprised to find the footfalls growing louder the farther his partner went. Summoning some strength, Casey went after Jace, his own feet fattening out as his sandals reshaped into larger sneakers.

When Casey finally caught up, the man before him was unrecognizable. Jace was covered head-to-toe in a natural tan, a striking difference from the artificial color he had adorned earlier. He had grown more athletic too–shapelier calves, stronger arms. Jace’s hair had fluffed into a trendy mullet and his face had sharpened into a squarer shape. He had undergone some sort of TikTok-ification, as if Jace’s being was now structured by the algorithm.

“This is exactly what I wanted to see, bro!” There was a lack of personality behind Jace’s words. “This stadium is exactly why I chose this school.”

“I thOUGht-” Casey coughed. “I thought we came here to have sex. Casey’s voice had lost its depth, no longer strong enough to hold its own.

“Sex? You think I’m some fag, bro?” Jace laughed. “I’ve been fuckin' Tiffany since Orientation, man. I thought you knew that?”

An image of a girl with long, glossy brown hair entered Casey’s mind. Soft and pliant, the type of girl that could easily be manipulated by Jac…Jackson. Casey could see it now, the pair eternally aroused by their own dynamic. Tiffany wanted a man who radiated security and stability–someone with wealth but was not necessarily interesting beyond it. Jackson wanted someone who would not bother him with words of affection or silly feminist ideals.

“Oh yeah, sorry bro.” Casey rubbed his hand across his head, scratching at his stylized sandy waves. 

“You can be so dull sometimes, Cliff.” Jackson shook his head. “If it weren’t for those All-American good looks, I don’t know how Chloe would’ve ever been interested in you.”

Another image flashed, this time of a blonde who was sharp and hungry. She lusted for his thick legs. She licked the sweat off his perfect abs. She told him what to do, how to act, and where it felt good. It was the perfect set-up for Cliff; all he had to do was comply. 

“You’re like, so right, bro huhuhuh…” Cliff’s laugh was empty, as if he had never felt a bit of stress in his life. 

“Anyway, should we head back?” Jackson asked. “I hear the frat’s has got a big party tonight.”

“Sounds awesome, bro!”

The pair took one last look at the stadium before heading back the way they came, unknowingly leaving their past behind.

Fuck my muscles are so nice... wasnt I like, skinny before, brah? Nah, I've always been this buff, duh...

Damn, what are these big words? I dont know why I have all this nerd shit on my phone, I think I'm just gonna delete it brah...

I smell really good, brah... a shower? Nah fuck that, that's for nerds, brah.

Hehe... my pecs are really big... I just wanna bounce em. Hehe... hehehahaha... Hahahahaha..... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Bounce em... bounce bounce... fuck brah, I wanna do it... all I wanna do is...

BOUNCE.