TF Plaza

Inspired by @artificial-transmutations

"FUCK MAN!" Mark screamed, slamming the hood of the silver 2023 Audi A4 back down. The sound wasn't the solid thunk of German engineering he expected; it was a tinny, rattling clang that vibrated in his teeth.

Drake stood by the guardrail, scowling. He picked at his cream polo, which was already damp with sweat. Not a very flattering look

"I don't even know why you opened it, man," he said, his voice tight with the specific anxiety of the privileged. "It's not like you’d know what to do. The most car work I've seen you do was pairing your iPhone."

Mark wiped his hands on his beige chinos, leaving a faint smudge of road grit. He stared at it, horrified. Feeling overwhelmed for a moment.

"My dad is going to kill me, Drake. If we miss the orientation at Deloitte in Chicago, the internship is gone! We have to call a tow truck."

The wind blew the fumes back into their faces, causing their eyes to water.

"No signal," Drake said, holding up his phone. "Dead zone. We have to push it. I saw a sign for a garage a mile back.... I think."

"Push it?" Mark looked at his loafers, "Are you stupid? In this heat? It’s like a hundred degrees!"

"Do you have a better idea, counselor?" Drake snapped.

Mark stared.

They pushed.

It was a grueling, embarrassing shuffle. The heat was a physical weight, pressing down on them. The Loafers were definitely ruined.

By the time they rolled the Audi into the bay of "Sal’s Auto & Repair," they were drenched. Their crisp clothes stuck to their skin like wet tissue paper. The air here was thicker, smelling of rubber, sulfur, and old oil.

The mechanic had rolled himself out from under a truck. He had wiped his hands on a rag.

Didn't speak; he just pointed to the card reader as Mark breathlessly explained the radiator issue.

Mark swiped his platinum card. The machine beeped in the heart dropping way.

"Locked," the mechanic grunted. "System says fraud. Card's dead."

"That's ridiculous," Mark said, his voice cracking. "Run it again. It's a gold account. My father..."

"I don't care about your daddy. Cash or labor, boys. I got a backlog of transmission work and my guy quit yesterday. You want the radiator fixed? You work."

The Mechanic Stared them down, his bulky frame seeming to fill all of their vision. He wasn't the most agreeable, and he definitely could use a refresher on how to use deodorant.

Drakes spirits crashed. Maybe a few hours of work could save them from the embarrassing call back home. Just to pay off the bill. The mechanics weathered lips flitted for just a split second, almost like a quick grin.

*****

"I feel… fucking sick," Drake murmured.

They had been working for four hours. Mark had insisted they just do enough to get the bill paid and leave, but he swore the clock in the garage was broken. It felt like it had been days.

Drake was scrubbing a pile of hubcaps in the back. He had taken off his polo to save it, but his undershirt; a flimsy white tank top, was already ruined, stained yellow with sweat and grey with brake dust.

"It's the fumes," Mark said. He was under the lift, wrestling with an oil pan. He slid out on the creeper. His glasses were fogged up, so he took them off and shoved them in his pocket. He blinked, squinting at Drake. "We just need to get through a few hours. What was… what was our ETA for Chicago?"

"Tuesday," Drake said. Then he frowned. "Wait. Was it Tuesday? Or Thursday?"

"It doesn't matter," Mark snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a thick streak of grease across his brow.

"Hand me the… the twister thing."

"The wrench?" Drake asked, looking at the tool bench.

"Yeah. The wrench." Mark stared at his own hand. It was trembling. Man I need to moisturize. The hand in front of him looked different. His knuckles seemed swollen and broad. The undersides of his nails were stained black, and his hands were so caked in oil, you couldn't even make out his fair pale skin...

in fact his skin looked real dark...

"Here," Drake said, handing him the dirty wrench. Their fingers brushed.

He looked at Mark.

...When had Mark taken off his shirt?

His chest glistening with sweat. Drake felt a strange tightening in his gut.

"Thanks," Mark grunted. His voice sounded lower. Rough. He didn't pull his hand away immediately. He looked up at Drake,

Damn he looked good in this garage,

"You missed a spot on that rim."

"Make me clean it," Drake laughed.

Mark just laughed,

a low, gravelly sound that didn't belong to a pre-law student. "Keep it up, pretty boy."

****

Drake woke up on a cot in the back office. He reached for his phone to check the stock market, the same as every other morning. But his hand felt clumsy. He dropped the phone. When he picked it up, he frowned

The app must have glitched out, because none of the numbers made any sense to him...

The S & P 500 is.... huh what is that anyway?

"Yo, Duke! Get your ass up!"

Drake flinched. Duke? Who the hell is Duke?

He walked out into the bay. The heat hit instantly. He immediately felt a wetness under his arm pits. Hadn't he put on a T shirt this morning.

The wife beater stretched tight over his skin, hugging his chest.... his impressive chest, and showing off veiny arms from years under the hood.

Mark was leaning over the fender of a car. But it wasn't the Audi.

It was a '69 Chevelle. Smokey grey.

A sexy mother fucking vehicle.

"Mark?" Drake asked, his voice cracking into a deep baritone.

Mark turned around. He had a cigarette dangling from his lip. He inhaled deeply, the tip glowing cherry-red, and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke that mingled with the shop's haze.

"Its Mac, Dumbass" the man grunted. He looked at Drake with hooded, predatory eyes. "And grab a rag. We gotta tune the carb before noon."

"since when do you smoke? You know I..." Drake stammered, staring at the pack of Reds in Mac’s pocket. "I have asthma man."

"You ain't got asthma," Mac growled, walking over. He moved with a heavy, hip-rolling swagger, his jeans riding low on his hips, revealing the adonis lines of his pelvis.

He pulled a cigarette from the pack and shoved it between Drake’s lips. "Light up. And get yer ass to work."

Drake let him light it. The smoke filled his chest, burning, searing. It should have made him cough. Instead, it felt like oxygen. The rush of nicotine quieted the screaming voice in his head that remembered Chicago.

"The car…" Drake pointed at the Chevelle. "That aint what we rode in on... is it?"

Mac looked at the car, then back at Drake. He stepped closer, invading Drake’s personal space. The smell of him

sweat,

stale tobacco,

musk

it was overwhelming. It made Drake’s knees weak.

"It's always been a Chevelle, Duke," Mac whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, irrational anger. "You hit your head or something? We been fixing this piece of shit for a week."

"A week?" Drake’s mind reeled. It’s been a day. It’s been a lifetime. "But the internship…"

"Fuckin wake up man" Mac growled. He grabbed Drake’s chin with a grease-stained hand, forcing him to look him in the eye. "You shittin with me? Or you just come in high again?"

Mac Pushed Drake Duke aside and turned around to face the car again, Displaying his massive back, clearly defined through his soaked through wife beater...

Drake Duke stood there fore a moment reeling, before walking up behind him... waiting for the work to begin.

*****

The shop was a furnace. The fan rattled uselessly against the wall.

Duke was under the chassis, tightening the suspension. He slid out on the creeper, his body slick with oil and sweat. He wiped his face, smearing black grease across his cheekbones.

Mac was standing by the workbench, wiping down a socket set. He was shirtless, his back muscles rippling as he moved. He had a mullet now

thick, dark hair curling over his neck, damp with sweat.

Duke stood up. He walked over to Mac. He didn't say a word. He just grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the bench, shook one out, and lit it. Mac turned. He looked at Duke.

"She running rich?" Mac asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Lean," Duke corrected. He took a drag, blowing the smoke into Mac’s face. "Need to open her up."

Mac laughed, before looking Duke up and down, playing with his crotch.

"You talking about the car, or you talking about me?"

"Both," Duke growled.

Collision.

He shoved Mac back against the tool chest. The metal drawers rattled with a crash, Tools spilled in every direction

Duke fumbled with Macs stained Jeans, slipping his hands to grope Macs enormous, straining cock.

His mouth worked lower and lower,

His tongue soaking up all the oil

Grease,

And sweat

Mac grasped Dukes rounded shoulders with his oil stained hands, Shoving him lower and lower.

"Get to Work Boy," He said, Grabbing a fist full of Dukes Hair,

"We got about 8 minutes before our next Service ticket shows."

Duke choked in response

From the garage window, The shop owner grinned. Illuminated by the glow of a cigar.

He sure was glad those good ol boys had shown up when they did.

Always loved guiding the Rising generation towards the trades.

*****

A remake of sort of this story by Bodyswapper. One of my absolute favourite stories of his, that I just had to build on. Decided to switch the model so there could be more coherent images.

Derek got in trouble at school again, he was texting me as his dad was driving him back to the school because a teacher of his wanted to talk to his dad about his grades and overall performance in school. He sounded like he really needed help, and I have just the power to do so. I hung up knowing what he would ask had I stayed on the line. I went to my room and locked myself in, so my parents wouldn't see me while doing the change. I lied on my bed, letting peace and harmony flood my mind.

I started floating above my body, I could see my soul lifting from my vessel. I thought of my friends dad, quickly the scene changed around me, I was in the back of a car, it was parked off to the side of the road and looked like they were in an argument. Luckily I landed in the correct car. Still in my not so solid state of being I rubbed my invisible hand on Derek's arm to reassure him that I am here. With that move I gently sat on his father's lap. I felt the warmth and tingle of this sensation before I plunged in. His body jerked but welcomed me, I quickly sat up more straight until my new body could finally relax. His presence was soon lifted from this body to be moved to mine until I switch back. I looked down at his father's body not being able to believe how amazing it felt to be like this.

Derek had a goofy grin on this face knowing that I was put in place now. I knew he was excited about not getting in trouble. To make a joke I grabbed a hat of mine in the backseat, remembering I left it there.

"Still look good on me?" I said jokingly in my new baritone voice. Derek laughed and took of the hat knowing his father would never wear such a thing. We waited until my new memories sunk in so I could act a little better when talking to the teacher. I suddenly knew how to talk like he did and act just the same. I scratched my beard unconsciously and started driving the car, Derek almost looked scared at how well I was acting as his father. He's seen me imitate others before but never his dad.

We approached the school, little did I know I was walking with the same gait as Derek's father would, which I now know his real name is Jim thanks to these memories. After we finally got settled down in the teachers room, I instantly said "Hi, Jim Boshen" to introduce myself, it surprised me a little as well. Everything went as according to plan and we even finished early! I snuck off to the bathroom to explore a little more. I almost ripped the buttons off the shirt trying to reveal my new vessel. I ran my fingers through my new hair, scratched my beard again and felt my manly body hair before going into a stall and jacking off. I felt powerful each time I jerked. I spat all over the bathroom. As the cum released from my penis I knew I didn't want to leave this body. I needed to keep it for myself. 

After I cleaned up I headed back to the car with Derek right behind me. I drove back to the area where I first went into Jim Boshen. I told Derek "Now this is the tricky part, don't ask me about the swap when I wake up, it will only confuse us both." I said as a cover, I just wanted to stay.

I faked like I was leaving this body, I jerked a little to make it look real. I came back to this reality with a stone cold look on my face, which I saw Jim wear all the time and Derek looked at his father, he believe I was actually his dad. We pulled into the driveway, as we entered MY house, I saw my 'wife' I hugged her, and knew she believed it was her husband. I knew I could stay like this, and no one would ever know otherwise, and was life great to me as Jim Boshen.

---

It had been a few weeks since I faked I left Derek's father and instead decided to take over his life. I just loved pretending to be him, to feel his mature body move as mine, and to see his sexy bearded face in the reflections whenever I went.

However, even though the longer I stayed inside Jim Boshen's body the more I could act and behave like him, there was always that slight slip-up now and then which caused others to glare at me suspiciously. Like when Derek caught me biting the tip of my pens as I worked from home, something his dad apparently had never done before. Slowly but surely I think he was catching on to me. So I only had one option left if I truly wanted to take over Jim Boshen's life completely.

One evening I told the family I was feeling unwell and had to go to bed early. What I actually did was lock myself in the bedroom, undressed myself, and laid down, before relaxing myself till I could feel my soul lift out of Jim's body. His body jerked around for real this time as I actually left his body, and as I looked down I saw his gaping drooling mouth and the fat protruding member stand up straight. I felt sad to leave this wonderful vessel I had called home for the last few weeks, and was almost tempted to jump straight back in and jerk one off right there and then. But I knew I had more important things to do, and I would be back as fast as possible.

I focused onto my old body and immediately found myself in my old bedroom. My former body was sluggishly sitting in front of the computer and playing a game. Of course, I could tell that trapped inside that body was the real Jim Boshen's soul, having been forced to act and live as me for the last few weeks since we traded vessels. Normally I'd always return and switch us back before whoever I possessed soul woke up in my body, but the few times I didn't my powers would make sure my old body went into some sort of autopilot mode. This time however was different. I had never been someone else this long, nor had it ever felt this comfortable and right being someone such as Derek's father. I loved using Jim Boshen's identity, I loved being inside his sexy mature body, and I loved jerking his fat heavy meat off every night before going to sleep. So I had already made up my mind.

I went behind my old body and shoved an arm inside of its back, before pulling the soul of Derek's father out. Jim appeared to be confused and slightly dazed for a few seconds before he caught his bearings and realized he could finally move around freely. "Thank god! I'm finally free from that adolescent body! I can't thank you e-"

I didn't give him a chance to react as I suddenly sprung forward and pushed myself against his chest. At first there was a bit of resistance, but I could see that my hands were slowly sinking into his flesh. "W-what's going on? W-W-what are you doing?!!" He grunted, seemingly out of both pain and pleasure. I pushed harder, further inside of him, causing my elbows to be fully submerged into his hairy chest. "S-Stop!"

I was so close to him now that when I looked up I could see his handsome face and lusciously full beard. I couldn't help myself and pushed myself up, mashing my lips against his tasteful ones. That somehow caused him to drop his guard for a brief second, which was enough for me to push myself inside and completely disappear inside of him, inside of Jim Boshen's soul.

"Please... nnghh... stop! Whatever you're... nnnnghhh... doing!" His face winced, his body jerked around senselessly, and he was sweating profusely. Until he suddenly stopped short and closed his eyes. When he opened them up again the eye color briefly flashed over with a shade of blue before returning to their original brown color.

It was done, I had fully and completely merged myself with Jim Boshen's soul.

I gave off a deep heavy moan with Jim's voice as I looked down at myself. I clenched my large and rugged hands together and savoured the familiar feeling of the power this form gave me. I quickly found myself painfully harder than I had ever been before, and once again contemplated jerking one off right there.

But alas, I could feel time running out and my powers slipping from me. So I gave my former comatose body one last look before focusing back onto the father's bedroom. Quickly I walked over and laid back down onto the naked unconscious body and felt myself melt right into it. Just in time as well as I felt the last of my powers disappear for good. After all, I was Derek's father now, and Derek's father obviously had no possession powers. There was no going back. I had traded my youth and powers to be able to perfectly pass off as and live as Jim Boshen, for the rest of my life.

A decision I was beyond happy with, as I regained my senses just in time to feel this overwhelming orgasm pass through my amazing body. Load after load of creamy white semen erupted from my thick meat, literally causing me to thrust my hips upwards and clench my toes and fingers firmly.

"FUUUUUUUUuuuUuuuuucckKKKKK!" I roared out, causing the photo frames and bedroom windows to shake slightly.

As the last of my heavy balls quickly emptied out, I noticed my hairy thighs, manly chest, and even beard was now covered in my own creation. Sticky and creamy residue I was very happy to viciously devour down into my mouth.

By the time 'my wife' Helene came knocking on the door asking if I were fine, I had already wiped myself clean and covered myself up with one of my favourite brief shorts. Opeing the door to the slightly musky bedroom, a wide grin emerged on my handsome bearded face as I saw my perfect reflection in the hallway mirror behind her. I ran a rugged hand across the pelt of fur on my chest, and felt pride and ecstacy over who I had finally become.

"Yes, yes honey. I'm perfectly fine. In fact, I feel more like myself than I have ever felt before..."

Guy’s Help Chat Room - Branson University

Kevin0403: Hey guys, can I ask you something?

Paddy7491: Yeah!

Chris3882: Sure!

Kevin0403: So, it’s about my college roommate. I was paired up with a jock, and he’s so messy and smelly. I’ve tried to change rooms, but they aren’t accepting it. What can I do?

Damon0397: Leave the school.

Neil5018: Give him some actual f****n’ advice, Damon!

Tony7273: Have you tried just swapping with another student, outside of the residential living office?

Kevin0403: They won’t allow that either.

Chris3882: Man, that sucks.

Damon0397: Why don’t you try being a bit more like your roommate?

Paddy7491: Really, bro!?

Tony7273: It’s actually not a half-bad idea.

Kevin0403: I mean, I guess I could do that, but I’m such a neat freak, and George, well, he’s George.

Neil5018: We can help you out with that, isn’t that right, boys?

Paddy7491: Yeah!

Chris3882: Yeah!

Damon0397: Yeah!

Tony7273: So, first things first, let’s start off small. He’s smelly, so you should be smelly too.

Kevin0403: What the f**k happened!? My pits reek now!

Chris3882: You probably forgot to shower last night, dude.

Paddy7491: Now that you’re smelly, let’s get you a bit messy, but not too literally.

Kevin0403: Haha, very funny, guys. Do any of you have actual tips for me?

Damon0397: I think if you got some abs, then George might wanna actually hang out with you.

Kevin0403: I can certainly try, but I don’t like to work- Holy s**t! I have a six-pack now! What the f**k is going on here!?

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403: Guys, something is seriously f****d up here!? Can you guys leave the chat?

Tony7273: No, Kevin, we can’t. We’re not done changing you yet.

Neil5018: I think George might want some nice and juicy pecs to rest on his head before he goes out to party and bang some chicks.

Kevin0403: But George isn’t even- S**T! It happened again, guys! Why the f**k are my pecs so big!

Paddy7491: We already told you, brah!

Damon0397: And you definitely need some big strong arms to hold George when he’s upset and crying.

Kevin0403: I have never seen that man upset once in my life, even after he lost a game! OMFG, stop it guys! I don’t wanna be a jock like George! I just wanted some tips to deal with him!

Kevin0403 tried to leave the chat.

Kevin0403: I yanked my power cord out of the wall and the screen still didn’t f****n’ go away!

Chris3882: Just give in to the changes, Kevin. You’re becoming the jock you’re always meant to be.

Tony7273: Yeah, and jocks need big strong legs no matter what sport they play.

Paddy7491: I think George plays football. It’d be so cool if you guys played together!

Kevin0403: No it most certainly would not! But you f****n’ weirdos already made my leg muscles inflate!

Neil5018: And now for every guy’s favorite body part! A jock has to have a big dick, right?

Chris3882: Yeah!

Tony7273: Yeah!

Kevin0403: Well, uh, I guess I wouldn’t mind my dick getting a bit bigger. But everything else you’re doing to me is so f****d up, guys!

Damon0397: No, it really isn’t, Kevin. Now that you have the muscles of a jock, let’s finish turning you into a jock physically.

Kevin0403: Does this magic or whatever s**t you’re doing to me work when it’s not specific? Yeah, it does, because now I don’t have any fuckin’ acne, my hair’s a different color and cut much shorter, and my back is straighter!

Chris3882: See, we didn’t want you to get scoliosis, brah!

Tony7273: Jocks don’t usually wear button-downs or suits either, unless they’re going to a game. But since you’re in your bedroom or someplace, but not on the field, let’s get you into some jock clothes.

Kevin0403: Why the f**k does my wardrobe need to change! It was perfectly fine before! S**t, now I have on a t-shirt and some athletic shorts! Thanks, guys.

Neil5018: No problem, brah! And when you don’t need to put a shirt and pants on, jocks love to lounge around in their boxers.

Kevin0403: But I’m a briefs guy! And there my f****n’ clothes go! It feels so f****n’ weird just sitting here in my boxers.

Paddy7491: You just need to get used to it, Kevin. You’re a jock now. And now it’s time for the really fun stuff. Jocks love to have sex, brah, so it makes sense you have a high libido, Kevin.

Kevin0403: I have a perfectly fine libido, thank you very much. F**k, I’m so f****n’ horny, I need to jerk off right now!

Neil5018: That’s a good jock, Kevin. Just keep stroking your dick as we finish transforming you into a jock.

Tony7273: Of course, jocks aren’t usually smart. Yeah, some are, but it’s so much more fun when jocks are dumb, just like you are!

Kevin0403: No, I worked so hard to get into this college and get my degree! But, yeah, brahs, it, like, feels so much f****n’ better to just sit back and jerk my dick and not have to worry about, like, any tests or quizzes or homework.

Chris3882: Almost there, Kevin, you’re almost there!

Paddy7491: Sweet, brah! You know, jocks love to flex and show off their muscles to their bros and hot chicks.

Kevin0403: I mean, I have the muscles now, but do jocks normally do that? Man, it feels so f****n’ natural to flex and show off my guns!

Damon0397: Yeah, jocks love to do that, brah! And the last part of being a jock is loving being with your fellow jock bros. Whenever you’re around George or any jocks on campus, you’ll flex with them and act just like a bro should around other bros.

Kevin0403: Like, yeah, man, I’m not gonna f****n’ talk about Euclidean geometry around my brahs! Like, they only care about how many pussies I smashed and how many n00bs I killed in Call of Duty!

Neil5018: Your transformation is finally complete, Kevin. I hoped we all solved your problem!

Kevin0403: Yeah you did! George just texted me to come flex with him and some of the bros in the quad while all the chicks are out!

Kevin0403 has left the chat.

Neil5018 has left the chat.

Damon0397 has left the chat.

Chris3882 has left the chat.

Tony7273 has left the chat.

By: tf-lover

Hey! I’d be happy to help. You’ve come at a good time too, because I’ve recently come across something a little unique that I’ve been wanting to try out. Now, I bet you're wondering what this thing I've discovered is, right? It’s this little thing called the Cosmic Switch. Flip it, and it’ll ‘unlock’ your body and let it shift itself until you’re subconsciously happy. Sounds good, right? It's perfect for requests like this; your own desires will guide your changes instead of worrying about me deciding. It's in your hands now, not that you'll remember this, so enjoy!

***

It was a weekend trip to a local Spanish beach one day where things started to change. You’d already forgotten the strange dream you had the other night, or what you thought was a dream anyway. In reality, it’d been the conversation with me, but the Cosmic Switch had let it fade away. It was better this way in the long run. Not knowing about your new ability would let it work to full effect, and a dream was a simple solution.

Some of your new college friends had somehow persuaded you to join them for a day out at the beach. They’d been trying for a while, and you’d finally run out of excuses not to; the dream had left you in a funny sort of mood, so why not give yourself a bit of a rest? Sure, maybe you would be sitting there fully clothed whilst they all ran around in the skimpiest swimsuits ever, but it was still nice to have a break from the usual insanity of life as a student abroad. Even if you had the confidence to jump up and join them, stop caring and actually live a little for once, you couldn’t just strip off, run over and throw yourself in! 

The first signs of change started as you were lying around listening to music, enjoying not having the pressure of constantly working and doing college work for once. None of the friends you’d come along with were close enough to notice what had slowly started to happen to your body. Not even you noticed, too distracted by the rhythmic crashing of waves against the rocks melding with the music you were listening to. Slowly but surely, though, your stomach shrank and toned up, tight abs replacing the bulkier body you’d grown used to.

With your abs now formed, the rest of your body was quick to shift too, your subconscious desires for a body that was beach-ready and full of confidence pushing your changes further. Any unnecessary weight shed itself as you enjoyed watching your friends mess around in the water nearby. Damn, you wished you could join them. But as your body grew smaller and more toned, you were considering doing just that more and more. “Fuck it, why not?” you thought to yourself. You hadn’t come prepared for swimming, but as you stood up and pulled your clothes, you found a yellow speedo under your jeans. For a second, you wondered briefly why you’d ever thought you hadn’t come ready to have fun. Sure, you might be a little shy with new people, but these were your friends! You could let go of all that here and just enjoy the weekend beach trip; now if only you could be confident enough to apply that to the rest of your life.

They all grinned when they saw you running towards them, laughing as you cannonball'd right in the middle of the group. “Nate! Nice of you to finally join us!”

It wasn’t enough, though. You had felt better as you climbed over the rocks towards the water, but now you were there, you were right back to feeling like more of an outsider. They were nice people, they’d taken the shy American jock they’d met on his first day in and helped him open up after all, but it wasn’t the same as back home. They all made an effort to speak English around you so you knew what was going on, but that didn’t stop them from slipping back into Spanish all the time for jokes that you didn’t get or conversations they didn’t want you to hear. You were learning, but it was slow progress.

***

Despite having some slight imposter syndrome, you couldn’t deny that your beach day had been amazing. Hell, you had even agreed to join them again next weekend when you usually wouldn’t have. You laughed endlessly as you finally let loose and fucked around with them all day, enjoying your confidence growing quickly throughout. I wouldn’t be until later that evening that you’d actually realise what happened that day. It was just meant to be a quick look up at the bathroom mirror to fix your hair after a shower, but looking up to see a face that was similar, but not quite the same as your own, had thrown you.

For a second, the spell was broken.

You knew at the start of the day that you'd been Nate, the shy, chubbier dude who was content to chill and listen to music whilst your friends had fun; now you were totally different. Your body was tight and compact, toned muscle gracing every inch of your now slender frame, and you actually enjoyed what you saw looking back at yourself. This version of Nate had been working out for years. Memories of time working out at home or in the gym flashed before your eyes as you inspected yourself, getting a good look at not only your body, but your face too. You could still recognise yourself, but now with sharp cheekbones and a well defined, clean-shaven jaw you'd been shifted into a hotter version of Nate. One you couldn't wait to try out more.

That was another thing that you realised felt different. You had this inherent sense of confidence now, and you could feel it in the way you naturally stood. Taller, shoulders back, and often with a cheeky grin. This new you knew how hot he was and loved to show it off. The choice of the smallest yellow Speedo for the beach had made that clear enough to you.

How the hell this had happened you had no idea, but if it gave you the confidence to actually throw yourself out there, then you couldn’t exactly complain!

***

Over the next week of college, you found yourself quite surprised by not just how much you were enjoying your new body, but also how you were acting as if you had always looked like this. This was most likely because of the confidence you had gained from that beach trip, as it had never actually faded but just grew stronger until it felt completely natural. While it was incredible to feel so good, you couldn’t help but be slightly scared by just how much it was changing you.

You were a new you, at least on the outside.

That didn’t stop those insecurities from gnawing away as you once again relaxed on the beach the following weekend, only this time surrounded by friends doing the same. Ever since you had moved to Madrid, you had been trying to work on your tan, hoping to help you fit in a bit more both around town and also with your friends. This desire became even more prominent as you felt more and more insecure about the prominent language barrier still between your understanding of Spanish. But if you could look a little more like the rest of your friends and their darker and tanned skin, then maybe you wouldn’t feel so insecure and thus feel more self-assured.

That’s all it took for your subconscious to change your body again.

No one batted an eye when your skin took on the tan you’d been unsuccessfully working on for a while. However, unlike most people trying to get a good tan, yours looked far more even. Because it was. You were totally oblivious to the rich, darker skin tone that was sweeping over your body as music blasted through your headphones and you laughed at one of your friends getting buried in the sand. It only took the length of one pop song for your pale white American body to be replaced by a very tanned, very Spanish version of yourself.

It was the music you were listening to as you worked on your tan that clued you in to the fact that something had changed. Whereas a second ago you’d been listening to music in English, now it was some Spanish pop idol you didn’t recognise. Looking down at your phone to see who’d messed with your music confirmed what you had suspected. Its default language was set to Spanish, but whilst you knew that was different from before, it didn’t feel wrong. You knew Spanish now. And not only that, you were thinking in Spanish too.

It was kinda trippy, suddenly having the language in your brain flip. English was still in there somewhere, not that you knew, or particularly cared, where at the moment. You finally felt more at home amongst these people.

“Nicolás! Come help!” one of the guys shouted, waving a spare shovel at you. You grinned, headphones discarded as you ran over to join in the fun.

***

You were loving your new life as Nicolás, the Spanish twink. You’d jerked off once or twice just looking at yourself in the mirror and listening to yourself speak Spanish. Okay, maybe it was once or twice a day, not just once or twice. It had been a massive adjustment, especially when you got a call from a woman you’d never met asking why you weren’t at the usual Tuesday family dinner. It was because you were masturbating to the sound of your own accent, but she didn’t need to know that. You even had a Spanish family now, it seemed. Despite that, you hadn’t forgotten Nate, the shy American college student you’d started out as. But, it was almost like he had faded away to the back of your mind the more Nicolás’ memories came forward over the weeks spent as him. As you.

Given how happy you’d been for the past month since you became Nicolás, you didn’t believe that there was anything left that you wanted to change about yourself. However, one random detour became so important that it changed both your life and body forever…

It was a day like any other. You were headed home after a long day of college lectures, taking a slightly different route back, as had become a habit in an attempt to familiarise yourself with the city. While the new memories you had provided a clear understanding of Madrid’s labyrinth of roads and alleys, you were still eager to experience them firsthand. Although you had changed races, families, and native languages, your sexuality as a gay man remained perfectly intact still. Passing by a gym had you glancing in through the window; the sight of beefy dudes working out still had you turning your head. This time, though, it was different.

Part of you knew still that your body had changed, and that had you wondering. What would it be like to have a body that big? You’d been curious all your life on some level, but now it could actually be possible to have the huge, muscular frame you’d always dreamed about.

It wasn’t immediately obvious, but you soon noticed you had started to feel an uncomfortable tightness as you rounded the corner past the gym. In an attempt to get rid of this discomfort, you rolled your shoulders, but it provided no actual relief. It was new, so it should fit perfectly, but maybe you’d bought a size too small by mistake?

No, you knew you weren't wrong. It must be whatever had changed you a month ago.

With that realisation, your pace quickened. If you could get home before most of the transformation happened, not only would you avoid tearing out of your clothes in public, you'd actually get to watch for once!

***

As you quickly slammed your front door shut and stumbled into your apartment, you rushed through your living room hoping to make it into the bathroom to watch your changes progress. When you had first turned into Nicolás, it had been quite a shock you’d come home and found yourself living in a small yet spacious apartment rather than the small university owned space you had previously called home. Clearly, your new parents were sweet people willing to go above and beyond to make sure you had your own space to grow and flourish.

Damn, your t-shirt was tight now. It'd gone beyond mildly uncomfortable to full on straining, but you knew it wasn't done. Based on the size of the guy you'd been staring at, this was even the start of your growth. The t-shirt had to go. There was one problem with that, though. As you lifted your arms up and tried to pull the shirt up and over your head, you met resistance as the shirt continued to get stuck around your growing chest and shoulders. There was only one thing you could think of. So you sighed and grabbed the front of your t-shirt, pulling as hard as you could. This was your favourite shirt based on how great it looked against your Spanish complexion, but you knew the shirt would be torn up regardless, so it was best to just do it now before you had to endure any more discomfort.

It was tough at first. Skinny arms still lacked the strength to put up the force needed. Only a few seconds passed before it started to buckle as your shoulders and biceps followed suit, growing in tandem with your chest. All at once it tore clean down the middle, your arms strained the short sleeves. You'd seen nothing more sexy than tearing out of your own clothes, so much so you were already rock hard after just that. The remnants were quickly discarded on your run to the bathroom, the excitement of getting to watch yourself grow only making your cock even harder.

"Mierda!" you shouted as you stumbled forwards and braced yourself against a nearby wall, automatically defaulting to Spanish instead of English.

Your balance had suddenly shifted as your chest pulsed larger again; these things were going to be massive once they were done. As you continued to look down at yourself, it became quite clear that your body was totally out of proportion. All the growth was focused on your upper body for the moment, but the visual of such a full and prominent chest was doing wonders for your arousal. You were going to have to be careful not to collapse if your legs didn't catch up soon.

You weren't going to make it to the bathroom to watch this part. Staying upright was hard enough right now. So, as you leant back against the wall for support and took heavy breaths, you looked down and watched as your torso continued to grow. And what a sight it was. You couldn't help but reach down and run your thumbs over your nipples as more muscle flooded into your chest. Bigger and rounder, thicker and thicker until the sensitivity of the new huge muscles and the larger nipples that came with them had you groping and moaning as you felt yourself up. Before long, your pec appreciation session had resulted in you groping your chest and moaning as you felt up the pectoral shelf you now possessed. While you didn't know whether all gym obsessed guys' chests felt like this or whatever was changing you was responsible for the sensitivity, you knew you loved it, regardless.

Your shoulders had also naturally broadened as your chest swelled, giving your torso the typical 'v' shape that so many guys strived towards in the gym. The upper half of your body was at least going to match itself soon as your arms grew with each involuntary flex, your pecs being too good not to sit and play with for what could've been hours. The last touch was your stomach. Where previously there had been a hint of abs on your slimmer form, what was forming now was no hint. Well sculpted

It was finally your lower body’s turn to do some catching up. You collapsed down to the floor, your jeans being shoved off as fast as you could so you didn’t ruin more good clothes. It was hot seeing yourself bust out of them, but trying to tear out of those would only cause unnecessary pain. Despite knowing what was about to happen, you still smirked at the sight of your upper body while bouncing your pecs and flexing your biceps. It was far more comfortable sat on the floor as your thighs bulged and thickened, muscle piling onto them as they grew to rival the size of your broad upper body. Watching your legs start to match the rest of you had your cock getting hard. The average five inch length was looking more and more out of place on your body as the seconds ticked by.

That soon changed when you wrapped a hand around your throbbing cock and stroked. At first, you moved slowly along the shaft, but as your arousal increased tenfold, you soon gave up with that pretence. As you stroked, your grip naturally loosened as the cock in your hand got thicker, your strokes getting longer as inches appeared out of nowhere until instead of five inches, you had a solid eight. Enough to give any ass that came your way a good fucking.

A wave of pleasure suddenly lanced through you as you felt your ass cheeks suddenly plump up, your whole body rising where you sat. You stopped jerking off instantly. Hands flew to your ass as you slid yourself into a better position, your attention forced away from your cock and onto the new bubble butt that was only getting more sensitive by the second.

It was like a missing piece of the puzzle slotting into place when you finally got the right angle to press two fingers between your ass cheeks, an almost overwhelming amount of pleasure rushing through your body. However, there was another feeling that emerged as you continued to use the two fingers to tease your needy hole: happiness. Although it was certainly a surprise, it was a welcome one as you pushed aside your shame about such bottom-like behavior and allowed more erotic thoughts to pop up in your mind. You needed to get deeper. Pressing your fingers against the outside of your hole was nice, but you couldn’t deny how much hotter it would be to have that hole filled. Whilst one hand pressed inside, the other gave your growing butt a good squeeze, the soft flesh literally expanding around your hands. Within no time, you knew you’d have a gorgeous and bouncy bubble butt any guy would be lucky to get a piece of. What you hadn’t realised was as your ass grew, something else was shrinking. Though it had just grown mere moments ago, your cock had already responded to your desires as they shifted again. As the pleasure in your ass ramped up, you were pushing yourself needier and sluttier without even realising. A strict bottom, who wanted nothing more than to be filled with cock. And strict bottoms didn’t need eight inch cocks. Down and down it went until it had dropped smaller than you’d started. It was three, three and a half inches at most. But you didn’t care.

With the majority of your physical changes done, it was around now when your head started to feel fuzzy. Your focus had shifted solely onto your ass, which, although pleasurable, was dangerous when it came to the Cosmic Switch. It let your sense of self become more fluid, so the more you fingered your ass, the weaker your grip on your old life got. But you didn’t care, not when your juicy ass getting played with felt this good. So away Nate went, replaced piece by piece by Nicolás, the Spanish stud. Memories of being top of your class at school were swapped for barely passing and struggling the entire way through. Younger siblings faded along with the rest of your American family and older brothers and sisters and a large Spanish family were left in its place; you were the youngest sibling now. Any knowledge of your college studies drained down into your balls and leaked out of your cock onto the floor below; your ass swelling slightly larger the only worthy replacement of such an immense loss of knowledge. Each purposeful brush of your fingers against your prostate had more aspects of yourself changing and moulding into your new himbo self. Confidence instead of your old shy attitude, an intense pride of your body instead of a desire to be anything else, slutty bottom instead of strict top.

It was so overwhelming you didn't even notice as your face slowly changed to match the rest of your hunky body. Dark facial hair spread over your jaw as it squared out, a perfectly trimmed goatee where there had been nothing before. You’d always wanted to grow proper facial hair, so as soon as you’d relieved the arousal that had flooded your growing body, you’d love admiring your new masculine features. You were also unaware of the sharp pains that pricked their way over your body as diamond studs appeared in your ears along with tattoos on your back, wrist and upper thigh. The tattoos were only small, but they each meant something to you, more signs that cemented you in your new life.

Cum shot from your cock as orgasm finally rolled through you, a sense of bliss at your first of what you knew would be many hands-free orgasms accompanying the incredible pleasure.

It took a while for you to properly recover enough to pull yourself to your feet, but once you’d caught your breath, you were eager to finally see the new you. Stumbling into the bathroom took longer than you wanted, getting used to how the extra weight sat on your muscular frame was going to be a strange but hot adjustment. You hadn’t been nearly this big before, not even back when you were a chubby white guy named Nate.

Once you’d made it into the bathroom and flicked the light on, it became clear that the slight delays in getting there still hadn’t allowed you to properly prepare. You couldn’t believe how sexy you were now! Everywhere you looked was massive. Thick pecs, bulging biceps, and the fattest ass you’ve ever seen. So, after grabbing a towel to clean off the globs of cum that ran along your sculpted abs, you turned into the mirror and got to see how your body looked in action. You flexed every possible muscle to see just how strong you had actually become for several minutes; there was nothing you didn’t like the look of. You were grinning like a dumbass, mainly because you were a dumbass now. Based on how big you were, you were without a doubt bigger than all of those men in the gym that you'd been lusting over. You could tell you weren’t going to miss the old you as you turned to get a better look at your ass. Even though life might get a little harder now, you wouldn’t be able to finish the psychology you started. Though, why would you need to be brainy when you were an absolute heartthrob now? You knew just looking at your new body you’d be able to make a decent living for yourself using your new favourite things: pumping iron, showing off and getting fucked.

For a brief second, you could see yourself, really see yourself. Nate could see everything you’d become. The muscle, the Spanish heritage, the total loss of intelligence. You’d become a total Spanish himbo, and Nate fucking loved it. “Soy tan estúpido!” You giggled as you jumped up and down, your ass cheeks bouncing as you did so.

Nicolás. That was you. Not Nate. And you couldn’t wait to show yourself off.

***

The following morning was a strange one. You woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours, in a house you didn’t recognise. It made your head swim; things like this were a little harder to process now. It didn't take long for it to clear. As you looked around, you chuckled at your own stupidity. This was your house! For years now, your parents had helped you save up to buy a nice place that was both close to them and also your multiple jobs. Perfect for a Spanish stud like you.

More memories of the rest of your life came to you as you pulled yourself out of bed. You knew you had a great selection of the tightest and most revealing clothes waiting for you when you went off to work at the bar later. Perfect for making you look like the muscle slut you knew would get great tips when you started stripping at the bar at the end of the night. Most people would say you were intimidating when they first looked at how huge and masculine you were all over, but anyone that spoke to you for over five minutes knew you were basically a puppy on the inside. You could be cocky as hell when it came to posing and showing yourself off, but that’s only because you knew how good you looked and how hard you worked to get there.

A trip to the gym was first on the agenda for the day.‌ ‌You’d always prided yourself on your body above almost anything else, so you’d‌ ‌got‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌habit‌ ‌of‌ ‌working‌ ‌out‌ ‌early‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌morning’s‌ ‌years‌ ‌ago,‌ ‌something‌ ‌about‌ ‌starting‌ ‌the‌ ‌day‌ ‌off‌ ‌right‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌good‌ ‌hard‌ ‌gym‌ ‌session‌ ‌really‌ ‌set‌ ‌the‌ ‌tone‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌rest‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌day.‌ ‌You‌ ‌threw‌ ‌on‌ ‌your‌ ‌favourite‌ ‌black‌ ‌tank‌ ‌and‌ ‌shorts,‌ ‌both‌ ‌tight‌ ‌as‌ ‌hell‌ ‌to‌ ‌show‌ off ‌your‌ ‌sculpted‌ ‌body,‌ ‌and‌ ‌headed‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌kitchen‌ ‌to‌ ‌grab‌ ‌a‌ ‌protein‌ ‌shake.‌ ‌

Getting‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌gym‌ ‌once‌ ‌you’d‌ ‌made‌ ‌a‌ ‌quick‌ ‌protein‌ ‌shake‌ ‌never‌ ‌took‌ ‌long‌ ‌at‌ ‌all,‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌many‌ ‌perks‌ ‌of‌ ‌where‌ ‌you’d‌ ‌chosen‌ ‌to‌ ‌live.‌ ‌Another perk was getting to use the gym for free. Working ‌there‌ ‌part‌ ‌time‌ ‌as‌ ‌a‌ ‌personal‌ ‌trainer‌ ‌was‌ ‌not‌ ‌only‌ ‌easy‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌new‌ ‌you,‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌convenient‌ ‌too.‌ ‌The‌ ‌smiles‌ ‌and‌ ‌waves‌ ‌as‌ ‌you‌ ‌walked‌ ‌onto‌ ‌the‌ ‌gym‌ ‌floor‌ ‌were‌ ‌a‌ ‌familiar‌ ‌sight,‌ ‌one‌ ‌you‌ ‌usually‌ ‌returned‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌cheeky grin and either a quick‌ ‌flex‌ ‌or‌ ‌pec‌ ‌bounce‌.‌ ‌You‌ ‌knew‌ ‌that‌ ‌most‌ ‌of‌ ‌them‌ ‌only‌ ‌came‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌gym‌ ‌this‌ ‌early‌ ‌so‌ ‌they‌ ‌could‌ ‌watch‌ ‌you‌ ‌work‌ ‌out,‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌attention‌ ‌was‌ ‌a‌ ‌massive‌ ‌turn‌ ‌on;‌ ‌so‌ ‌much‌ ‌so‌ ‌your‌ ‌below‌ ‌average‌ ‌cock‌ ‌was‌ ‌often‌ ‌hard‌ ‌most‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌time‌ ‌you‌ ‌were‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌gym.‌

Despite never having stepped foot in a gym prior to today, you moved with clear intent. The exercises came naturally without a second thought as you worked on your pecs, with a few sets of squats thrown in there too. There was rarely a day when you weren’t doing something for your ass, even if it wasn’t your dedicated session for it. You couldn’t help it, the bigger your ass was, the happier you were, and the more money you made at the bar too.

People crowded around you when you went to check out the post workout pump in the mirrors before you left, all eyes on either your pecs or your ass as you adjusted your tank. God, you looked good.

“Deja de hacer eso!” you yelped, surprised when you felt a hand slap your ass. You turned to see a man you didn’t recognise stood behind you, his hand still hovered not too far away from your ass. The Asian hunk wasn’t someone you recognised, but a quick glance down at his tented shorts told you all you needed to know. You bit your lip and giggled as you pressed yourself back against him, his hard cock now nestled perfectly between your sizable ass cheeks.

Clearly you were going to be a little late to work this afternoon.

***

Several rounds of sex, an ass full of cum and a butt plug later, you stumbled out of the guy’s hotel room, headed home to eat quickly before you had to get to work. As expected, you’d spend several hours getting your ass fucked by your gym friend, who’d introduced himself as Akino when he had you pressed up against the window; you had to know what name to moan after all. He was on vacation with his boyfriend, but hadn’t been able to resist your bubbled ass when he’d seen it after his workout. You’d left him with your number in case he wanted another round before he left; you were hoping he did.

You were going to keep Akino’s cum plugged in your ass whilst you were at work, that would be sure to drive the usual crowd wild when you stripped down to a jockstrap and they noticed it. Maybe you’d even pull it out and let someone eat the cum out of your ass, if they paid enough, of course. In truth, the ‘bar’ you worked at was much closer to a strip club, but the owner found it fun keeping up the pretence of a normal bar until late in the evening when all the staff stripped down and started dancing. He was a weird dude, but you weren’t complaining.

One of your favorite things about this job, besides the stripping, was the uniform. It was tight on you, showed off all the right parts of your body before you easily discarded it later into your shift. You had to ask for more than a few replacements over the years. You could get a little carried away when people crowded around you and chanted for you to strip. Clothes were torn from your body with little effort at least once a week, enough that your boss was seriously considering having you work in just a jockstrap for the whole of your shifts.

Later that evening, at the bar…

It turned out you’d done exactly that, once again destroyed your clothes in the process of stripping off. A shake of his head told you all you needed to know. That was the final set your boss was going to give you, so you’d be working in just your underwear for as long as you were still working there. Being half naked with a crowd of strangers around you had never felt as good as it did now, the knowledge you’d always be like that whilst at work, one of the only things you could think about for a while.

Your train of thought was interrupted when you heard a couple of familiar voices call through the crowd. “Nicolás!” Your friends had arrived.

They always said they were being supportive, turning up to watch you dance, but part of you knew they just wanted to watch you whore yourself out for money. They loved you, but you were constantly getting teased for how much of a slut you were by them. At least, you think that’s what they were laughing about as they sat next to the bar where you danced. You didn’t really get the jokes they made most of the time.

Like right now. You were busy bent over showing off your plugged ass whilst you could hear them laughing away, something about “your head being emptier than a balloon”, whatever that meant. A €50 note being put under the band of your jockstrap had you quickly distracted again, the man responsible was a regular favourite of yours who always tipped well.

***

It was at the end of the night, once you’d finally finished showing yourself off, when your phone vibrated; a text from a number you didn’t have saved.

Unknown Number: Hey, Akino here.

Now you knew who it was, you quickly saved it under his name and cock size, a normal thing you did for all your hook-ups.

Akino (9”): Told my boyfriend about you.

Akino (9”): He wants to meet you.

Akino (9”): Same hotel room. One hour. Be there, or not at all.

A couple minutes later, another text came through.

Akino (9”): His cock is even bigger than mine if that persuades you.

Akino (9”): Video attached.

By: bodilychanges

Mike took a breath, shaking himself of any final anxious thoughts and assuring himself of his imminent success. He brushed a speck of white lint off the sleeve of his jet black, Calvin Klein suit whilst awaiting his name to be called. His aura of confidence was palpable to the other people in the waiting room; Mike knew that he was far better, not just for the job but also in general, than any of the people sitting around him. His resume was flawless, an early graduate of Stanford University, the top of his class in every course, with a major in economics and a minor in communications, he was an upcoming prodigy of the business world.

Mike believed himself to be only worthy of the best, applying for an accounting position in only the top corporations on the market. Thanks to his parent’s connection with the CEO, he was able to procure a spot for a personal interview only offered to a few applicants. It was only 7 a.m. but he was about to get his dream job at the TG&TF Corporation Headquarters. It was a renowned corporation throughout the world, owning and investing in more companies and start-ups you could probably count on your fingers, TG&TF Corp. is an economic powerhouse that has dominated the market since it was established. Even though it’s run into a few scandals here and there, lawsuits from low-class families (that can afford to sue) claiming their loved ones had disappeared, no one has batted an eye. Mike scoffed even at the thought, who gave a damn about the scum of society? Less of his tax, which he didn’t even pay, going towards the homeless and drug-addicts; it was a good thing. Being born and raised in southern California, he had grown to resent anyone unlike him. The poor were disgusting and dirty and his faith in Christ taught him to despise those against the bible like gays. Above all, he despised illegal immigrants who leeched off people’s hard work and did nothing for his country.

Suddenly, the door to his right opened and a busty woman in a tight black dress walked out with an iPad in hand. A man briskly followed behind her, pure anger in his red eyes and muttering something under his breath. In a tantrum, he stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Mike caught a few of the words before he left, something about how much of a bitch the boss was and how the interviewee would take his talent somewhere else. Mike smirked, another one bites the dust.

Mike turned back to the secretary, tracing his eyes up and down her accentuated curves. He adjusted his glasses and ruffled his straight, dirty blonde hair. He was the spitting image of a spoiled rich boy, standing at around 5’11 with a lanky build. His face was quite attractive however, piercing blue eyes and a chiseled jawline, usually what drew the girls he slept with and left behind.

As he eyed up the woman, he noticed she glanced at him, almost reciprocating his gaze with an enticing half-smile before she announced, “Mike Chandler?”

With a nonchalant smirk, Mike rose from his seat, placing the magazine he was reading back on the coffee table and strode over to the secretary. “Right this way,” she gestured to the blond 24 year old. Mike walked past her into the connecting hallway, behind him he heard the door close shut and quickened click-clacks on the floor from high heels following behind him.

They walked together throughout the hallway in silence, Mike checking out the young woman’s breasts bouncing up and down in the corner of his eye. After a passing a couple more rooms, they arrived at a final door at the end. “So Mr. Chandler, our CEO’s office is right behind that door where your interview awaits. Word of advice, he likes using trick questions so be careful…” the secretary then brought her hand up to Mike’s arm, gently stroking it before speaking in a sultry voice, “I hope I can see more of you around. Good luck.”

With a wink at that last comment, she left back in the direction they had came. Mike, already having forgotten her warning, felt even more confident in himself. He took a few steps to the office door and knocked twice.

A deep, masculine voice came from the other side, “Come in.”

Mike obeyed, opening the door to his future.

Atop the dark oak desk sat a gold engraved name plate, Walter Hargreaves CEO. Behind the oak desk sat an older caucasian man dressed in a silk black suit, obviously fitted for his body. The man was quite attractive, his muscle was obvious even through his suit sleeve, he was someone into DILFs would have wet dreams about. He had an air of confidence with a hint of ego unmatched. Gelled hair and a clean beard, daunting eyes filled with unmistakable in-control-energy, probably in his early forties. Behind the man was the unbeatable view of LA, glass windows revealing the surrounding skyscrapers and bustling streets below. However, his tie is what stood out the most. It was an average, black tie, but on it was a diamond studded tie-ring that seemed to have a small light blinking on and off.

There was a moment of silence between the two men before the CEO spoke. “Mike Chandler correct? I’m quite familiar with your family. I hope to get to know you just as well.”

Mike smirked and walked across the large room fashioned with various decor such as a clearly expensive satin couch and the grandest platinum flat screen TV he had ever seen. “Thank you sir.”

“Ah don’t mind all those formalities, Walter is fine,” smiled the CEO kindly, hiding a mischievous grin while holding out his hand.

Mike shook his hand firmly and took a seat, a bit more relaxed and feeling as if he was on an equal level to the CEO of the largest corporation in America. “Haha, like Walt Disney,” Mike joked. Walter chuckled and kept up the fake, warm smile. The CEO then glanced at his computer and typed something, which Mike boldly assumed was him either bringing up the interview questions or Mike’s resume.

“As you may know, TG&TF Corp. has around a hundred smaller companies connected to us through an investment system. We give them the money to do whatever business they do and we earn a share of the profit, allowing us to make money here at the foundation without even lifting a finger. Think of it like tree, with TG&TF branching out into many different industries such as food & drink like Coca-cola, high end fashion companies, and even construction & infrastructure. We have our hands in the pocket of practically any company you can think of. So what makes you a great candidate for an accounting position in our corporation?”

After a brief pause Mike began with, “Well for starters I’m an early graduate of Stanford University, top of my class nonetheless-

“No no, I’m not asking for your educational prowess. I’m asking you what about you makes you a good fit,” Mr. Hargreaves interrupted, his tone now a bit more cold.

“My parents-”

“Not asking about your parents either Mike,” the CEO rejected, cutting the younger man off.

Mike was starting to get a bit sweaty, not only confused by the question but frustrated that Mr. Hargreaves wasn’t allowing him to speak.

“If I may Walter-”

Mr. Hargreaves heaved a sighed, “If you have nothing to say about yourself then what makes you think that you’re worth hiring at all?”

Mike began to feel hot with anger, never before in his life has someone treated him with such disrespect. “I think that if you could just let me speak-”

The burly CEO yawned, “I think this interview is done. I don’t think you deserve a job here at TG&TF. Please see my secretary on the way out and let her know you will not be working here.”

Jumping up from his seat, practically fuming at this point, Mike shouted, “Fine! Fuck you and this job. I only wanted you to hire me so I could bang your secretary anyway!”

There was a pause between the two men, only the sound of Mike’s angry huffing filled the room. The tension could be cut with a knife. Slowly rising from his chair, Mr. Hargreaves dropped the last of his nice-guy facade and in a low growl questioned, “…You mean my wife?”

Mike’s anger & frustration quickly became fear and embarrassment as he looked up at the now towering man above him. “Shit I meant umm… your uhh… well, with all due respect sir-” Mike scrambled to recover from his critical mistake.

“You see, even though you absolutely failed the interview, your parents paid me off to hire you. However, I know your type quite well, a spoiled brat that goes around believing you’re better than anyone else in the room. Your resume might be perfect, but no company will ever hire you because of that insufferable arrogance. Even that prestigious university you graduated from, you were only admitted because of your parent’s could sign a check. You can flash around that shit-eating grin and charm everyone you meet but I can see right through you. In fact, just because of that last comment, I think I’ll have to personally take that pompous attitude into my own hands and set it straight. Maybe then we’ll see if you’re good enough to work under me.”

Mike could feel himself shrinking down in terror. “Wait please Walter I’m sorry! I promise I’ll never say anything like that again just please give me one more chance,” Mike begged for the first time in his life. It was hard enough admitting he was wrong but it was even harder pleading to someone he barely knew.

Walter slammed his fist, “That was your first mistake! Who calls a possible employer or even a CEO by their first name you conceited little shit?” He was fuming and Mike shuddered, almost on the verge of tears from the older man’s yelling. With a shaky voice, all that he could mutter were insufficient apologies as he slowly began trying to back out of his chair.

With the press of a button on Walter’s computer, Mike was pulled back down into the seat as hand and leg cuffs appeared out of the chair, shackling him down as a gag covered his mouth. “10 years ago I invested in a start-up company run by a bunch of neuroscientists and physicists that promised me they would change the world. Best decision I ever made. In 3 years, they came back with the most groundbreaking innovation I had ever seen, something they called a Chronivac. A machine that could bend reality to my will that could be easily programmed into something like a computer and controlled remotely somewhere like this tie. What do you think having a machine with the ability to change anything I want, ranging from turning an apple into an orange or completely rewriting a human being’s life, makes me? The most powerful man in the world.”

Fear and anger flooded Mike’s eyes, he was trapped and gagged, flailing around in his imprisonment of a chair in an attempt to get out.

“Now what should I do with you… a total reality check should be sufficient enough punishment yes? What do you think?”

The strap covering Mike’s mouth retracted instantly. “My parents will pay however much money you need just fucking let me go!” the blond boy yelled.

Walter groaned, “Foolish boy, you still don’t realize that this has nothing to do with money. Regardless, your parents don’t care for you. You’re nothing but a leech to them which is why they paid me to hire you just so you’d have a life of your own. They see you like how you see everyone else, especially the less fortunate.”

Furious he had been so carelessly insulted by someone with more power than him, Mike jerked forward from his restraints and spat saliva all over Mr. Hargreaves. “You have no idea what you’re talking about fucker. You’re just some big talk CEO who’s dick went limp-” Right before he could finish his mouth strap returned gagging him of his final say. However, Mr. Hargreaves wasn’t fazed, wiping the saliva from his face with his handkerchief all he had was a grin. “Nothing left to say? Well that talk gave me the perfect idea of what I can do for you. I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted, a job under my corporation, but let’s see if you’ll learn a lesson from a life without your trust fund.”

Mike struggled in his confinement as Mr. Hargreaves brought his hand to his tie-ring and tapped it, causing the previously tiny blinking light to turn on. “How exciting! The last time I transformed someone their family sued me and I had to pay millions for the cover-up. This time though, I’ll be more careful. How about we start with a blank canvas?”

Suddenly, the arm like tentacles shot out from around the room, beginning to rip every last bit of Mike’s clothes off him. In mere seconds, his $1000 suit laid tattered and torn on the floor. His eyes widened with shock as he was left barren, his flaccid cock and balls completely exposed to the evil CEO beginning the first part of Mike’s torment.

“For your new occupation you’ll need far more muscle than that, don’t you think?” provoked the CEO, who touched his tie-ring again.

As if the universe was listening, Mike began to feel a tingling sensitive wash over his body. Though filled with fear and resentment, there was this feeling of masculinity Mike couldn’t ignore. Testosterone coursed through his veins as he flexed what he could of his body while being restrained by his cuffs, causing his body to begin growing. His body stretched out, going from his above average 5’11 to 6’2, but his restraints adjusted to this change and transformed with him. Abs popped in, each one by one, reaching a total of 6 chiseled bumps. The changes moved from his torso to his chest and arms as he flexed causing his twig-like biceps to explode into meaty pythons. Mick’s guns were the stars of his show, veiny chick magnets. They were his pride and joy, always taking the chance to flex for his admirers. He then puffed out his flat chest involuntarily, causing his barren chest to fill out into pillowy pecs. Along with the changes with his upper body, his previously shaven and odorless armpits began to itch and tingle. Beyond his thick ‘ceps laid a sprouting bush of musky body hair, deep in his rank and constantly sweaty pits. His previously shaven pubes began to germinate, becoming a thin blanket of hair behind his thickened cock. However with this change cementing, he began to lose his intelligence in exchange for physical strength. A wave of nausea came over Mick as his IQ washed away. Tears welled in his eyes as he felt himself slowly grow dumber and dumber and by the end, he was unable to even compute 2+2 in his head. History rewrote itself to accustom to this change and instead of the preppy snob he had always been, he became the rich bully that pushed around other kids. 1st Place trophies in science fairs and math competitions became MVP awards and #1 Quarterback plaques, all thanks to endless hours in his mansion’s custom built gym that allowed him to grow into quite the man. A side effect of the new body was that Mick’s limp dick began to change as well, losing a bit of it’s length but enlarging in girth.

Mr. Hargreaves watched in delight as the once snobby know-it-all became the dumb bull of an all-star quarterback that got whatever he wanted with his daddy’s money and big muscles. He could feel a slight erection coming on as he watched the helpless boy change. Feeding into his primal desire, Walter sauntered over to the helpless jock, admiring his work and the first step of his process. Going behind the chair, he placed his hands over Mick’s pecs, beginning to fondle and pinch the hefty breasts, giving into what he wanted to do so desperately, make him his personal cumdump.

Mick began to thrash around to get the ball wealthy man away from his utters. He was filled with rage as his body shimmered with a layer of sweat caused by his attempts at resistance and his eyes only could see red. He could only watch helplessly as the CEO massaged his new perky tits, which deep down Mick knew felt amazing, but he was no faggot right? At the thought of becoming gay, Mick’s meathead-bully personality completely took over, fighting to get out of his cuffs and beat the CEO to pieces, causing Walter to walk back to his desk and continue observing from afar. Alas, no matter how strong Mick was physically, it was no use against titanium restraints. However, the CEO allowed him some freedom. “Remove the gag.”

Instantly the chair retracted the mouth cover. Within seconds, Mick taunted, “You fucking faggot! Let me go so I can beat you the fuck up. Yeah I bet you love seeing naked alphas like me. You wish you could suck my fat cock right now don’t you fag-”

“That’s enough,” Mr. Hargreaves interjected, causing the mouth gag to return instantly. It was true though, he had a wife in his secretary but that relationship was all just to save face in the public eye. He was a faggot but there’s no truth that can’t be hidden with money. Sighing, Walter became lost in thought, wondering how he could ever rid a human being of such a hate. “I think we’ll do your race next, you’ll need to fit in with everyone else in the crew of course…”

The CEO’s wish was commanded as Mickey began to feel a tingly sensation throughout his lanky body. On a subatomic level, the protons of his DNA began to unravel and rewrite themselves as his genetic alleles decoded from caucasian to hispanic. On the surface, his pale white skin cascaded down his body to a browner shade. “You know, I think I’ve always had a taste for latinos. Maybe Mexico… no Nicaragua? Hmm no that won’t do. Ah yes! How about El Salvador?”

Mickey’s whiteness washed away, he was a Salvadoran stud through and through. With this change, his body underwent more and more physical transformations. The first thing to go was a few inches off his height, following the stereotype of latino men not being the tallest. Even so, the more he shrunk, the more it meant his muscle mass compacted into his body. Mickey’s horror faded away as his upper body shrunk and lower body retracted, reaching what he knew he had always been 5’8.5” 174 cm. His previously beer-can cut caucasian cock became his favorite appendage as his foreskin returned to become the hoodie of his chorizo. With the perfect measurements of length and girth, the meat could reach a fully erected 8 inches and was thicker than spanish sausage. His straight dirty blond hair curled up and colored itself dark brown marrón. Michael’s other areas of body hair followed suit, his exposed crotch hair sprouted even further, turning a blanket into quite the bush of curly, musky pubic hair. In return, his body odor became a bit more pungent and wafted off the scent of hispanic spices especias. Though he was no longer the snobby white boy, he still reeked of arrogance. He came from a long line of the richest hispanic families in America, and not only was he loaded, but he was one of the hottest men out there. The hispanic hunk was the best soccer player el mejor jugador de fútbol headed straight for the big leagues, and the girls and guys couldn’t help but fawn over him. Even though he was no longer white, Michael still believed himself to be far better than everyone else. No one was his match, not on the field, not monetarily, and not even in bed. Around campus his reputación preceded him, notorious around campus for having the biggest cock and the highest sex drive. Open to both girls and guys alike, he didn’t care who he fucked as long as he could feel the satisfacción of creaming inside, as if he was shooting his shot into an open goal.

However, the horny CEO knew that a change of race wasn’t enough to rid the young stud of his mentality and ideologies, but he knew the perfect remedy for that. Fully drawn to the idea of ruining the snob’s life and changing him into his ideals, he continued with “Now, how about we strip you of that privilege.”

Suddenly, as something was drilling into his mind, Michael’s screamed in agony, which was muffled due to the gag. He closed his eyes as his memories began erasing away in a burning sensation, all to start his new life on a clean slate.

In reality, the world had forgotten about Mike Chandler, the heir to one of the largest fortunes in America. The Stanford graduate with a bright future and a horrible personality had never existed in the first place, instead people knew Miguel Chavez. In his memories, his mamá, papa y él left their country of El Salvador when he was 10 years old in search of a better life in America. Thankfully, some family that had left for the U.S. years ago were able to help them have a safe trip to their new home in the land of freedom. As soon as they got there, they began to settle down, ingraining new roots in a foreign country where they didn’t speak the language or know the culture. They didn’t have much but they worked tirelessly to create a future. Though undocumented, they were able to get low-paying jobs, rent a home in the barrio of LA, and send Miguel to school. The Salvadoran boy grew up humbled by the world, knowing he had no chance at college due to his poor grades and jock IQ, he focused on building his body and playing the sport he loved, fúbol. However, he knew due to his economic class he would never have a chance at making it big. Once he turned 15 he began to work, hopping from job to job to provide his tired parents with the income they desperately needed. As he got older, he turned from fast food to physical labor and even sex-work sometimes. His bisexuality opened the door for many clients and the muscles he gained through fútbol, construction, and years at the local run-down Planet Fitness made everyone crave a piece of the hispanic himbo. He loved showing off his body and boy was he good at using it, his reputation of being the best fuck around always preceding him. Through it all, he was able to provide para su familia.

All of the long-gone Mike’s memories, including his money, his accomplishments, and his education, were being taken and reformed into Miguel’s memories. In his younger years, he would come from preparatory school to his mansion, driven by his chauffeur. Now that was nothing more than a fantasy to Miguel, as instead he walked home from his ghetto high school to his small, one story house. No longer was his family always absent due to business trips, now he was a mama’s boy that worked tirelessly to provide his undocumented family with the little money he earned. The Chavez’s didn’t have much but what they had was each other, an everlasting familial bond Mike had never known. Even at 24 years old, still lived with them till this day, commuting from the barrio to his job everyday. Miguel was thankful for what he had and though he wasn’t the richest he had an amazing body, a kind heart, and a loving family, who could ever ask for more?

Out of nowhere, an arm-tentacle appeared from under the seat, holding a fleshlight in its grasp. Miguel watched as the arm made its way to his flaccid Salvadoran meat, scooping it up, and beginning to jerk it off. He could only moan as all of his memories of his life as Mike churned in his balls and began to culminate in his cock. After a few more strokes up and down and Miguel even beginning to move his hips up and down to fuck the fleshlight, he moaned through his gag, shutting his eyes as he released the final remnants of Mike into the sex-toy, forever ridding the spoiled white boy from the world.

Mr. Hargreaves observed giddily as Miguel then fluttered his eyes open, awakening a new man. He knew that the boy was nothing more than his slave, he could do anything he wanted with him, a complete puppet for his own personal control. Behind his desk and under his pants, his 10 inch cock was fully erect and dripping with pre as he watched his newest transformation come to fruition. The hispanic hunk looked around the room in a daze, confused on why he was in such an opulent room. Why was he naked? Why was his mouth covered and his arms and legs cuffed to a chair? Was he kidnapped? Now panicked, his eyes shot to the well-dressed daddy standing in front of him. “It’s alright Miguel, remember you’re here to please me…” Mr. Hargreaves reassured with a mischievous grin.

Almost instantly being soothed by the man’s voice, Miguel relaxed and then began to smirk seductively. “Why don’t you let me out of these cuffs papí so we can get to that,” the latin lover cooed in his accented voice. Almost instantly, Mr. Hargreaves disabled the chair’s constraints, allowing Miguel to take his ‘first’ steps out into the world. However, he didn’t run or fight the man, he had no reason to. Miguel was here for his boss’s pleasure, a frequent occurrence. You see, a few years ago Miguel started work at TG&TF Construction, a company owned by one of the largest corporations in the United States. On one of the projects at the corporation headquarters, he met the CEO who personally came to oversee the job. Instantly, the two felt a connection to each other, growing close as Mr. Hargreaves kept an eye on the Salvadoran stud, inviting him out to drink and to have certain talks about future construction projects in his office, alone. Together, the two created a symbiotic relationship, Miguel got promotions in TG&TF Construction, plus money on the side for his services, to provide for his familia and Walter got his own slutty Salvadoran sex-toy.

Slowly strutting over to Walter, Miguel felt up and down his new, naked body to arouse the wealthy tycoon, and it was working. “Sorry about that baby, you know how much I love a little bondage,” his boss flirted.

The horned-up stud couldn’t resist anymore, he felt completely in his element. His body was amazing and undeniably sexy. As he began stroking his uncut 8 inch chorizo and caressing his muscles for Mr. Hargreaves’s viewing pleasure, he could see the DILF’s cock print through his designer dress pants. “Come here,” the CEO demanded, beginning to massage the growing erection under his pants. The escort listened, climbing onto the man and allowing the two to get up-close and personal with each other. They began to passionately make out, hot and horny as Miguel grinded on the older man’s lap. They got sweaty, Miguel tearing off Mr. Hargreaves clothes as he smacked the younger man’s slutty ass.

“Flex for me baby,” the captivated CEO growled.

Miguel obeyed instantly, flexing his thick biceps and exposing his rank pits. His body odor, which was quite tame before, reeked of heavy spices and pungent musk. He was proud of it however, unashamed to let people catch onto the scent of a real man.

“You like that papí?” Miguel flirted as Mr. Hargreaves dove into the sweaty boy’s armpit, lapping up every drop of sweat and tasting the must first hand. Mr. Hargreaves moved from the escort’s pits to his pecs, worshipping the woman-like breasts, suckling on each nipple, and fondling his hefty jugs.

Mr. Hargreaves moved his hands down to his pants, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning to release his own 10 inch fuckmeat. Miguel’s face turned into a huge grin, as if he was a kid on Christmas morning, as he watched his client’s python flop out. He dropped to his knees and began to suck, bobbing his head up and down what he could fit in his mouth. It wasn’t long until Mr. Hargreaves came, shooting his load straight down the smelly brute’s throat, who swallowed it all happily.

“Thank you for this Miguel, I’ll have my secretary forward you the payment soon,” Mr. Hargreaves obliged greatly through heavy breathing as he buttoned back up his pants.

“No problemo papí. I have to get back to work pero I’ll see you later sí?” the slutty himbo inquired, rising from his knees and walking towards the giant office’s closet to grab his work clothes.

“Of course,” Walter walked over to Miguel, helping his secret lover to put his construction attire on. They looked each other in the eyes before they kissed each other goodbye.

He walked out the room, going back through the hallway he had once been a completely different man in just an hour ago. The busty secretary met Miguel at the door leading to the waiting room, giving him flirtatious smile as he checked her out for a bit. He had just came but he was still horny as hell. However, he was already late to work and didn’t have time for a quickie with his boss’s ‘wife.’ He begrudgingly opened the door but winked a goodbye to her as she followed behind. He stepped into the waiting room and watched as all the men, who were dressed in expensive suits looked up at him. A few of them chuckled seeing the sweaty construction worker out of place while the others punched their nose, unable to handle the pungent stink of a real man. “Fucking coños,” Miguel mumbled under his breath. If there was anything he hated in the entire world, it was people who believed they were better than everyone else because of their money. As he walked out of the waiting room, he heard the secretary call one of the pompous assholes for their interview, but he knew Mr. Hargreaves was going to reject them all anyway.

Later that same afternoon, Miguel had been working for hours at a construction site near downtown LA when he suddenly felt a buzz in his pocket. Curious, he wiped some sweat off his brow and removed his gloves, pulling out his phone to see a notification from Mr. Hargreaves. Opening his messages, his eyes lit up with excitement seeing a picture of his boss’s fully erect cock with an attached message, “Can’t wait to see you again.” Miguel felt his own dick harden in his pants from just seeing his papí’s python, being turned on by the idea of pleasing him again. Miguel smirked and raised his phone up to send a picture reply of his perfect bod that had been sweating for hours under the hot California sun. He was always down for un otra vez.

By: van-oh-the-shimmering-ways

Charlie had scored it good, grindr was usually such a let down. He wasn’t classically or modernally handsome, he was, in his book, outta shape. The thing about humans, is that they all have some kind of attractive quality, it really is part of their DNA, procreation and all that nonsense. Nevertheless, welcome to the age of technology and impossible standards….

So you, on some level could probably put yourself in Charlie’s shoes. You probably have been told that you are cute, hot, {insert adjective here} but not believed it, because internally, you are not reflecting outward what you really feel.  Common psychology says that you have a shattered sense of self, you don’t see the beauty in your own eyes, because you are too pressed up against the mirror and all you see is faults. 

I’m no head shrinker, or am I? Anyway, the point is, Charlie needed a bit of confidence, needed to get out of his own head, needed to get laid and actually find someone who would love him and listen to him. Charlie needed someone to be present for him, and embrace him. Normally, I would say see a therapist, but Charlie wasn’t about to do that, so what’s the oh-god of desire to do? Fuck with his life a bit, I s’pose. 

Bell Notification noise:

AspiringImpulse: Hey you, what you up to?

CDiff89: Hey, um nothing, just at home playing video games

AspiringImpulse: Ah, sounds like a fun night, what u doing on the good ole grindr?

Cdiff89: Just looking I guess…

AspiringImpulse: *Unlocks pics*

Cdiff89: No Way is that really you?

AspiringImpulse: The mirror would say yes, lol

Cdiff89: Oh man, you are way too hot for me

AspiringImpulse: Awe, there is no such thing, tell me what are you feeling right now? Charlie…

Cdiff89: Horny, fucking hard, man

AspiringImpulse: Well, you wouldn’t wanna spoil the fun by touching that, would you?

Cdiff89: No…

Charlie was confused, he didn’t remember using his name, but the stranger somehow knew it.

AspiringImpulse: Would you like it if I came over, Charlie?

Cdiff89: uuuuh…(he struggled to type) yes….

AspiringImpulse was offline in an instant, Charlie was bummed, until he heard a knock at the door of his flat. 

“Hey studboy, glad you invited me over,” 

AspiringImpulse said, as Charlie stood there stunned, full erection.

“How, who, are you…” Charlie stammered.

“Does that really matter? If it is that important, you can call me Van.”

Van surveyed his prey, 5 foot 7, very white, sporadic body hair, unhappy with looks, feels out of shape…

“Charlie, Charlie, your Grindr stats don’t do you any justice,” Van Cooed. 

Van moved forward at Charlie, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “It said you were a bear, but I guess you meant muscle bear, didn’t you?” Charlie could feel some of the fat he had gained, pulse and twitch. It gained some form, as his musculature became stronger, still soft around the edges. 

“Oh, baby, yeah, and your cock, what you said it was 5 inches? I think you measured wrong, that is at least 7.5, yeah”

Charlie’s erection strained and grew against his pants, against Van’s muscular leg. He just wanted to keep making out with Van forever, he didn’t care what happened. 

“I like how you said you were pretty smooth, I would call this moderate to very hairy, Charlie, you keep putting yourself down, man, but dude.” Van chided, as Charlie could feel his skin itching and perfect hairs pushed through his skin, swirling in perfect glory around his tender nipples. He felt his face itch with stubble, and his unruly mop, shorten and become perfectly kempt. 

“Charlie, it’s okay that you don’t like to read, I know you think it impresses guys to read, but the time you thought you would spend in books, really has paid off in the gym.” 

Charlie felt pleasure rush over his body again, as his muscles tightened and became leaner and more refined. Years spent in the gym, gave him a gorgeous insta-worthy body. But all the knowledge from the books he read, it felt like it was pulled straight out of his head, a dull headache was spreading around his eyes, over the crown, and back of his head. 

“Uh, fuck,” Charlie said, “What the hell, man”

“Charlie, you know light is faster than sound, or maybe you don’t. Either way, it is okay to not be that bright, you can still find the love of your life, even if you are on the slow side.” Van smirked, and continued to make out with the now muscular Charlie. 

IQ Points dropping like stones, once testing at 153, Charlie would soon see it dip to 140, then 130, the 125, 120, 115, and finally rest just below average, at 87. The fog thickened, as words he once knew were nowhere to be found. Math was an impossible game now, and what was history, shit…

“Good thing you got this gorgeous face to go with this gorgeous body, or you’d be in trouble, bro,” Van laughed.

“Hehehe, yeah, but I am pretty damn hot, bro,” Charles said

“So hot, good thing you like getting fucked, because you’ll have better prospects, Chuck.” 

CHuck’s hole twitched, “mmm you gonna fuck me brah?”

Van smiled a chesire grin, “Ready, Chad?”

Chad, once Charlie, laid back and was ready for a pounding of a lifetime.

“Now Chad, once I am done, Charlie will be no more, I’ll leave you as a nice barback at the gay club down the street, and I promise you will find the love of your life there, trust me. You’ll never have a bright thought again, but you will love to pound the iron, and have the iron pound you. It’s okay that you barely graduated high school, and only get by on your looks, I think you might even find happiness in your new life. What you give me in return, is anything that would have been for Charlie and he will have never existed, what do you think smart guy?”

“What the fuck brah, just fuck me already, “ Chad complained. 

With that, Van fucked Charlie right out of Chad, devoured the old in order to make the new Chad a reality.

———————————————————————————————-

Chad woke up with a killer migraine, thankfully he was off from the bar today, so he had time to give a little “self care.”

By: bouncyboytfs

I had always carried the self-proclaimed title of intellectual, a label that some may argue was too heavy for my own good. People often called me arrogant, rude, but I simply didn't have the time or patience for those who couldn't match my intellectual depth. This, of course, created a rift between me and the so-called mindless jocks, who seemed to resent my superiority. It was no surprise that the coach had taken a special interest in me, probably to attempt to mold me into something I thought I didn't need.

The next class on the schedule was Physical Education, a subject I detested with a passion. It had nothing to do with my slender frame or my height of 5'6". It was simply because I couldn't bring myself to care. In my mind, PE class was designed for the meatheads, the ones who felt the need to prove themselves physically. I, on the other hand, didn't feel the need to prove anything.

During PE class, the coach gathered the group together for what appeared to be yet another one of his supposedly important speeches, much like the "core principles of PE" lectures he delivered regularly. It was a monotonous routine, preaching about hard work, discipline, and all that stuff. To me, it seemed utterly pointless and exhausting.

I watched with a glazed-over expression, paying attention to everything but coach's words. Suddenly, I felt his gaze land directly on me, piercing through my indifference. "Dan, step forward," he commanded, his voice carrying an unusual authority. With reluctance, I made my way to the front of the group, only to have the coach grab my thin arm and yank me towards him, causing me to stumble and fall against his imposing chest.

"Dan, I've had enough of you making a mockery of this school. What makes you think you can get away with ignoring me, huh?" His tone was accusatory, as if I had committed some grave offense.

I mustered up a lie, trying to defend myself. "I wasn't ignoring you."

"Really? Then tell me, Dan, repeat the core principles," he challenged, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and superiority.

I stuttered, struggling to recall the words I had dismissed so many times before. "Um... discipline..."

"Good," he grunted, clearly satisfied with my answer. "You must be disciplined, Dan. A boy doesnt grow a body like that by just reading books and playing video games."

I glanced down at my imposing figure, standing at a towering 6'2, and a strange sense of pride welled up within me. The sight of my bulging muscles straining against the fabric of my tight, small shirt gave me a misplaced feeling of accomplishment. However, a nagging sensation tugged at the back of my mind. Why was I wearing such a small shirt? This must be, what, an extra small? Dude, I should know that I don’t fit in anything smaller than a large. This tiny shirt hugging my built body makes it look like i’m wearing a crop top!

"What's the second principle, Dan?" the coach pressed on.

"Uh..." I hesitated, my mind drawing a blank. "I don't remember, coach."

"Of course you don't," he snickered, relishing in my momentary lapse. "You know what, that second principle might as well be 'dumbness' to match your IQ."

Defensively, I tried to reassure myself. "Sure, I've never been the smartest, but I'm not dumb, right? 80 IQ is a pretty big number, if you ask me."

The class snickers at me.

"It's dedication, Danny," the coach corrected me, his tone dripping with condescension.

“Oh right, Mr. Broski. I forgot about that one," I laughed in a bovine manner. 

"Yes, Danny. You forget a lot of things," the coach taunted, as the class burst out laughing. The weight of my confusion grew heavier as the coach continued to test my knowledge. My mind drew a blank once again when he asked for the third and final principle.

"It's the most important one," he emphasized, his voice dripping with disappointment. My response was no more than a bovine drone, "Um..."

"'Um' is not an answer. What is wrong with you? Is that big cock of yours sapping taking all the blood from your brain? Can you not think?" The coach's words pierced through my confusion, leaving me feeling utterly lost and foolish. I could do nothing more than brazenly slip my massive hand under my boxers and itch my hairy bush. 

"No, I can, dude. I swear... Wasn't I so good at the whole thinking thing earlier?" I tried to defend myself, desperately clinging to a memory which almost felt false. 

The class erupted in laughter once again. Why are people laughing? Am I missing something?

The coach rolled his eyes, clearly unamused. "Oh, you're funny now too," he scoffed. "It's obedience. I'm surprised you forgot that, considering how good you are at it."

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what's come over me today," I muttered, looking at the coach as if he were some deity. 

I looked down in shame but was taken aback by the two massive slabs of meat blocking my view of the ground. "Ar... Are my pecs normally this big?"

Confusion washed over me like a tidal wave as my gaze fell upon the coach. His voice took on a harsher tone, filled with heightened disappointment. "You think you're so smart, don't ya, Danny? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but you're as dumb as a bag of rocks. Without my guidance, you'd be going nowhere in life."

The coach's hand landed on my head, delivering a series of painful smacks that served as a cruel reminder of my supposed stupidity. His chuckles resonated in the air, relishing in my transformation. As I recover from his smacks, I realise the hall is filled with an audience surrounding a blue wrestling mat in the middle of the room. 

As the harsh reality sank in, my arrogant facade crumbled, replaced by a deep sense of regret. In that moment, I finally grasped the importance of discipline, dedication, and obedience that the coach had been tirelessly emphasizing. He pushed me toward the wrestling mat, his words echoing in my ears, "Give 'em hell, Danny!"

Looking down, I noticed the wrestling singlet clinging tightly to my newfound muscular frame. The pungent odor assaulted my senses, reminding me of my neglect in washing it. How could I have let it go unwashed for two whole years? Sweat stains were embedded into the fabric, particularly along my fat ass crack.

The next thing I knew, I found myself on top of my opponent, my fat cock pressed against his tight ass, I could feel his muffled voice begging me to make the stench stop. I try to stop to help the boy but all I could do is let out a dumb chuckle and let out a 

PFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

By: wannabedumb

Jake was walking home from the gym, to pick up his books for class, when a black SUV pulled up beside him. The driver’s window slid down an inch and a voice from inside asked “Need a lift, stranger?” 

Ordinarily Jake wouldn’t ever get into a strange car, but the voice just sounded… trustworthy? Y’know? So he shrugged, said “sure” and opened the rear door. He buckled himself in and the car took off.

“Thanks for the lift, pal” said Jake to the driver.

“My pleasure. Anything to help out a stranger. You looked in a hurry anyway. Off to class?”

“Yeah, home then class. Had to grab some books.” Jake found the voice intimidating, it was authoritative, but so kind. He felt his heart racing every time he spoke.

“What’s the class you’re heading to?” it asked, sending electricity down Jake’s spine

“Just some intro to biochemistry,” said Jake. “It’s really tough. I wasn’t expecting to have to put so much work into keeping up.”

“Yes, I didn’t want to say anything but to be honest you don’t look the sort.” Jake caught the driver looking him over in the rearview mirror, his dark brow and bright green eyes flashing up and down.

“What-?”

The voice interrupted “I just meant that you look like you’d be more at home working out, looking so beautiful, than worrying about studying for classes. Sounds like a much more fulfilling life, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah actually. College has been so stressful. I feel so much more at home in the gym.” Had the driver put the air con on? Or the heating?

“Oh yeah, with a face like yours, you have no business stuffing it with useless facts. You should be more concerned with looking your best. I mean, you were clearly never meant to be smart. Don’t you agree?”

“Clearly… look my best… never meant … smart.” Jake was feeling really warm now. And a bit confused. All he could do was try and catch up with what the driver was saying.

“Oh, are you feeling warm? I’l pull over so you can get some air in a minute. In the mean time, you should just try and relax. Forget anything you don’t need. Like books, or long words, or your address. Just focus on looking beautiful, and having people worship you.”

“Just… beautiful … worship.”

“The truly beautiful himbos don’t need shirts, do they Jake?”

“No…” and Jake went to take it off

“But you won’t ever need it again, will you? You should just rip it off? You’re strong enough.”

“Yes…” and Jake grabbed his t-shirt, pulled at it with each arm until it slowly began ripping. The fibres came apart, revealing Jake’s gorgeous, toned, sweaty chest.

“Atta boy. So what do you think?”

“Think?”

“Oh no sorry, boys like you don’t think. What do you want?”

“Want to work out… want to look beautiful… want to be worshipped”

This jacked new body was looking killer to me.  The tight washboard abs, the V-shape that was tight enough to cause that telltale vascularity to pop out below my naval, the cum-gutters, the thick slope of huge rounded deltoids that formed a mountain ridge up to my neck.  The tattoos gave me a fearless, extra-confident edge I’d never really had before.  My arms were vascular the whole way down, with just enough of a vein that popped and drew attention further past the realm of your standard muscle jock without overdoing it.  Tight pecs, and absolutely great triceps.  Serious gymgoers know that triceps are what separate the men from boys.  This new bod would being paying dividends for years.  Transition went through with a really fast recovery time, too.

You get what you pay for.  I was glad I really did my research and consulted with a lot of physicians before I found the right one for me.  The donor was more than willing to agree to the swap, as my body was still in a pretty healthy condition and only six years older than his was  The money was what was in it for him, of course.  I don’t see why folks think a premium swap and getting the body of your dreams always has to come with letting your mind slip, dumbing down and getting so stupid.  I understand the way neural networks are said to operate, and it’s true that it is inevitable that you’ll take on a lot of the qualities of the guy who’d inhabited it before.  But I’ve been doing just fine ever since I did my transfer and I’m as sharp as brass tacks still.

The key to really to watch as many videos and read as many reviews and testimonials as you can.  It’s no different than preparing for cosmetic surgery or even going through the process of choosing a trusted physician.  That’s where a lot of people go wrong:  they don’t shop around enough.  You’ve gotta shop around.  A lot of them don’t take the time to review all the essential details.  There are so many synapse-protecting and stress-relieving options out there that can make a transition go smoothly as silk.  I added all of them, all four that were available.  It’s a lot like purchasing insurance for yourself.

I feel like I’m finally who I want to be, the whole Yin and the Yang, now that I’ve got this bod.  I already was an intelligent guy with a pretty sensitive and generous temperament, if I do say so myself.  I plan on being more athletic from now on that I’ve got a body that’s made for it.  Some kickboxing, karate and body-flaunting paired up with the mind I’ve got, maybe even some fun photoshoots and modelling, and I’ll be living a much more well-rounded life than before.  This new exterior is really just a counterbalance to my former weaknesses.  That’s why it’s so worth the price to me.

Love how I’m looking in this grey and black athletic gear, too.  I’ll have to figure out what my best colours are.  I suppose I could just go shopping and try on a bunch of different workout gear, or even buy a ton of gear to take home with me.  I could always take whatever I don’t want to keep back later.  With my job as an adminustrator, um, I mean as an adminustraitor… ah fuck.

Fuck, how do you spell that word?

You know, that’s a warning sign, I guess.  I’d expect some merger with the former personality is to be expected.  I guess that Taijitu comparison I made is more accurate than I realised, haha.  There’s the black dot in the eye of white yang, right?  So it’s only to be expected that I’m not going to be exactly as wholly cerebral as before.  That’s ok, though, and I still feel exactly like myself. Gotta hold onto who I am for sure.  I’m sure I can if I focus on maintaining my focus.  It definitely wouldn’t be a great value for my money if I let all that hard-won knowledge and mental acumen start to slip away.

My personality is who I am, man, and I don’t intend to let that slide.  There are no refunds with these sort of package deals, so I’m just going to focus on staying strong upstairs.  Risk is always a factor in life, but without risk, how likely are you to get very far?  Not very far, right?

Really, I’m still thinking clearly, and I can remember everything I’ve got to do at work and that’s going on in my life.  It’s just that right now I’m feeling horny I guess, bro.  Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m slipping a little.  With a body this killer, sometimes I’m just looking in the mirror and feel like I could gaze into it for days.  There’s really something to be said about aesthetics.

Plus when you’re feeling kind of turned on, well, nobody’s all that bright or logical when they’re letting their cock do the thinking.  And look how hard I’m fucking getting!  It’s the first time I’ve seen this dick start to get hard.  I suppose the guy before me had probably had plenty of sex.  I might as well take it for a test run if I’m plumping up so fast.

God, I hope I’m not flopping over into the darkness of yin, though.  Think is that I feel almost cloudy, as if I just don’t want to focus on mental acumen or more cerebral thoughts right now.  Is it my dick that’s doing this to me?  I’m supposed to be the total package with this, not some muscular moron.  I really feel almost like my thoughts are so foggy and steamed up right now, though, like a window when there’s a hot rain going on outside.

I don’t know if I even have my analogy right.  Isn’t yang the masculine side anyhow?  Maybe it’s more like an eclipse.  Yeah, that’s it.  I saw an eclipse once when I was a kid.  Fuck, it’s gotta be that this dick’s so hard.  I’m totally hard, man.

If it’s just about getting like this from time to time when I’m turned on, as it is for some guys out there, I’m totally fine with that.  That’d even be kinda cool in a way.  This uncertainty and this loss of control has me feeling really uneasy right now, though.  I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it.

I don’t want to be eclipsed by the dumb jock mind, man.  The guy who had this body before me was not very bright.  Maybe I should have went with a less stupid guy to reduce my risk.  They say that doesn’t matter, though.  I hope it’s not going to be a factor here.  They say a lot of the time you can keep your mind sharp if you just stay strong about it.  I’ve got a strong mind.

There aren’t many smart guys in bodies like this though, at least I don’t think there are.  That’s why I just went with this one, and I do love this body.

Focus, focus.  I think it’s just that I’m horny, which is hopefully the problem.

Trying not to think of hot guys and how hot I look, but this dick, man, it’s like it doesn’t want to go down.  It’s like it wants to do the thinking right now and it wants me to just beat off for it, haha.

Strange as it feels, just knowing I’m feeling kind of muggy or foggy has me feeling hot, too.  I almost feel steamy right now, inside and out.  It’s hard to explain.  Isn’t getting sexy often kind of like that, the way you stop thinking of work and conversation so much?  I don’t know, man.  I don’t feel right but I don’t know how to fight it.  Maybe it’s just that I’m feeling sexy.

Fuck!  And I’m just so fucking horny right now, for real.  My cock is fully hard, standing straight up.  If I give it a couple of strokes, I know I’ll probably want to just beat off, and maybe I should just do that, since I’ll have to get used to that for sure.  I might feel like myself again after I cum, too, and hopefully I will at least feel more like myself again.  I haven’t cum with this body yet.

Aww yeah, that feels good, just to stroke this dick.

It’s a nice one, too, gotta be almost a 7-incher, nice and thick enough.  This guy’s got a nice dick.  Well, I’ve got a nice dick, because it’s my dick we’re talking about now.  It’ll take some adjustment to really ram it home to myself, because I’m so used to looking so much weaker, just completely different.

Even with this hard cock, I think I can still think pretty clearly.  I remember my foreign languages, and what’s going on in the news and at work.  It’s just that it’s steamed up for me in a way, that it takes more focus to think.

So I should probably not think right now because I’m so fucking hard.  Who wants to think deep thoughts when they’re hard?  And this body is soooo fucking sexy, there’s no denying that.

Definitely gotta take it for a test run.  I feel like as a vehicle of flesh, this bod has gotta be an F-16 Fighting Falcon.

If I were one of those guys from Street Fighter, I’d be a Ryu or a Guile, maybe.  Ok, sure, I’m not quite that jacked, but who is?  I still look damn tough in this body, and I’ll be able to hit levels of athletic prowess most guys never reach.

I plan on maintaining it, too, doing a lot of meal prep and nutritional shakes just to make sure I stay in as good of shape as I can for a really long time.

But like I said, I’m so horny right now.  I look like the kinda guy I would have been too afraid to approach before, the kind of guy I never even went home with.  And that’s a hot thought for sure.

I wonder what it’s going to be like to jack off in this body?  I bet when I get out there and start finding guys to hook up with, the sex is going to be incredible.

Gotta whip out this cock, bud.  Fuck, look at this big piece of meat.

You like that, this big dick in my hand?  Feels really good to me right now, like I’m really getting the full experience now.  So fogged up and I think I’m gonna just roll with it.  Should feel more like myself again after I nut, I’d guess.

Stroking it, pal.

Yeah, this is a really nice dick.  These are some big nuts too, I really like how they look dangling down there in this sac.  Guy’s got a nice groin.  I’ve got a nice groin.

Fuck, I’m hard.  I gotta get off.  I just want to fap off this hot meat and feel that rush of the seed cumming up out of it.  Get a taste of what it’s gonna be like from now on.

Yeah.  It’s almost like this guy’s cock has got more sensation than mine did, too.  I know he’s younger, but also more physically active.

I can really feel it, how much it almost makes these toes curl, makes me suck in my chest when I give it a stroke.  It’s a sensitive and horny cock, man.

Fuck, just gotta beat it.  Yeah, yeah.  Fuck, that sounds so hot, this meat fapping away under this firm grip.

Mmmm.  Hell yeah.  I’m gonna be beating this thing a lot, I think.  And fucking with it, the thought of using a guy’s scruffy face for a hole and his mouth doing its best on this cock is gonna be great.

I’m thinking of cocks right now, too.  I’d love to get another guy’s dick in my mouth and watch him go nuts as a stud like me pleasures him.

I think I’ll feel a lot less inhibited in this body.

I mean I look like a personal trainer or a model even.  Fuck.  And this cock beats off so sexily, man.  What a beautiful cock.

Gotta beat off and cum, I think.  Cumming will make me feel like the way I am, the adminustrainer or whatever, haha, I don’t know why I can’t remember.

It’s like everything just feels so simple right now, but it feels good, man.  It really feels good.  What more is there to life really, that Yin Yang thing, than just feeling how good your hand feels back and forth on a shaft like this.

I love this shaft.  This guy’s got such a sexy, meaty shaft.  Even this sexy vein on it, man, stands out like the veins on my arm.

Just up and down this shaft.  Aww shit, there’s the pre, that just makes me want to beat it fast. Faster and faster, man.  Bet this body could run really fast too.  I should try sprints with it.  These quads of mine look so fucking thick.  Just the sight of them and my legs down below this nice meat’s a huge turn-on.

Fuck man, really beating off now.  I love this body and this dick.  Holy fuck.  Hell yeah this is so fucking hot, beating a cock like this.  Oh fuck yeah, this is hot.

Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.  Oh fuck, oh fuck.  I can feel it.

Fuuuuck Yeaaahh!  Awwwww yeah!

Aww, fuck.  Look at that cum shoot.  Aww yeah.  Fuck yeah.  Look at that milk!  I really milked this fucker good.

Fucking A, man.  I shot so far that I hit the fucking mirror, haha.  It’s coated.  Can you see that?  Slick with oozing cum, haha.

Wet and wild, baby.

Yeah, I know you like seeing that too, a man’s hot cum dripping down the mirror.

You know you want that in your mouth sometime.

Especially from a man like me, a stallion like I am?  Fuck, a muscle jock like me?  You’d be begging for me to cum in that mouth, I bet.

I feel like such a jock, man.  Love it, though.

I think I am a jock in a way.  I don’t know, man.  My head feels so muddy.

Fuck yeah, man.  Fuckin’ A.  Feels good though.  I feel hot and steamy still.

I feel awesome as shit, to tell the truth.  I’m so fucking hot, bro.  I mean, look at me!  Don’t I look hot as fuck?

Fuck, haha.  Dude, I don’t even know how to say this but, I think I remember that I was supposed to be different than I am now.

I don’t feel smart right now, haha.  I do feel like one righteous motherfucker, though.  In fact I feel better in a way, like I’m not some lame-ass peckerwood type anymore.  Why do I feel so muddied up?  Not sure I care, just curious.

Look at these abs, bro.  Abs like these aren’t the type you see on guys every day.  I’m sure it’s a lot of maintenance but it’s absolutely worth it.

Can’t wait to hit the machines at the gym and see what this body can really do.

I’m so fucking jacked, bro.  Felt so good to get off just now.  This dick shoots a lot of cum I think.  I shot really fucking far.

I’m gonna score so much pussy with this body, and by pussy I mean weak gay-ass bitches who are gonna just beg for this nice cock up their holes.

Fuck, I love being a dude.  That’s what it’s all about, having a good time and other guys to have a good time with.

It’s hot as shit, man.  Fuck yeah, it really is.  I feel hot as shit, like I’ve just been to the spa and came out feeling six years younger.  That’s about right, ain’t it?

Yeah, this is all just about right for me.  This muscle is right.  These tattoos are right.  This cock is definitely right.

This is one righteous cock I’ve got, man.  Gonna look hot in a jock strap.  Gonna look hot goin’ commando.

How’d I get so fucking hot, man?  All that time in the gym, I suppose.

Fuck yeah I look hot.

Aww fuck, I love this.

I’m getting hard again just from talking about it.

Fuck yeah bro.

Fuck yeah.

Fuck, bro.  Look at this body, bro.

I love this body.  Fuck yeah I do.

Jerry couldn’t believe the man in front of him was his friend John. The tattoos, the muscles… he was hot. John—or Jonny, as he preferred now—said it was all thanks to the little black pill. It was the Change he’d needed, and he insisted Jerry should try it for himself.

Exhausted from yet another tedious day at the office, Nick decided to take an afternoon break and walk to the nearby coffee shop. He tried to order a plain coffee, but didn’t have the energy to object when the young barista insisted that he needed to try their café de olla. The barista smiled at Nick as he handed the cup to him, letting his fingers linger on Nick’s hand… he was kinda cute, though definitely too young.

Am I really doing this? 

When Rohan Desai had first heard of The Avengers, his life had been changed forever. Of course, he had grown up hearing about all kinds of superheroes, the one he was awaiting for today’s special event was in World War Two. But it was still so odd to suddenly see them blossom in his life. He was in college when New York was first attacked and though he was far from the centre of the invasion, when you grow up in New York, you’d likely run into someone who knew someone who had been saved by one of the titular heroes. 

Even still, the Avengers were no longer just an idea, they had become something akin to a brand. It was why Rohan was here, he had turned from college student watching New York get saved by superheroes into one of the lead developers of one of the first superhero videogames. It technically wasn’t the first, but it was one of since The Avengers had been established and it was focused on the titular character of Captain America. From what he understood at first, nobody wanted this game. Not him, not the company and certainly not Captain America.

But overtime, there were some…business dealings and briefings, investments from the one and only Stark Industries and nearly four years later they had something. It wasn’t great, hell Rohan was just glad it was good and they had complete creative control, meaning the game actually could have some sort of genuine story or meaning behind it. At least as much as he could try in between missions of Captain America beating up HYDRA agents in a hyperrealistic sandbox of New York. 

Are we really doing this? That was the question Rohan first asked when they got approval to begin development and entered pre-production. Are we really doing this? He asked again when they had finished making the model of Captain America, the motion capture and voice work done by a man who had played him in the infamous Avengers musical.

Are we really doing this? It was the same question that he asked that morning.

The common ambience of the office with conversation and keyboard clacking had turned into something larger. It had become a storm of busyness and a business hard at work. Conversations were now the cacophonous rain of commands to staff and camera crew. Thunder was the heavy thud of sound and camera equipment as it was picked, pulled and moved around the office like new ornaments. Lightning were the glimpses Rohan got of their special guest. 

Captain America. 

In the flesh.

Instead of his other common appearances doing charity work or on missions, he was practically forced to do what a lot of celebrities had to do, sell out. Rumour had it the only way they convinced him to come to the office to shoot the interview was if he could make some pledge to charity. So that was how after months of scheduling, they finally had the one and only Captain America ready to come into a small office with Rohan Desai and have the two alone in a room for an interview as they played the game. 

I guess we’re really doing this. 

Rohan wondered why he was chosen besides being one of the leads. Perhaps it was because he was the opposite of Captain America in every way. The hero was tall, blonde and broad shouldered with enough strength to take out anyone in his way and an aura of confidence that could lead men into battle. Rohan was lanky, skinny, nerdy with bronze skin and curled black hair who was only good at leading people when it came to the office. And even then, he questioned if he was that good at it.

Apparently there was a reason the pair were put together, according to the director of the whole ordeal, they both just seemed ‘nice’. Nice, wholesome, a carefully curated picturesque pairing of two men with morals so the interview didn’t look so much like the promo that it actually was. Maybe that hunger for authenticity was why they were being left alone in a room together to ‘chat’ rather than have an army of a camera crew managing their every word, trying to get the perfect shot. 

“You ready for this?” came the familiar voice of another project lead. Rohan would have felt guilty for taking the man’s spot but despite him being more attractive and in line with a man who’d look good around Captain America. 

“Yeah,” Rohan lied, playing the role of someone having at least something resembling confidence. “It’s not that big of a deal.” Too much confidence, his mind warned suddenly like a computer error. “I mean it is- Don’t get me wrong- No like it totally…totally is, but I mean like- You know…I didn’t realise the whole office would have to move and uh…stuff.” 

“Yeah…” The project co-lead replied, echoing only Rohan’s first word like that was all he was listening to. “Well y’know the director says he wants it to feel genuine, not like an actual game studio. So you get the soundproof therapy room and everything, just y’know don’t actually call it the therapy room.” Rohan wanted to ask why and then realised he really didn’t want to get bogged down in the details. 

“Okay…so the interview and then-”

“Chat”, corrected the co-lead. “Then snap some photos and then Cap will probably stick around taking more selfies or autographs or whatever with folks. Look…I know you’re nervous.” 

“That’s…Yeah pretty accurate,” said Rohan.

“But look at it like this, you get to spend an hour with Captain freaking America. Playing the game that we busted our asses off and we know is good…”

“True…”

“And it’s pre-recorded. Anything weird happens or there’s some mistake, they can just edit it our, redo it, whatever.”

“Right…”

“So…my point is…” The co-lead smiled. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

It had been something of an odd process, a social ritual playing out as people seemed to drag themselves away from Captain America’s alluring presence. Though they had trouble with their half glances and a couple snapshots on the phone, Rohan had to do the opposite. He felt as if he had to orbit the man, not knowing exactly when they were going to start filming. The camera crew was still busy and they had turned the ‘quiet room’ (a soundproof room nobody used that corporate decided to have if only to list as one of the company benefits) into a recording studio. 

A different couch had been pulled in and positioned against the far wall. A couple of plants had been taken from people’s desks to put around and add some greenery. A coffee table had been moved in hastily stacked with some water bottles and granola bars and a collection of different wires were hastily organised and hidden away beneath and behind the couch.

They had somehow turned a glorified storage closet into a makeshift talk show set. Warm neon lights cast a purple haze over it all and a television had also been moved in with all the right equipment to start up the game, a camera positioned in the corner to capture some of the gameplay, though Rohan knew most of it would be recorded from the console itself. 

The most surprising ornament of the room was the one that this was all for, Captain America. Unlike everyone else, the super soldier walked in with a casualness, an ease that contrasted with the panic and pressure of the crew around to try and get everything working and perfect and looking good all at the same time.

He had been busying himself chatting with some of the same crew and Rohan doubted it was about features he should mention or anything to do with the video. It looked more like he was just having a casual conversation. When Rohan first saw him up close, it was when he had already been sat down in the room as they did camera tests and soon Captain America had come in. 

The door opened without ceremony yet the effect was instant. Conversations clipped themselves short; the shuffling of cables slowed, as if everyone had suddenly remembered they were supposed to move gracefully. Captain America walked in. The hero stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand on the frame as if politely asking for permission before he could come in. The hallway’s cooler light haloed him from behind, a contrast to the warm, overworked neon of the room within. His frame was unmistakable: tall, broad shoulders and a shirt that stretched across his chest that would make any man envious of his pecs. Rohan felt a knot in his stomach, like all his nerves had bundled together and pulled taut suddenly. He swallowed dryly and was suddenly glad there was water nearby before Captain America’s eyes met his and he smiled, showing off some pearly whites as he stepped forward.

“Hi, Steve Rogers,” said Captain America as if he had any need to introduce themselves. He leaned forward slightly holding out his hand and Rohan shook his. 

“Rohan Desai, uh it’s an honour to meet you sir,” replied Rohan. He almost immediately regretted calling the man sir as soon as it tumbled out of his lips. Steve blinked and smiled wider. God I wish I was like him, Rohan thought as he felt a slight shiver at that. 

“You don’t need to call me sir,” assured Steve as Rohan nodded, ignoring the heat that was invading his cheeks as he swore he could only hear his heart drumming in his chest. “Honestly sometimes I wish I could be more like you guys who are so smart with all this coding and programming kinda thing.” Steve’s grip tightened slightly as he was shaking Rohan’s hand, feeling a slight shiver. “Oh sorry uh….So you’re the one I’m interviewing-” Steve stopped himself and laughed.

“Sorry uh doing the interview with, I get all tongue tied with this sort of stuff.” The man admitted as if the concept that Captain America, a man who was used to leading armies and stopped an invasion only a decade ago wasn’t absurd. Rohan just nodded, still too awestruck to say anything.

“We’ll be doing a bit of gameplay first, just to do a bit of a camera test and then we’ll go from there if that’s all good?” A voice, likely the director, sounded out from behind a camera and Steve nodded.

“Uh yeah that’s…whatever’s best,” stammered Rohan as he could already see some of the crew leaving. It seemed the pitch of a more close and intimate interview setting wasn’t solely for show. 

“Excited for it,” said Steve as he sat down finally, adjusting on the couch which sagged underneath his weight. “Have to admit, it’s great that a portion of this marketing budget gets to go to charity but…It is kinda interesting I guess, being able to go to an event and play a game about myself.” The hero’s enthusiasm was like gust in a heatwave. Rohan could feel himself relax, as Captain America’s looming presence was beginning to grow more comforting than intimidating. 

“Uh yeah I totally agree, I really appreciate it not just being a typical ad and uh we worked really hard on the game with quantum processing so we…” Rohan started and then smiled. “Sorry, rambling. I’ll save it for the video.” Steve chuckled.

“Sure, sure, so…should we get started?” Captain America glanced around at the remnants of the crew that were ready for the go ahead. They simply nodded and after a silent countdown, started the recording before the last people around quietly filed out. Rohan took a few deep breaths before glancing straight ahead toward one of the cameras.

“So hi everyone, I’m Rohan Desai, the director of Captain America Rising and with me is a very special guest…” Rohan started, glad that his voice wasn’t too shaky. Steve gave a wave and smile.

“And I’m Rohan- Sorry uh I’m Captain America and I’m happy to be with Rohan here playing Captain America Rising,” said Steve with a dazzling smile. The main menu booted up with an orchestral swell of strings and brass as a logo glowed across the screen. “Wow uh it looks pretty serious huh. I…” He blinked. “Well I definitely look a little more square jawed than I am and…is that the old suit?” Rohan chuckled.

“Uh yeah the art department wanted that kind of look and uh did use some generative facial composites,” replied Rohan as the game started to load up a save file for a mission to play. Everything had been set up perfectly. “So uh…you did visit the set I believe where the mo cap was taking place right?” Steve nodded.

“Yeah, yeah…it felt…kinda weird to see someone who looks a lot like me in a sort of tight suit doing my voice and such,” replied Steve as he shifted. They selected a co-op mode, one where one could play as Steve and another as Bucky Barnes. “Huh…weird I can’t play as Cap.” Steve chuckled. “That’s ironic.” Rohan frowned.

“That’s weird uh…well I can choose, but uh we can swap if you’d like?” Rohan suggested, holding up his controller in case the hero wanted to take it. 

“Oh no no no that’s fine,” laughed Steve. “Instead I’ll be playing as…well hey I’m happy to choose Bucky for now, I didn’t really know there’d be so many different heroes to choose though for co-op.” It was odd though, Steve thought. He assumed that he would be playing Captain America and that the developer would have been playing the other hero. But perhaps it made all the more sense for Rohan to be the one playing the titular hero. He knew the game best. “So uh I’ll be playing-”

“James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of Captain America and war hero,” started Rohan. Steve looked pleasantly surprised by the sudden answer. Rohan blinked. “Oh uh sorry yeah uh as Bucky Barnes, one of the newer members of the Avengers I believe.” Rohan blinked. He was a huge fan of Captain America but…how did he know the answer so suddenly? He didn’t mean to have taken over and straightened, assuming it must have just been his nerves taking over and wanting the video to go as smoothly as possible. 

“That’s right…uh looks like we’ve loaded in.” 

“Let’s go,” said Rohan with a sudden enthusiasm, wanting to show off his hard work. The two started off in a pre-selected mission in the open world of New York City where the camera swooped down from the skyline into a bustling digital Manhattan. Steam hissed from subway grates, detailed pedestrians moved with believable randomness and the ambiance of the city started to sound out. Before they knew it, a fight had broken out with some HYDRA agents in a warehouse and the two began to move in, with Rohan as Captain America tossing his shield and performing finishers whilst Steve struggled slightly with his aim as Bucky. “Oh uh so it’s important we work together on this part.” Rohan coughed, his voice sounding a little deeper for a moment there before he cleared his throat. 

“Got ya, got ya…the game looks really detailed it’s sort of scary, having grown up around black and white movies and all,” Steve said with a smile as the two of them quickly engaged in a quick time event. The both of them concentrated on the screen as the game prompted them to mash a button to move some debris out the way of a door. As Rohan began to mash, something strange began to happen. At first it was just a pressure, a swell beneath his skin. With each frantic press of the button, his sleeves began to strain.

His biceps slowly began to inflate and thicken, pushing against the fabric until the seams squealed. At the same time, it seemed that Steve was feeling as if his hands were growing weaker and slightly numb. A bronze tone began to take over his hands as dark hairs started to sprout over the back of his hand and trail down his arms where the muscles felt like they were beginning to shrink. It felt like the strength was being sapped away. 

Rohan didn’t seem to notice except the sudden wave of pleasure that he began to feel as he tensed his arms. Every shift, every adjustment in his seat, made the arms begin to stretch like they belonged on a larger body as he felt a tinge of euphoria that was just growing as he continued to adjust and feel his now much paler arms. 

“You doing okay there?” Rohan asked as he saw that on Steve’s screen he was having trouble doing the prompt as fast as he was. Steve could continue to feel like his arms had somehow grown weaker, slightly more numb and skinnier as dark hairs continued to trail down and cause them to itch. He wanted to look down but he felt like he could hardly break his gaze away from the screen.

By the time the prompt was over and both characters shoved the debris to the side, Rohan was laughing to himself and Steve smiled, albeit with a little more nervousness as he shifted with embarrassment. He just couldn’t get a handle on this kind of technology. At least that’s what he told himself to explain how he couldn’t do something as simple as a prompt to press a button over and over. 

“Uh yeah heh I don’t play a ton of games so I’m not sure,” started Steve, coughing and clearing his throat as he shifted in his seat. Played a lot of games? He didn’t have time for that sort of thing. He was usually on playing missions…right? He found his mind growing hazy as he tried to think, suddenly remembering the hours he got to let go and relax, playing some videogames instead of the list of movies, shows and books he had to read since he’d been frozen.

As they continued the mission, both the characters got in a vehicle with Rohan taking the lead in the driver’s seat. As they began a chase sequence, Rohan could feel himself naturally swerve the controller when they turned, straining his tight sleeves until-

RIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP.

A small but sudden tear sounded out and Steve barely caught a glance of Rohan’s suddenly meaty and paler biceps in his shirt. “So you work out a lot then?”

“Oh no I prefer working out to video games,” blurted out Rohan. He didn’t mean to say that. He knew he didn’t mean to say that. Yet words were power, and as he spoke them, Rohan felt something seize inside him. His grin faltered, replaced by a grimace as he instinctively arched his back. His indie band shirt that once hung loosely on his skinny frame was suddenly one size too small, if for just a moment. The change began deep in his torso, his ribcage expanding as his skin prickled and continued to pale, bubbling as if his skin was the top of some boiling elixir.

He grunted softly, caught between shock and exhilaration, feeling each part of his spine stretch and realign as his body lengthened. He leaned back, suddenly taller on the couch as the hem of his shirt inched upward, betraying a strip of his stomach, no longer soft but tightening into ridges of muscle that flexed and defined themselves in real time.

He tried to tear his gaze away from the screen, tried to see what was happening, but it was impossible to ignore the hypnotic pull of the light around him. Whether it was the glint that caught Captain America’s shield or the neon beams of HYDRA enemies or the detailed lights of the city, Rohan blinked.

“I uh…No I…I uh…”

Rohan struggled, almost moaning as he could barely see his stomach gurgle and froth in the corner of his eyes. Any fat of his stomach melted away, slowly descending to nothingness as it became as visible as air, fading away. All the mass left was converting into muscle, beginning to carve itself and hardening like it was some liquid as Rohan couldn’t help but let a deep groan slip from his lips, mixing it with an exhausted grunt as his body did feel like that both exhausted and heavy.

His shoulder blades writhed under the fabric, expanding outward, stretching his shirt to its limits. Each shift sent another ripple down his torso, where abs carved themselves across his stomach. The paleness continued to crawl all over his changing body as a dusting of brown hair grew to form a treasure trail below his abs. 

“You okay there dude?” Steve asked as he tried to turn to look at Rohan. His mouth twisted into a frown of concern as he tried to check up on the man until he realised…he couldn’t remember their name. It began with an…S…something. Sanjit? Samir? But as he tried to focus, he felt a wave of nausea pass over him, like something was punishing him for not having his complete and total attention on the game. “W-What the heck is this game…”

As Steve looked back at the game, focusing and uncertain, his accent began to shift. His parted lips and widened eyes began to relax, giving off an almost slack expression as he stared at the mesmerising visuals of the game. “Game…looks…so…good…” Steve said in a murmur of a slightly higher voice that no longer sounded like his own. 

At the same time Steve could faintly recognize something happening to his body. At first it felt like the strength was leaking out of him, little by little, until the familiar density of muscle gave way to something looser. The shift was oddly natural, almost comforting, as though a weight he’d carried for years was being peeled away. His broad abs began softening into nothing, the scars from his time as a soldier and the super soldier experiment all beginning to fade away.

What had once been a frame carved by years of training was becoming lankier and softer in all the places that used to be sharp. The pale skin began to darken, first beginning as a faint warmth and then deepening to bronze as it smoothly crept down his body like ink spreading through water. The sleeves of his shirt slid against thinner arms dusted with the faint hair that hadn’t been there before. All the while his fingers stretched longer, growing softer and more delicate and gripping the controller with an anxious energy he didn’t recognize as his own. 

“Yeah the game looks so good, I’m…glad it uh…worked out…” said Rohan as he continued to stare. Steve blinked.

“Yeah worked out…No yeah I loved working on the game,” confirmed Steve as he grunted. He could feel his legs shrinking too, making him grow slightly shorter though with less muscles, he was beginning to seem more lanky than broad and tall. All the while Rohan could feel like air was being injected into his upper chest as his pecs began to swell, growing and inflating and making his nipples harden underneath the already tight shirt that could no longer cover the lower half of his stomach as he blushed and moaned. 

“No I…worked on the game I…was…a developer consultant,” replied Rohan as he blinked. Consultant? No he was the lead…lead…consultant after all, who would know Captain America best?

He wanted to say something, but that was when he felt something else inflate as if it was filling with air, causing him to grunt and sit up even higher as his cheeks began to grow. The pressure of the changes coiled in his hips and thighs as his legs tingled with the same pleasure and heaviness that was spreading across his body. His thighs pressed outward, stretching the fabric as they swelled with new density, every seam groaning in protest.

His calves grew, once spindly but now carved into powerful bastions of muscle as his ass continued to grow and grow. The couch sagged deeper as his glutes surged, rounding and hardening with a weight that felt both foreign and inevitable. Rohan could feel the denim split, hearing the faint pop of stitching as eat of his jeans tried and failed to contain what was now unmistakably growing to be…AMERICA'S ASS. 

“O-Oh my god…I…I…” Rohan would have squeezed his legs together in the past, like that could somehow stop the horniness that was invading his cock as his ass and legs grew paler and devoid of the usual dark hairs. His bulge was already growing next, half because he was harder than he had ever been before and half because his cock was growing from whatever forces was changing him.

“I had to do…so much work…for the game, really was a lot…”

Rohan added with a voice that wasn’t his own, one that was deeper and richer and sounded exactly like the voice that was coming from the game, the voice behind Captain America’s quips as a sharp pressure came at his feet. His toes pressed hard against the ends of his socks before finally tearing through, pale fabric ripping as his feet surged longer and wider. His toes stretched and spread as the soles expanded beneath him. The converses that he’d worn comfortably all day suddenly bulged at the seams, leather squealing under the new size and weight until it looked like they might split apart at any second.

“That…that doesn’t sound right, I’m trying to remember reading all about it,” mused Steve as his own voice had shifted completely to the slightly more higher pitched and nervous sounding tone of Rohan. He blinked, his eyes growing darker and hazier, already forgetting about the missions he had done for the past year and then the year before that and the year before that as all he could think about was the game.

“We’re over time but we shouldn’t stop, we’re nearly finished.” Steve scratched at his face as his fingertips no longer traced the familiar hard line of his jaw. His face was beginning to shift, His jawline, once sharp and square, softened under his touch.

The solid edge drew inward, narrowing into something more delicate, more angular. His cheeks followed suit, the fullness draining until they hollowed just slightly, reshaping his face into something that was longer as his eyes were suddenly adorned with thick glasses. The pale tone of his visage continued to shift, deepening shade by shade to match the rest of his body as his blonde hair darkened and grew longer, spilling out into dark messy curls over a higher brow. Steve blinked, unsure why he was so surprised, feeling his face…he was only 29 after all.

“Yeah…let’s not stop, we’re almost over-” and as Rohan leaned forward and continued to be mesmerised by the game, he was growing more and more infatuated with his character. He knew every detail of the suit, every move, every nuance of the character. But he blinked, blinked as his own glasses fell off his face as his nose shortened and disappeared before they hit the ground. His brown eyes turning blue as the pale tone that had reached his thickening throat was beginning to crawl over his jawline that suddenly widened and hardened. His hairline crawling back slightly as the dark curls receded into a natural slicked back blonde style whilst his features grew sharper and rougher and larger especially his growing lips as he blinked. Why wouldn’t he know his character? He was the character. He was Captain America. This was his game. “W-Wait…I think…”

But there was nothing to think about. The mission ended and just as Rohan and Steve looked at one another in shock and recognition, both their hard cocks throbbed at once and they had only the time for one thing and one thing alone; realisation. All before they suddenly felt their cocks throb in tandem and finally…release.

Their cocks spasmed violently, releasing in perfect sync, a shared climax as both their heavy moans suddenly filled the room as both bodies bucked. Rohan’s hips twitched as he was in Captain America’s muscular body with the hero’s hung cock between his legs spilling thick ropes of cum stained his clothes, pooling in his lap. At the same time Steve in Rohan’s body gasped as it felt like he was cumming for the first time in his life, the sweet bliss of pleasure rushing over him and making him forget everything for just a few moments as his own six inch cock twitched and come in his clothes.

“O-Oh god…w-what the-” Rohan in Steve felt his body, his face, his muscles. “W-What happened to me?!” Steve in Rohan panicked, gasping as he looked down at himself.

“N-no this can’t be-” 

But then came another climax, making both men forget their panic for just a moment as their minds were colliding and folding into one another. The decks of their lives shuffled amongst one another that it was hard to tell which piece was what. 

“M-my head…I keep remembering…battles and…and world war two and…Bucky and…god Bucky…” 

“N-No I don’t want to forget…” Steve in Rohan’s body moaned as he tried to hold on. But all the willpower was in the muscular hunky body that was once his own next to him. “O-Oh god I’m-” 

But their cocks twitched again and their old lives melted, dissolving into something else as Rohan Steve gasped as he came again one last time and Steve Rohan moaned as he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same. Rohan…or rather Steve was the first to move, blushing as he felt Steve Roger’s natural embarrassment for doing anything like cumming in public flare up whilst Steve or rather Rohan felt the same, but more out of natural awkwardness rather than dignity. Both the men’s eyes met.

“I’m…I’m you,” Steve said as he looked at Rohan and Rohan blinked.

“I’m you…but uh h-how? I…I can remember your life…fuck my head…”

“Swear,” both Steve and Rohan said simultaneously. 

“T-This is…this isn’t right. The game, we used quantum computing for the engine, I- I don’t know how this happened…”

The air remained thick, not just with the fading warmth of their lust, but with a quiet and almost sacred stillness that followed a transformation too bizarre to name. The both of them still somehow had their minds as they gazed at one another, the other in their body. It was such a bizarre feeling, as if looking in the mirror and realising that the reflection was blinking all on their own. 

But at the same time there was also a quiet thrill to it as the other looked down, prodded at their muscles (or lack of muscles), flexed a muscular bicep (or touched their skinny one) and felt their face, their new jawline and features. Both the men stopped as they realised what they were doing, almost mirroring each other in their inspections as they still managed to somehow keep their minds about them, even if it was fused with one another.

“I’m…you,” Rohan continued as he glanced down at himself and the massive muscles. In all honesty, he had never felt physically better and more mentally anxious than ever before in his life. It was as if the feeling he got from his runs on the treadmill or few times he decided to visit the gym had compounded and formed a permanent bliss that permeated his newer bigger body. 

But there was something else too, as if he was watching a movie, he could see the memories of Steve Rogers all the way from the 30s and 40s, the skinny young man who was even thinner than he was, unhealthily so, doing anything and everything he could to serve his country. Rohan blinked and had to admit, being in such a muscular body felt good, even if there was a strange balance, like he was scared if he took a step then he’d fall over. 

He felt Steve’s own earnestness, his confidence leaking into him and almost infecting him. 

“And I’m…you?” Steve said, still not used to his newer voice. In his mind, there was still a tenacity, one that reminded him of himself before he got the Super Soldier serum. It didn’t come in the form of a man trying to fight for his country, but instead just navigating the modern world and trying to make something of themselves. He could see the memories as far back, trying to save up to start a company, registering the LLC, working late nights out of his home. All the sacrifices and meetings and blood, sweat and tears that had not only gone into making this game but making anything of value. It was a far cry from being a soldier, but isn’t that the kind of world Steve wanted? Where people could prove their worthiness in different ways that didn’t involve war? It felt like watching someone’s life on TV or that site, Wikipedia that helped him understand so much of what he missed whilst frozen. Although he missed his body, the strength and muscles, he had to admit, there was a sort of relaxing feeling being younger and skinny again. But this wasn’t right. They had to swap back! “H-how did this happen?”

“I…I don’t know,” replied Rohan as he glanced down at himself in disbelief. “This…this feels…”

“Weird?” Rohan was pleasantly surprised to see Steve chuckle in his body. “Look you clearly didn’t do this on purpose so let’s just figure out a way to work together and…turn back.”

“Y-Yeah I can’t…I mean this is…I can’t actually be Captain America…and you can’t be stuck in some…” Rohan gestured at Steve in his old body. “Uh well we know who got the short end of the deal.”

“Hey let’s not…say stuff like that,” said Steve. Even now he was being so…nice even if he went through something that should have been shattering his reality, his sense of self, should have made him panic. But if they still had their minds, then they must clearly have some of their old mental traits as well. 

“Yeah…”

“Though I definitely felt like I was losing mine before. Now maybe it’s because we don’t know how this things work but I kinda get the sense that whatever this…thing is…” Steve gestured at the console.

“It’s true. You’re Captain America and I’m…uh…” Rohan glanced down at himself in the star spangled hero’s body. He tried to ignore how much the man’s pecs turned him on as he swallowed dryly. 

“I could’ve been put in a billion worse people, besides you’re not…bad. A lot of this is just confidence, that and highly risky untested serum.” Steve gestured at the muscular body Rohan was in as Rohan smiled at that, at least appreciative the hero was still, well, being a hero, trying to assure him everything was okay. “The way I see it…somehow we both still have our heads.” Steve gestured at the console.

“It was trying to mess with our minds. I have the serum that could’ve helped but you seemed to keep yourself…as you too. Maybe it says a lot more about you than you think…and good thing too, I don’t know enough about this thing even with your head to…fix whatever this is.” Rohan blinked at the man’s words as he considered them.

He had never even come close to thinking about it, but if the quantum computer could somehow change their bodies like it was code, it should have done the same with their mind, programming them as if they were caricatures, NPCs.

But it didn’t. They both managed to hold on. What did that say about the technology? And if it was meant to work and wipe their minds…what did it say about him? He blinked again.

He doubted that he was even half as attractive as the hero but there was something about seeing himself from another man’s perspective, the warped features he once hated in the mirror didn’t look…as bad from another person’s eyes. He blinked.

“Uh yeah your memories are…a lot,” Rohan half joked, not only were they heavy but there were so many of them reaching so far back. “N-Not that I’m complaining. I mean I don’t want to…uh…say your body is bad…but…I think maybe I shouldn’t look at them too much. Uh kinda an invasion of privacy and I wanna keep a hold of my mind.”

“Are you sure you can manage?” Even now, Steve in another man’s body was looking out for someone else rather than himself. 

“Yeah I’m sure I can do this all day,” said Rohan with an ease before he blinked. 

“What was that?” Steve questioned. “I…I don’t know, that just felt…uh sort of right saying but that’s your…”

“Catchphrase…not that I really intended on one but growing up in wartime you learn that slogans stick,” said Steve with a casualness. Rohan was relieved, as if he half expected Steve to be angered someone else was in his body and now saying his words. “So what’s gonna happen? Am I gonna start listing off…game engine…things?”

“Game engine things?” “Like how you used my words, am I going to suddenly start rambling about how quantum processing is actually a brilliant and efficient way to cut back on cut back on loading times, procedural generation overhead, and memory thrash- Oh…Oh fuck-” 

“Swear,” both Rohan and Steve said simultaneously again. 

“Okay, okay…maybe we just…calm down. And figure out how this happened and-” Rohan said, nervously pacing and fidgeting in Steve’s body.

“Alright relax, I’m not mad at you. Weirder things have happened to me…I get it,” said Steve with a slight smile, even now the way he spoke, the confidence leaked out even if it was in another body. “It was the game, something…” Then the man’s eyes widened with realisation. “The game!” Steve started as he sat up. “We need to fix this…if we can, uh we can get to Tony’s before he does what he does next.” “Does next?” Rohan in Steve’s body asked as he blinked.

“He hacked into your office to play a demo of the game. He told me he would He’s playing with Bucky right now.” 

“Oh…Oh no uh…” replied Rohan as he stood up awkwardly in the much taller and broader body than he was used to. “How do we stop them?” It was only then that he realised he had no idea, memories of programming and even the game’s engine having filtered out.

“I don’t know but I do know this…if that game gets into Stark’s servers and somehow mutates or gets shared then…”

Then a whole lot of men would suddenly find themselves swapping bodies or turning into Avengers, both Steve and Rohan thought to themselves. With no way to figure out the extent of it, no way to predict who transforms into who and no way to wonder what would happen if someone was playing alone? What if the game made clones of heroes? What if it recruited heroes, all with one transformation at a time? Steve and Rohan both glanced at each other and blushed, remembering the pleasure they shared, the mess they made and now the mess they may soon have to clean up.

Sooner or later, it seemed every man who got their hand on the game could get a body to marvel. 

Rohan just wondered…does that mean he had to wear the suit?

I’d lived alone in my flat in Madrid for almost eight years. It was a beautiful bachelor pad — high ceilings, big windows overlooking the city, a sleek modern kitchen I barely used, and a rooftop terrace perfect for evening drinks. At 45, I had a good life. Successful job, nice things, plenty of freedom. But lately the place had started to feel too quiet. Too empty.

So I signed up to host an exchange student. Why not? I figured it would be nice to have some energy in the house again. Give a young college kid a proper Madrid experience.

The agency matched me with Mark Rossi.

Nineteen years old. Columbia University. Italian-American from New York (real Italian though, like his parents were from Turin). When his profile photo popped up, I actually paused. He was ridiculously good-looking in that effortless, boy-next-door way — warm brown eyes, thick dark hair that fell a little messy, a bright smile, and smooth, tanned skin that suggested he spent time outside. He looked innocent, almost sweet. But when we video-called, his personality came through immediately: confident, frat-bro energy mixed with that natural Italian charm. Funny, outgoing, quick with the jokes, but polite and respectful.

He arrived on a warm September afternoon.

I opened the door and there he was, rolling a big suitcase behind him, backpack slung over one shoulder. He was even better looking in person — about 5'11", athletic build, wearing a tight Columbia t-shirt that showed off nice arms and a broad chest, and a pair of shorts that revealed strong legs.

“Juan! Man, it’s so good to finally meet you,” he said with a big grin, stepping forward to give me a firm handshake that turned into a quick bro hug. “This place is insane. Thank you again for letting me stay here.”

We clicked right away. Within the first few days, it felt like we’d known each other longer than we had. Mark was easy to live with. He helped cook, kept his stuff organized, and had this infectious energy that filled up the flat. We’d sit on the terrace drinking wine in the evenings, talking about everything — his classes at the university in Madrid, life in New York, my travels, girls he’d dated, the crazy parties he went to. He had that perfect mix: American warmth and humor with a European confidence and flirtiness that made him magnetic.

I was getting used to having someone else around. Enjoying it, even.

Then, about ten days after he moved in, something weird started to happen.

---

At first I was really confused.

I woke up in the middle of the night, heart racing for no reason. I could have sworn I was in one of the guest beds. The mattress felt different under me, the layout of the room slightly off in the dark. But that didn’t make any sense. I always slept in my own room. I rolled over, mutter to myself, and fall back asleep. When I woke up, I was in my room still.

A few nights later it happened again. This time I woke up convinced I wasn’t in my own bed. The sheets felt wrong. The pillows were different. I blinked into the darkness, confused, before sleep pulled me under again.

Then, a few nights after that, I woke up drenched in sweat. My heart was pounding hard. I reached up instinctively and ran my hand over my bare chest.

It was smooth.

Completely smooth.

Where the hell was all my chest hair? Where was the thin gold necklace I’d worn every night for fifteen years? My fingers kept moving across the unfamiliar flat, toned skin, searching for something that wasn’t there. Panic flickered in my chest, but before I could fully process it, exhaustion won and I drifted off again.

The next time it happened, I woke up properly.

I sat up in bed, disoriented, I was definitely in one of the guest rooms. I stumbled over to the mirror on the wall. The streetlights outside cast just enough glow for me to see my reflection.

Mark stared back at me.

His handsome, boyish face. His messy dark hair. His smooth, athletic torso. I was in Mark’s body.

I froze, eyes wide. My — his — hands flew up to touch my face, my jaw, my chest. This wasn’t a dream. I could feel everything. The lighter weight of his frame, the absence of my usual bulk, the way his cock sat differently in the loose boxer briefs I was wearing.

“What the fuck…” I whispered in Mark’s voice.

A strange mix of panic and arousal hit me all at once. I was freaked out, heart hammering, but I also couldn’t ignore the low throb of excitement looking at Mark’s reflection — my reflection right now. I looked good. Really fucking good.

I stumbled back to the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling, breathing hard. Eventually I must have passed out again.

When I woke up the next morning, I was back in my own body. In my own room. The familiar weight, the chest hair, the necklace against my skin. Everything was normal.

Mark was already in the kitchen making coffee like nothing had happened. He looked up when I walked in and gave me his usual bright smile.

“Morning, Juan. You sleep okay? You look a little tired, man.”

I stared at him for a second, searching his face for any sign that he knew.

“Yeah,” I said finally, forcing a casual tone. “Slept fine.”

He nodded, none the wiser, and slid a mug of coffee toward me across the counter.

I took it, my hand slightly unsteady.

Whatever the hell was going on… Mark didn’t seem to have any idea it had even happened.

---

The next night I went to bed with a strange idea in my head.

As I laid there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, I thought about Mark. About his body. His face. His energy. I focused hard, willing it to happen again. I didn’t know if it would work, but I tried anyway.

A few hours later, I woke up.

The room felt different. The bed felt different. I sat up slowly and looked down at my hands — younger, smoother, with a light dusting of dark hair on the forearms. I touched my face. Sharp jaw, no stubble yet, thick messy hair falling over my forehead.

I was in Mark’s body again.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood in front of the mirror. Mark’s reflection stared back at me, wide-eyed. I opened my mouth and spoke.

“Holy shit… this is real.”

The words came out in a clear American accent. Then, I tried again in Spanish.

“¿Qué coño está pasando?”

It sounded rusty, clumsy. The words felt heavy on my tongue and came out with a strong Italian accent. I switched to Italian without thinking and the sentence flowed perfectly, natural and fluent.

“Porca puttana… funziona davvero.”

I laughed in disbelief, hearing Mark’s lighter, younger voice. The contrast was surreal.

Over the next several nights, I started doing it on purpose. I’d lie in bed, think about Mark, focus on his body, and more often than not, I would wake up a few hours later inside him.

Some nights I would just lie there in his bed, exploring. I’d run my hands over his smooth chest and abs, feeling the lean muscle. Other nights I’d get too turned on and end up jerking off slowly in his room, watching Mark’s handsome face in the mirror as I stroked his cock. The orgasms felt incredible — sharper, quicker, almost addictive.

A couple of times I even went for late-night walks in his body. It felt incredible — young, light on my feet, full of energy.

But no matter what I did, by the time morning came I would always get overwhelmingly tired. I’d crawl back into his bed, close my eyes, and wake up back in my own heavier, older body.

Mark never said a word about it. He’d greet me cheerfully every morning, completely unaware that I had spent half the night living in his skin.

---

A few weeks went by like that. I kept waking up in Mark’s body most nights, sometimes on purpose, sometimes not. I explored, I jerked off in front of his mirror, I took late-night walks through Chueca feeling young and alive. Every morning I’d wake up back in my own heavier body, and Mark would act completely normal, like nothing strange had ever happened.

Then Pedro came to visit from Bilbao.

Pedro had been my best friend for almost fifteen years. Thirty-nine, sharp-featured, always well-dressed, with that effortless charisma that turned heads wherever he went. I’d had a crush on him for most of that time. A quiet, hopeless kind of crush. I knew I was a good-looking guy — people told me constantly — but Pedro had never seen me that way. Not once.

He was a bit of a fuckboy. Always chasing younger guys. Twenties, early thirties at most. It verged on problematic sometimes, but he never crossed any real lines. He just loved being worshipped by hot, eager younger men. Over the years I had pushed those feelings for him down as deep as they would go. I told myself I was over it.

The day he arrived at the flat, he dropped his bag in the hallway and gave me a big hug.

“Juanito! Fuck, it’s good to see you, man.”

Then Mark walked out of the kitchen carrying two glasses of water, wearing a tight Columbia t-shirt and shorts.

Pedro’s eyes locked onto him immediately. I saw the shift in his posture, the way his gaze lingered. He tried to play it cool, aloof, but I knew him too well. He was captivated.

“Pedro, this is Mark. My exchange student from New York,” I said.

Mark flashed that bright, boyish smile and shook Pedro’s hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Juan’s told me a lot about you.”

They started talking, and I could see it happening right in front of me. Pedro was interested. Mark, for his part, wasn’t exactly discouraging it. He laughed at Pedro’s jokes, held eye contact a little longer than necessary, and gave him that charming, slightly flirty energy. Not over the top, but enough to make Pedro work for it. It didn’t feel like a straight guy just being polite. Mark was definitely into the attention.

I felt a sharp twist of jealousy in my chest.

Here I was, a good-looking, successful 45-year-old man who had wanted Pedro for years… and this 19-year-old kid was getting his attention in five minutes flat. It was frustrating as hell.

That night, after we all had a few drinks on the terrace, I went to bed earlier than usual. As I drifted off, I found myself thinking about Mark again. Thinking about his body. About how Pedro had looked at him.

A few hours later, I woke up.

I was in Mark’s bed again. In Mark’s body.

I lay there in the dark for a moment, heart beating fast, already knowing what I was going to do.

---

The next night we all went down the street to watch the Madrid derby at a local bar. The place was loud, packed with fans, and the energy was electric. We drank a few beers, yelled at the TV, and laughed the whole time. Mark was in his element — loud, charming, cracking jokes. Pedro couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

When we got back to the flat it was already past midnight. We kept hanging out in the living room, talking and drinking wine. Eventually I started feeling tired and headed to bed.

“Night guys,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Night, Juan,” Mark replied.

Pedro just gave me a small nod, his attention clearly elsewhere.

I lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. I could hear them still talking and laughing in the living room. Then the voices got quieter. Lower. More intimate. The sound of movement. A soft laugh from Mark. The unmistakable creak of the guest room door closing.

I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. Even with the door shut I could hear them. The low murmurs. The rustling of clothes. The quiet, wet sounds of kissing. Then the rhythmic creaking of the bed and Mark’s muffled moans.

Pedro was fucking him.

I lay there listening, a painful mix of jealousy, arousal, and frustration twisting in my gut. Eventually I closed my eyes and focused hard on Mark again — on his body, his face, the way he felt — as I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later.

It was 3:17 AM. I was no longer in my own bed.

I was lying on my side in the guest room, completely naked, with Pedro’s warm, muscular body pressed against my back. His arm was draped heavily over my waist, his hand resting possessively on my stomach. I could feel his soft cock nestled against my ass, still slightly sticky.

Fuck.

My heart started racing. Pedro was spooning me tightly, breathing slow and deep in sleep. I stayed perfectly still for a moment, just feeling the heat of his body, the weight of his arm, the scratch of his beard against the back of my neck.

I needed to see all of him.

Carefully, I turned over in his arms. Pedro made a sleepy sound but didn’t wake up. Now facing him, I could finally take him in. His handsome face relaxed in sleep, the strong line of his jaw, his broad chest rising and falling, his intricate tattoos, the dark hair trailing down his stomach. His cock rested thick and heavy against his thigh.

I stared at him, drinking in every detail. This was the man I’d wanted for years. And right now, in Mark’s younger, tighter body, I was the one lying naked in his arms.

My cock — Mark’s cock — started to harden against Pedro’s hip.

Pedro stirred, his eyes still closed but his hand sliding down my stomach until he felt how hard I — Mark — was.

“Oh… seems like someone’s ready for round two,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and lust.

In one smooth, powerful motion he rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him. I straddled his hips as he gripped my waist and guided me down onto his thick cock. I gasped as he slid back inside me, still slick from his load earlier. The stretch was intense.

I started riding him slowly at first, then faster, grinding down hard. Pedro pulled me forward into a deep, hungry kiss, tongue sliding into my mouth as he thrust up to meet me.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned against my lips.

He flipped me onto all fours and fucked me deep in doggy style, his hips slapping loudly against my ass. Then he pulled me up so my back was against his chest, one arm wrapped around my torso while he kissed and bit at my neck and shoulder from behind. His other hand roamed greedily over my toned abs and obliques.

“Speak Italian for me,” he growled, still thrusting steadily.

I moaned in Mark’s voice, the words coming out naturally, “Ti sto scopando così bene… mi fai impazzire…”

“Such a good boy,” Pedro praised, his hand stroking my cock in time with his thrusts. “So fucking tight for me.”

He flipped me onto my back and pushed my legs up, fucking me in missionary. His eyes locked onto mine, slack-jawed, pupils blown wide with pleasure. He looked completely lost in it, like he was drunk on how good Mark’s body felt.

The orgasm hit me like a freight train.

My whole body seized up. Waves of intense, shuddering pleasure crashed through me, stronger than anything I’d ever felt in my own body. My cock pulsed hard between us, shooting thick ropes of cum across my smooth chest and stomach in powerful spurts. I cried out, hole clenching rhythmically around Pedro’s cock as the orgasm seemed to go on forever.

Pedro’s eyes widened with raw lust. He greedily scooped up a big glob of my cum with his fingers and licked it off his hand without breaking eye contact.

“Mmm… not bad,” he said, voice rough. “Sweet. A little salty. Tastes like a young guy should.”

He scooped up more and brought his fingers to my lips. I hesitated for half a second, but he pushed them into my mouth anyway.

“Open. Taste yourself,” he ordered.

I sucked his fingers clean, tasting my own cum while he kept fucking me slow and deep.

“Not too bad for a kid who’s only tried girls before,” Pedro said with a wicked grin. “Glad I could be the first cock to fuck that tight little ass. Next time I’m gonna pull out and shoot my whole load all over that pretty face.”

He fucked me harder for another minute, then buried himself deep and came with a low groan, filling me again.

We collapsed together, sweaty and exhausted, and fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

When I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window.

I was still curled up against Pedro’s warm body. Still in Mark’s body.

Holy shit.

I carefully slipped out of bed, heart racing, and snuck into the kitchen wearing only a pair of Mark’s boxer briefs.

As I turned the corner and looked up, I was shocked to see my old body was already sitting at the kitchen table, wearing my favorite robe, sipping coffee. He looked up at me with a calm, slightly amused expression.

“Morning,” he said casually, in my voice.

You push the button as soon as you get home.

How could you not? The chance to become someone new was too enticing, too exciting. 

You push your glasses up your nose. Your eyes start tearing up, either from allergies or from all of the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You feel excited, or scared. Or both.

It dawns on you that you would like to see the changes, so you quickly skid across the floor to the bathroom so you can watch in the mirror. It had only been five seconds, but you think that there should have been some kind of change. 

You flick on the bathroom light. The overhead fan whirrs into existence alongside a flickering fluorescent bulb. In the mirror you see… Your same old self. You lean closer into the mirror, thinking that maybe there are a few hairs sprouting under your nose, but no… It’s the same spotty moustache you’ve always had. 

“No ha cambiado nada. ¿Será que se dañó?” you say, your voice sounding slightly deeper. “Espera... ¿qué acabo de decir?”

You freeze, staring into the mirror. Your eyes wide as the panic hits instantly.

That's not what you meant to say.

You try again. "Yo no hablo español.”

The sentence leaves your mouth effortlessly. And this time there has been a noticeable drop in the octaves of your voice. It’s definitely deeper. And more importantly, it’s definitely in Spanish. 

In a panic, you leave the bathroom and stumble into the main room. The words for different objects in the room spill through your head. You trace your hand over top of them, reciting the words out loud. 

“Sofá. Televisor. Refrigerador. Fregadero.”

Each word becomes more and more panicked. Each word comes out in Spanish. 

You pause at a wall of books. The titles look unfamiliar to you. You recognize the letters but the words mean nothing. Your eyes scan the spines desperately, searching for something readable, but you find nothing. You open a book and thumb through the pages. Part of you recognizes it as English, but you don’t understand any of the words. 

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach. You can't read this because you don’t know English. 

Your breathing quickens. You know English exists. You remember speaking it your entire life. You remember conversations, movies, songs, text messages, and grammar lessons in school. You remember understanding these words. But when you reach for a single English word, your mind comes back empty.

The memories are still there, but the language isn’t. It's like remembering that you once knew how to ride a bicycle while having no idea what a bicycle even is.

You continue to stare at the open book, willing the words to make sense but they don’t. Your breathing becomes shallow and tears start welling in your eyes. You shouldn’t have pressed the button. 

"¡Hablo inglés!” you yell, hoping to force English out of you. But it’s in Spanish again.

You slam the book shut, the slam echoes through the apartment.

You grab your phone from the coffee table and unlock it. The home screen looks wrong. Not because anything has changed, but because you can't read it.

Your text messages are rows of meaningless words, your email inbox is incomprehensible and social media posts blur together into unreadable nonsense.

Panic grips your chest. You know exactly what these apps are. You remember using them! You remember reading thousands upon thousands of messages but now every sentence might as well be written in code.

“¿Qué le está pasando a mi celular?” you panic out. Now you don't even notice that you’re speaking in Spanish.

A notification appears at the top of the screen and for a brief moment you hope that it's written in Spanish because maybe that'll prove what's happening.

You tap it open, opening up your texts. The message is… perfectly readable. Instantly and effortlessly. The profile picture shows a grinning man with dark skin and short, curly hair. You recognize him immediately. It’s Santiago, your gym buddy. The name arrives naturally in your brain, and with a flood of half-formed memories follows. Late-night workouts, shared spotting sessions, protein shakes after training, long conversations about life and work and girls that feel vaguely familiar.

You read the message:

¿Entrenas esta noche o qué?

And unlike the books, unlike the emails, unlike everything else in your apartment, you understand every word.

Without thinking, you begin typing.

Sí. Llegaré pronto. Llego en 15.

You freeze. You didn’t translate the sentence, you didn’t even think about the sentence: you simply wrote it.

You turn your phone off and put it down on the table. The apartment suddenly feels quiet. You steady yourself, standing in the middle of a home that is beginning to feel strange and unfamiliar. Your eyes drift across the room to the furniture, books and DVDs, everything feels wrong. 

A knot forms in your stomach. You start to feel like you don’t belong, like you’re supposed to be somewhere else. Because you don’t belong here.

You swallow hard. You know what’s going to happen next. 

“Bueno...” you whisper, the word coming out naturally. “Aquí viene.”

The first change strikes like a sledgehammer. Pain explodes through your chest. You cry out and double over as your sternum creaks violently. The sound is wet and mechanical, like metal being bent under enormous pressure. Your ribs spread apart beneath your skin. Every breath becomes deeper, heavier, as your ribcage expands.

You stagger towards the bathroom, feeling like you are about to throw up. You grab the edge of the sink and hold on for dear life.

“No…” The protest comes out in Spanish.

Heat floods through your torso and your chest surges outward. Muscle swells beneath your skin in thick, dense waves. The growth is relentless. Your shirt tightens instantly, the fabric stretching across rapidly expanding pecs.

You hear stitching begin to tear, then a seam bursts. Your entire upper body jerks as more mass piles onto your frame.

The muscles aren't forming neatly but growing aggressively and violently. Years of heavy presses, incline benches, weighted dips, and brutal workouts seem to compress themselves into seconds. Your pecs continue expanding until they dominate your upper torso.

Another pulse tears through you and your shoulders explode outward.

You scream, deep and guttural. The joints in your shoulder and chest pop one after another as your frame widens. Thick muscle ripples across your deltoids, transforming them into dense rounded masses.

The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

Your sleeves strain desperately around rapidly thickening arms and split. The tears echo around the room as fabric rips apart from shoulder to wrist.

Fresh muscle swells through the openings, your biceps knot and expand then keep growing.

Veins rise beneath your skin. Your triceps thicken and your forearms widen.

The muscles become heavy enough that your arms no longer hang the way they used to. They naturally drift away from your sides, crowded out by the sheer size of your chest and lats.

A deep groan escapes your throat. Even your voice sounds different now: deeper, richer, more powerful.

The pressure moves downward tightening your stomach violently. The softness around your waist burns away. Hard muscle forms beneath your skin. Your abdomen hardens. Obliques sharpen. Thick slabs of muscle spread across your core.

Then your back erupts. You nearly collapse from the shock and overwhelming pressure. Your lats flare outward so quickly that your remaining shirt tears up the sides. The fabric falls away, to the ground, but you barely notice.

Your entire torso feels impossibly broad now. Heavy, dense and built.

A fresh wave crashes into your neck. You clutch your throat as thick cords of muscle form beneath the skin. Your neck expands until it nearly blends into your traps.

Pressure spreads through your cheeks and brow as the bones beneath your skin shift. Dark stubble bursts across your jawline. The hairs rapidly lengthen and thicken into a dense goatee. The recession in your hairline disappears as thick, wavy black hair pushes forward across your scalp.

Suddenly your vision goes blurry and panic shoots across your face. You blink repeatedly but the bathroom smears around you.

"¿Qué está pasando?"

You rub furiously at your eyes with a massive hand and then you realize the problem isn't your eyes, it’s your glasses. The frames sit crooked on your face now. Your widening head has bent them slightly out of shape. You pull them off and stare at them. For the first time in your life, the room remains perfectly clear with very detail of the bathroom snapping into sharp focus. You slowly fold the glasses and place them on the sink. Somehow, you already know you're never going to need them again.

You stumble closer to the mirror. The man staring back is already becoming unrecognizable.

With his enormous chest, massive shoulders, and powerful arms. And somehow the transformation still isn't finished as the biggest changes haven't even reached your lower body yet.

A strange sensation suddenly blooms deep in your hips, a tingling deep in your bones and muscles. Your breath catches and pain arrives a split second later.

“¡Mierda!" you exclaim.

Your knees buckle and catch yourself on the edge of the sink as pressure floods through your pelvis. It feels like your entire lower body is being pulled apart. Your hips pop a deep and unsettling sound as muscle fibres tighten and seize across your thighs. You cry out as your quadriceps knot beneath your skin.

The muscles aren't simply growing but being rebuilt. Years of squats, leg presses, sprint training, stair climbs and lunges. Thousands upon thousands of repetitions seem to compress themselves into a few agonizing seconds. Your thighs thicken.

The fabric of your shorts stretches, but then it also begins to change and alter. The thick grey lounge shorts you bought from Costco are restitching themselves into black thin and airy gym shorts. The hem line rises higher up your thigh, exposing your muscles and darkening skin to the light of the bathroom light. The muscles beneath your shorts become heavier, denser and stronger.

The transformation drives deeper.

Your femurs ache and pressure builds inside the bones themselves. The realization that you are getting taller sends a fresh wave of panic through your chest. The bathroom countertop slowly sinks away, the mirror lowers and the towel hanging beside the shower drops inch by inch. Or at least that's what it looks like, but you know better than that because you're rising.

The crotch of your shorts grows tighter and more constrictive as the seam rides higher. In a moment of curiosity, you stretch the elastic of your shorts open to see your cock growing thicker, longer and darker in skin tone. The tip grows wider, and new foreskin knits itself across. Dark hair spreads from your belly button down to your dick. You reach your massive hand and hold dick in your equally massive hand, sending a jolt through your entire body. You stare and hold it longer than you mean to, partly because it's shocking but mostly because it's impossible to look away.

A strange mix of excitement, pride and disbelief settles in your chest. You feel your dick start to become harder, a flood of fresh blood surging into your groin. It feels good and normal. This has always been your dick. The gentle rhythmic stroking feels good, but it does not drown out the discomfort you feel in the rest of your still changing body. 

A fresh surge of pressure floods through your hips and glutes. Your backside grows heavier, rounder, and noticeably firmer, forcing your stance wider to accommodate the new mass. The fabric of your shorts stretches taut across it, pulled tight against muscle built from years of squats, lunges, stair climbs, and endless hours in the gym. Every movement feels different now: more powerful and more grounded. You shift your balance and posture immediately as even standing still feels different. Your lower body now carries the dense strength of a man who has spent years building it.

Another crack echoes through your legs and knees straighten involuntarily. Your entire body jerks upward causing you to gasp in air. The movement feels impossible, yet it keeps happening.

Your calves swell next, and more dense muscle forms beneath the skin, hard and athletic. Fresh hair spreads across them while veins rise beneath the surface. You shift your weight and immediately notice the difference that balance has changed and your centre of gravity feels different.

Everything feels different: the bathroom feels smaller, the ceiling feels lower, the doorway feels narrower. A final pulse tears through your lower body causing you to cry out once again.

Then suddenly it's over. A silence fills the room, broken only by your own heavy breathing. 

You slowly stand upright, noticing how strange the movement feels, not because you're injured but because you're much taller.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror again and see a broad-shouldered Colombian man staring back, one who now stands over six feet tall. And for the first time since pressing the button, the reflection doesn't look like someone you're becoming but rather like someone you've always been.

You shake your head in disbelief. “Soy yo... Camilo Vargas.”

The name is yours. It’s always been yours.

A sudden jolt shoots through your stomach, reminding you of an airplane lifting off the runway.

The bathroom vanishes and for a brief moment there is only a weightlessness void. Then your feet hit rubber flooring causing you to stumble forward. Music pounds through hidden speakers and the sharp scent of sweat, disinfectant, and warm metal fills your lungs.

Spanish voices echo around you .You look up to see rows of machines stretch across a brightly lit gym. Men and women move between benches and squat racks and televisions hang from the walls playing soccer highlights. Ceiling fans push warm air through the building.

Nobody seems surprised by your presence. Nobody is staring and nobody is questioning why you're there because as far as they're concerned, you have always been there.

Memories begin settling into place of early morning workouts, protein shakes, missed reps, personal records and all the hours spent chasing a better version of yourself. The gym doesn't feel unfamiliar but rather it feels like home.

A voice suddenly calls out from across the room. “¡Camilo!”

You turn instinctively to see grinning muscular man waves from beside a bench press. You recognize Santiago immediately, he’s been your friend for years.

“Pensé que no ibas a venir,” he says.

A smile spreads across your face before you can stop it. “No me lo perdería.”

Santiago punches you playfully on the shoulder and leads you toward the bench press. You're already comfortably warmed up from the stretches you did when you arrived at the gym. As you follow him through the weight room, your eyes drift toward a Colombian flag hanging high on the far wall. A strange warmth spreads through your chest.

Pride washes through your mind as memories begin settling into place.

Watching Colombia play soccer with your family gathered around the television. Your tío shouting at the referee from the couch while your primos squeezed together on the floor. Your tía carrying plates of food through the living room while everyone yelled over one another. Then the entire house erupting when Colombia scored, drinks spilling and people jumping to their feet as car horns sounded somewhere outside. You remember kicking a soccer ball around afterward, trying to recreate the moves of James Rodríguez. For weeks afterward, you were convinced you were going to play for the national team someday.

You remember long afternoons spent sweating under the tropical sun. Your mamá handing you a warm arepa before school while the smell of fresh coffee drifted through the house. Your papá leaving for work before sunrise and returning home exhausted but always making time to ask about your day. You drift through memories of kicking a soccer ball through the street with your hermanos until your mamá called all of you inside for dinner. Riding in the back seat with the windows down as motorcycles buzzed through crowded streets, music spilling from open windows as you walked home. Entire neighbourhoods glowing with Christmas lights in December. The memories settle comfortably into place, carrying with them a warmth and familiarity that makes it difficult to remember ever calling anywhere else home.

The memories don't arrive as strangers. They feel familiar. Comforting.

Because they're yours.

You glance at the flag again and smile. For a moment, you can't believe there was ever a time when you weren't Colombian.

A distant memory of another life flickers briefly through your mind. A different face. A different language. A different country.

The memory fades almost as quickly as it came.

You have a workout to finish. Friends waiting for you. A life waiting for you.

Santiago calls your name from across the gym. You grin and head over. Camilo Vargas has always belonged here.

Morris needs a job, Byron Industries needs an lab rat perfect for their new trial to make a mindless (read: horny) grunt. Paging through his favorite book while he waits, for such a reader he surely didn't read any fine print.

Wrote this one for a GSS challenge a bit ago! Here it is ever so slightly touched up with a few images added. This one's for all you real Melville heads out there. -Occam

“Call me Morris!”

The literature grad surely expected at least some reaction to his smallest of Moby Dick references. It’s not the first time he’s met with silence at the playfully pitiful introduction, but usually there’s at least confusion. This receptionist simply stares blankly. Perhaps there was a perfunctory smile under the facemask, but it certainly didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Morris Baker, yes? For the interview?”

Still recoiling from his scuffed opening Morris is hesitant to speak up. All the well as the receptionist takes his silent quibbling as confirmation. 

“Sir Byron will be with you shortly, please have a seat and enjoy our lobby’s amenities.”

Clutching his shoulder bag tightly as he sort of bows before stepping away from the front desk, Morris realizes that he’s not just working himself up. It’s not in his head, something is off about that receptionist. Sneaking a quick glance back, he sees the clerk is still staring at him. No? Staring through him.

To his credit, Morris stills the shiver that runs up his spine at the realization. Focusing on what matters, Morris convinces himself that between the two of them the secretary’s the weird one. That’s why the man didn’t react to his solid Moby Dick reference! Turning with a cocksure grin to take in the amenities the strange receptionist spoke of he wonders what he’ll find. It’s not every day someone like him gets to wander into Byron Roman’s business, after all.

I took a few creative liberties here and wrote a long one lol. Enjoy!

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

“C’mon,” Ethan muttered, gripping the back of the couch as he tried to straighten his right leg. “I’ve got this... I've... fuck!”

He exhaled deeply and collapsed onto the couch, wincing as the pain shot through his knee. It hurt so much, so fuckin' much. And it wasn't just physical. He could hear his phone buzzing, the messages piling up.

"You coming back this season, bro?"

"Tubing Friday. Your knee good enough yet?"

"Scouts still asking about you btw."

Ethan cursed again. He missed going to practice. Missed drinking with bros. Missed the parties, the dumb arguments, the camaraderie. He missed his life before the injury.

“Fuck me...” His head sunk into his hands, "Stupid fuckin' knee."

He glanced up at his stick and the framed photo of the team. Him in the middle with a wide grin and his arm around his bros. Fuck... he wanted to get back to that. And he wanted to get back fast.

"There's gotta be a way..." He muttered.

An hour later he was deep in rehab forums when an ad stopped him cold.

BUILD-U-BACK RECOVERY NOW ENROLLING IN YOUR AREA: A NEW START, LASTING RELIEF

“Sounds fake as hell,” Joe murmured. But when he glanced back at the team photo he felt a pang in his chest. He reached for his wallet soon after.

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

This was it. Ethan stood on the empty practice field, stick in hand. The cold night air felt good against his warm skin. The stadium lights already dimming.

"Okay..." He bounced on the balls of his feet, "Okay, I've got this."

He dropped into goalie stance carefully, bracing for the pain. But it never came.

"No way..." Ethan pushed harder, shuffling across the crease before planting sharply off the bad leg, "Oh my god." He laughed with disbelief, "No fuckin' way!"

"Walsh?"

Ethan spun and smiled wider when he saw Luke, "Bro!"

"Dude! You're running!"

"I know! I fuckin' know!" He pointed at his knee, "It's gone, dude! It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"Let's fuckin' go, bro!"

It fuckin' worked. That fuckin' drug actually worked! Ethan stood proud, chest heaving and adrenaline surging. He was back. Practice, scouts, games, parties... it was all back.

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

“Dude! First game back, you feel ready?”

Ethan looked up from tying his cleats and grinned. “More than ready.”

He tugged at the bottom of his hoodie, annoyed again by how tight it felt around his waist and chest. He’d already stopped wearing some of his older shirts entirely after realizing they didn’t fit right anymore. He figured his dryer was doing a number on his wardrobe.

“We won’t be too upset if you fuck up out there,” Luke said while peeling his shirt over his head. “We get you’re a little rusty.”

“Eat shit,” Ethan laughed, tossing a roll of tape at him before reaching for his own hoodie.

The cool air felt warm against his skin, and Ethan scratched absentmindedly at his chest, pausing for just a moment as his fingers tangled with thicker hairs there.

"The fuck...?" Ethan frowned and looked down.

Dark curls spread across the middle of his chest before trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. Sweat glistened faintly through the hair despite the cold room, and when Ethan shifted slightly, the waistband dug tighter against a stomach that suddenly looked thicker than he remembered.

"I shaved this shit this morning..." He figured the hair growth was a side effect of the drug, but he'd spent the last few days making sure he kept it under control. But now...?

Luke whistled low. “Damn, Walsh. Didn’t realize the recovery plan involved growing a lawn on your chest and blowing out your waistline.”

A couple guys laughed awkwardly before looking away again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan muttered, pulling his jersey on faster than usual. The fabric stretching tighter around his waist than he remembered.

Nobody really said anything after that.

Ethan forced a grin anyway and slammed his locker shut. “Alright, boys,” he called out. “Let’s do this.”

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

It was supposed to feel normal again. Friday night. Sports bar packed wall-to-wall after the game. Music too loud. Ethan sat wedged between Luke and Dylan with a cold Busch Light in his hand before realizing halfway through the bottle that he didn’t even remember ordering it.

“You looked like shit tonight,” Luke laughed.

“Appreciate it.”

“Seriously though, you good?”

Ethan scratched at the rough stubble on his chin. “Just playing bad.”

His phone buzzed against the table.

"CONGRATULATIONS ON ONE MONTH! YOUR NEXT PHASE OF RECOVERY STARTS TONIGHT!"

Ethan frowned at the notification before locking the screen again, "Next phase?" He stared at his arm, now dusted with dark hairs.

"Hey Ethan." Luke nudged him, "Someone's staring."

Ethan spotted her across the bar. Blond. Gorgeous. Smiling at him. For the first time all night, something loosened in his chest.

“There we go,” Dylan laughed when he caught Ethan staring. “That’s the Walsh we know.”

Ethan grinned and took another sip. Soon after, he was fumbling with his apartment keys while she laughed softly beside him in the hallway. They moved to his bedroom, clothes discarded quickly.

"Fuck..." Ethan whispered, as she kissed slowly along his neck, "I needed..."

"Standby mode protocol upload."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“What?” she asked softly.

“It's uh... Nothin’.”

Her hands slid slowly across his chest and draped around his shoulders before pausing.

“Wow,” she said with a small laugh. “You’re kinda hairy.”

Ethan glanced down automatically, eyes widening at the sight of the dark hair curling across his shoulders and down his back.

"That's not..." He knew it wasn't there five hours ago.

“Sorry,” she added quickly, still smiling. “You’re just hairer than most guys I’ve been with.”

"Pleasure directives stem from labor initiatives."

Ethan winced hard enough that she finally pulled back slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I just...” He rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t feel right.”

She kissed him again anyway, her hand sliding lower across the thicker, softer shape of his stomach before slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers and around his flaccid cock.

“Oh,” she laughed gently, trying to mask her confusion.

Ethan glanced down, a wave of sickening humiliation washing over him. His cock stayed completely dead. Buried in a dense, coarse mat of newly thick pubic hair and a rapidly expanding fat pad, his dick looked distinctly shorter, stubbier, and entirely useless

“You okay?” she asked again, quieter this time.

“Yeah. I just...” He swallowed hard. “I dunno. It's not working... I... Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly, “Seriously. It happens.”

A few minutes later he stood awkwardly by the door while she slipped her shoes back on.

“Maybe just stress?” she offered gently.

“Yeah.” Ethan forced a laugh. “Probably.”

After she left, the apartment felt painfully quiet again. Ethan stood there shirtless for another minute before walking to the fridge automatically and grabbing another Busch Light.

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

A week had passed, and Ethan exhaled heavily as he stepped out of the shower. He’d stopped changing in the locker room after practice a few days ago, tired of catching teammates staring too long at his stomach or shoulders before awkwardly looking away. Now, alone in his apartment, there was nobody else left to notice except him.

“Jesus Christ...” he whispered at his reflection.

The mirror across from the bed reflected somebody that looked wrong. Dark curls spread heavily across his chest and shoulders now, while rough stubble shadowed his jaw despite shaving before practice that morning. Even standing still, his body looked heavier than it used to.

“I’m exercising,” Ethan muttered weakly. “I’m eating healthy...” His eyes drifted toward the empty Busch Light cans scattered across the nightstand, “I...”

"Standby initiating."

Ethan’s breath caught as the voice echoed in his head.

“What the...”

"Standby mode active."

Every muscle in his body locked instantly.

Ethan jerked hard against it on instinct, but nothing responded correctly. His fingers twitched once beside his thigh before going still again. His chest continued rising and falling normally. He could blink. Breathe. Swallow. But that was it.

“What... the fuck...” he forced out weakly.

Hours passed as Ethan sat frozen on the edge of the bed staring into the mirror. The rough hair across his chest thickened slowly while his stomach pushed heavier against his lap with every shallow breath. His face itched constantly as a dark beard spread across his jaw until he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks.

A knock on the door and the sound of heavy footsteps entering his apartment made him tense. He watched as two men in BUILDING-U-BACK jackets entered his room and stopped mid-step when they saw Ethan in nothing but a pair of tight sweatpants.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “That’s the lacrosse kid?”

“Yeah. CRW-57F.”

The younger guy kept staring. “Still got some of that frat-boy face left.”

“Not for too long.”

The younger rep shook his head slowly. “Weird seeing one this young.”

“Don’t worry,” the older rep said casually. “Give it a week and you won’t even be able to pick 'em out from the others.”

Ethan strained against the paralysis hard enough that his jaw twitched once.

“You know what’s crazy?” the younger rep continued. “Six months from now he’ll be drinking beer after shifts talking about kids that don’t exist like the rest of ’em.”

“Yeah well, the whole family-man thing makes clients comfortable. People trust workers who look settled.”

One of them glanced toward the empty Busch Light cans beside the bed.

“Damn,” he muttered. “He’s already self-reinforcing.”

“Good sign.”

Ethan let out another whimper as he tried to reach for his phone, but his arm wouldn't budge.

“Oh shit,” the younger rep said suddenly. “You think he knows what we’re saying?”

“Nah,” the older rep replied casually. “The lab guys say there's not much left going on upstairs during standby.”

Ethan felt something cold settle quietly in his chest. The older rep finally looked directly at him and nodded toward the hallway.

“C’mon CRW-57F," He tossed him his old lacrosse hoodie, "Housing assignment’s ready.”

Ethan stood automatically.

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

Ethan barely remembered the drive to the facility. He had been packed into a van shoulder-to-shoulder with a few other hirsute guys sporting beer guts. His eyes remained fixed on the man across from him, and Ethan realized with growing dread that it was like looking in a mirror.

"There's been a mistake!" He tried to call out, but the words in his head wouldn't leave his mouth, "Please..."

When they did finally arrive at the facility, he was walked to a featureless room with a table and a few bins.

"This is CRW-57F." A man said to his colleague, entering the room, "Originally Ethan Walsh. Signed up for the program for an injured knee." He looked down at his clipboard, "Worker identity is officially Joe Mercer."

"Joe Mercer? That's not..." He thought, but the name Ethan was already starting to feel distant.

"Alright, let's get him in the system." The man continued, "We're going to need your personal belongings, CRW-57F."

Joe felt as he reached into his pocket and gripped his phone. He quickly dropped it into one of the bins, along with his keys, wallet, student ID.

"Oh shit, that's the college kid?" One of the men said, looking down at the ID.

"Yeah, lacrosse player, if you can believe it now."

"Damn, that drug did a number on him." The man sighed, "Okay, CRW-57F, need the clothes too."

Ethan winced as he gripped his team's lacrosse hoodie and yanked it off. Cool air hit the thick hair covering his chest and stomach, and he heard one of the employees exhale quietly through his nose.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Hope the knee was worth it.”

"Update on the apartment?"

"Cleaning crew is taking care of that, lease will terminate tomorrow."

"N-No..." Ethan thought, imagining them clearing it out. His team photo. His lacrosse gear. The clothes crammed into the closet. Every piece of evidence that Ethan Walsh had ever existed.

"Family updated?" The other man nodded, "And..."

"What do you think? Took it poorly." The other man sighed, "Kid’s barely old enough to drink and now he’s gonna look older than his dad."

"Visitation scheduled?"

"In a month."

Ethan felt his stomach twist. The thought of his parents seeing him like this made him want to disappear.

"By then he'll be settled enough that it won't matter much." The rep muttered, "They all stop trying eventually."

One of them picked up Ethan's student ID and looked at the picture for a second before tossing it into the bin with the rest of his belongings.

"Poor kid."

"Yeah."

The lid snapped shut. A folded stack of clothes landed in Ethan’s arms a second later. Gray work shirt. Plain jeans. Steel-toe boots. The employee checked another box on his clipboard.

“Alright CRW-57F,” he said casually. “let's get you downstairs.”

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

Ethan barely slept.

The worker housing smelled like sweat, musk, sawdust, and stale beer. The bed made his back ache. Men wandered the halls at all hours wearing gray shirts and work pants, scratching at thick stomachs or rubbing sleep from heavy eyes while they talked about wives, back pain, football games, and their kids.

“Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man.”

“Yeah? Mine just turned thirteen. Kid's eating me out of house and home already!”

Ethan sat quietly on the edge of his bed with a Busch Light in his hand, staring toward the floor while his body moved through routines his brain still hadn’t fully accepted. Every few hours that same pressure built behind his eyes again, and afterward his thoughts always came back slower.

"Who are these people?" He wondered, "They all look... the same..."

But when he looked down, he realized how much he looked like them too. Even more than the night he was brought to the facility. The gut, the hair, the beard, the weathered skin... what the fuck had they done to him?

“Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man.”

Ethan looked up slowly. A different pair of workers stood near the vending machines now.

“Yeah? Mine just turned thirteen. Kid's eating me out of house and home already!” The exact same laugh followed.

Ethan felt his stomach tighten. It was the same conversation, the same cadence… the same everything. They all talked like that. All looked the same. Nothing to distinguish them...

"Lacrosse." He thought suddenly.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture the locker room. The smell of the gear. The roar after a clean save. He could almost see the jersey. Blue. Or green? No... Red?

Ethan shuddered and took another swig of his beer.

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

He couldn't recall the drive out here. One moment he was climbing into his assigned bunk, the next he was hauling lumber across a chaotic job site. Sweat drenched the thick hair across his torso. He reeked, too... of sawdust, exhaustion, and that stale musk clinging like the rest of them. He craved a shower, but knew better. Management preferred them this way.

"57F?" Two reps walked past him, "Still not meeting his quotas."

"Really? You'd think with him having been a star athlete..."

"Eh, you would think." The rep muttered, "We've found it really doesn't."

"Shame. We'll ship him out to Ohio tomorrow then, they're looking for more men and he's slowing us down."

He continued to work, but their words kept repeating in his head. A month ago, he was a star. Always getting positive feedback, always being commended. Now, he was failing at whatever this nightmare was.

"Joe?" He turned immediately to see one of the workers approach him, "You remember my boy, yeah?" The man smiled, "Tyler’s putting on weight. Gonna join the football team like his old man."

"Yeah?" The word left his mouth before he could even think about it. In fact, he didn't even really process it. Everything slowed suddenly, simplified in his brain. Lacrosse? Old apartment? Friends? Suddenly, it felt far from reach, "Mine just turned thirteen." He'd heard those words before from the other workers. The exact same words. Delivered in the same cadence, with the same gravely voice. Now... those words were coming from him, "Kid's eating me out of house and home already!"

Both men laughed. But as the other worker stepped away, Ethan's eyes widened.

"Fuck... no..." His thoughts were slower than they had been just two minutes prior. But so was his anxiety. Everything suddenly felt so much simpler, "La-lacrosse... lacrosse... not this..." He repeated for as long as his mind let him.

The pressure behind his eyes returned immediately. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the lumber until his knuckles turned white. He tried to hold onto the panic, tried to hold onto the certainty that something terrible was happening to him, but even that feeling seemed to be slipping away. The fear was still there. He could feel it. Yet every second it felt smaller, duller, less important than the work waiting around him.

"Joe!" He looked up automatically. One of the workers waved him over, "Quit daydreaming. Grab this end."

He did as he was told and the pressure vanished. Relief flooded him, washing away the confusion, the panic...

"Appreciate it," the worker said.

"No problem." The answer came naturally, "I ain't no slacker."

The two men carried the load across the site together while talking about football, kids, weekend plans, and just how good the cold beer at the end of the day would taste. Across the yard, one of the reps glanced up from his clipboard.

"Huh... Looks like Ohio's getting him just in time."

"I guess so..."

Joe adjusted the lumber on his shoulder and laughed at something one of the other workers said. The sound blended effortlessly with the rest of the crew as they disappeared into the noise of the job site.