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This your boss? No problem.

A familiar rush hits my face as I’m transported back in time. The year is 2005. I look at the college campus around me, trying to pinpoint where he is. My powers take me to the relative locations of these men, so it takes a little to find them. Eventually, I find him sitting in the corner, poring over his calculus textbook.

“Hey bro! How’ve you been?” I ask, slipping into character.

He looks up bewildered as I wrap my arms around him in a bro-hug. “I-um- who are you?”

“Bro what do you mean who am I? I’m your buddy Ryan, we’re roommates man.” I say as my body pulses with power. Hypnosis is one of my favorite powers of mine.

His eyes glaze over and he gives me a look of recognition. “Oh yeah, hey man! Wild I didn’t recognize you for a sec there, I was zoning out.”

I give a dumb chuckle. “It’s all good man. Hey listen, there’s a party later tonight at the Beta Sigma Chi house dude, you should totally go!” I say, pushing my power further into him.

“Yeah dude that sounds amazing! I’ll be there.”

The party was a standard frat party, with booze and half naked guys everywhere. I spot him in the corner of the room, quietly nursing his drink.

“Hey bro! What are you doing over here? Join the party!” I say, willing it into existence.

Next thing I know, he’s absolutely wasted, standing on a table screaming “I’m never studying again!” A chorus of cheers surrounds him. I just smile.

After the party, I return home to 2026. Standing before me is no longer an uptight corporate boss, but instead, a frat bro who never quite grew up.

[Thank you to @axeeglitter for donating the first image!]

God, isn’t my boyfriend Kevin hot?

Like, maybe TOO hot? I constantly worry he’s going to be stolen away from me by some jacked-up jock who’s more his speed. I don’t really get what he sees in me. Especially considering how much I see in him.

Like, look at how I’m looking at him right now.

This is how my face looks every time he’s in front of me. I can’t even focus on the totally Instagram-worthy coffee shop café thing he’s dragged me to. I couldn’t care less about coffee, really, but Kevin wanted to come (“they have coffee sommeliers that come right up to your table, Andrew,” he said, as if that wasn’t what regular waiters did at regular restaurants).

Anyway, I don’t know why I get so worked up about how hot he is. He adores me. He always tells me so. He doesn’t care that I don’t play basketball or go to the gym as much as he does. He says he likes having a respite from all of that when he comes home.

He says everyone at the gym is stupid and boring. He even called them “pretentious,” which made me laugh. You can’t be pretentious about macros. They’re not, like, fine art. But it’s just Kevin being Kevin. He just calls anything he hates “pretentious.”

That’s because what Kevin really hates is pretentious people. He hates when people put on airs and pretend to be cooler than they are.

That sure isn’t how I operate. And he loves me. He’s proven that time and again. So I gotta accept it. That’s what my therapist says.

And I believe every word of his constant “I love yous,” for so many reasons. Like, this schmoopy across-the-table gaze thing is a two-way street. If you could see the way he’s looking at me right now… Puppy dog eyes, I swear. He’s toying with my hand and picks it up to kiss it gently. This sweet gesture earns us a snort of derision from this jacked guy walking past our table.

He is exactly who I’ve always secretly feared is Kevin’s type. Expensive fitted clothes that are made to look like they’re off-the-rack. Tattoos that highlight how thick his neck is and how burly his bicep is. I hate him already.

He’s clearly about to say something, but Kevin shoots him a glare and says “keep walking, pal.”

And the guy does keep walking. If only every problem in life had such a simple solution.

As soon as my food shows up, I need to pee. I can’t explain how this always happens to me. But it’s like clockwork. While I’m peeing, I type a reply to my sister Julia’s latest text. It takes longer than I anticipated, and I eventually snap out of my phone trance, realizing that a few minutes have passed since I left our table.

I wash my hands and dry them in a rush, pushing the restroom door open with my hip and hurrying back to my seat…which is currently being occupied by a big, burly man. The guy who scoffed at us earlier. Douchebag stole my seat! I storm up to the table, preparing to eloquently tell him off, but - finding myself unprepared - all I can say is, “what the fuck?” The stranger looks at me like I’m the dirt underneath his shoe.

“What’s up, little man?” he says in a casual voice laced with condescension.

“You’re in my seat,” I say though gritted teeth.

“No, I’m in my seat,” he says.

I change tacks and turn to my boyfriend. “Kevin, tell him that’s my seat.”

Kevin just shrugs and says, “He’s been sitting here the whole time, pal, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Is this some sort of prank? Is this some friend of Kevin’s from the gym that he got to help him mess with me or something? I start to say something else when I see Kevin rest his hand on the interloper’s thigh. He’s squeezing the bulky muscle and sliding his hand too close to his crotch for comfort. I don’t think Kevin would do that just to prank me. It’s too cruel.

“Jesus, Kevin,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. “Right in front of me? That’s rich. After all the times you said my worries were unfounded. That you loved me for me.”

“Why would I tell you I loved you?” Kevin asks. He has a quizzical expression that seems genuine, and I’m lost for words yet again.

“Yeah, you’re really not his type,” says the other guy, who needs to stay out of this.

“Of course I’m his type,” I spit out.

“No offense,” says Kevin, looking me up and down, “but you’re really not. Honestly, I’m sure a lot of guys dig your vibe, but it’s a bit pretentious for me. I much prefer my big oaf here.” He accompanies that last statement by grabbing the stranger’s shoulder and giving it an affectionate little rub with his thumb.

I feel like he’s just dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. “Pretentious? Pretentious? How can you call me pretentious when this guy is wearing designer sunglasses and has a neck tattoo?”

“It’s called style, man,” says the stranger.

“Shut up, I’m not talking to you,” I spit back.

“Hey, hey,” says Kevin. “Let’s not be rude to my boyfriend.”

Hearing him say the word “boyfriend” practically made my brain implode. I gaped at him mutely, like a fish who was just unexpectedly pulled from the water onto dry land.

I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “You told me you loved me not 12 minutes ago. Now you’re feeling up some other guy in front of me and calling me pretentious. What gives?”

Kevin narrows his eyes. “What aren’t you getting? I have no reason to love you. And why wouldn’t I call you pretentious? How else would you describe that outfit?”

My sweater? I look down, confused, only to see the thick woven fibers of my top blending together into a smooth texture. As the uniform green-blue color begins to turn mottled and patchy, fading into a design of autumn leaves, the collar droops, the opening getting looser and looser to reveal first my clavicle, and then my entire bare torso as the entire sweater splits in half down the front. Buttons sprout from one side and I hastily do them up, blushing, but not quite registering that my hands stop just halfway up, leaving half my hairless chest on display. A chest that looks a bit skinner, a bit more hollow than I remember.

I feel a breeze around my ankles and look down to see that my blue jeans have become baggy, tan capris that flutter around my knees. It looks like a garment that an extra in an Indiana Jones movie would wear.

I reach out hesitantly to touch the soft fabric, light glinting off a pair of chunky rings that now adorn my hand. I feel overwhelmed by the sudden shift in my clothes. I feel dizzy… I feel-

Kevin clears his throat and I realize I have been letting his question hang in the air.

“My outfit’s not pretentious,” I say, jerking my chin toward the stranger. “Like he said, it’s called style.”

“But what about your hair? Don’t tell me that’s not pretentious.”

My hair? What about my hair? I reach up to pat it and my fingers get tangled up as the strands start growing around them, flowing around my knuckles like a river current making way for a set of boulders. My hair extends down past my nose and past my chin, eventually settling atop my shoulders in wild waves that tickle my exposed neck.

The tickling increases as my clean-shaven face suddenly explodes with bristles. I untangle my fingers from my hair to poke at my cheeks in shock as prickly stubble gives way to patchy growth, eventually becoming a soft and downy beard that feels heavenly to touch. I do use a good conditioner, after all.

I grab a hair tie from around my wrist and do up my hair in a messy bun, then return to answering Kevin’s questions. I’m still angry with him, because of… Because of why again? Oh yeah, he called me pretentious.

“For your information, I happen to look hot like this. Haven’t you noticed?” I ask. “It’s not pretentious to want to look your best.”

“OK, sure,” said Kevin, “But it’s more about the way you think. The way you carry yourself. The way you think your opinion matters more than anybody else’s.”

That statement sends me reeling. Kevin knows everything about the way I think, and he knows I’m not like that. I would never… listen to the opinions of just anyone.

I mean, if I only watched what the mainstream watched, I’d have wasted my time watching those Transformers movies in high school instead of exploring New Queer Cinema classics. Was I better than my classmates because I was watching The Watermelon Woman and The Living End? Well, yes. Yes I was.

If I only listened to what the mainstream listened to, my lovely, beat-up, vintage record player would only ever be used to play the latest Taylor Swift releases. I shudder at the thought.

If I only drank what the mainstream drank, I’d be imbibing that burnt swill that Starbucks serves up on every street corner.

But still… pretentious? I open my mouth to speak again when the big guy cuts me off.

“OK, look…” he says, squinting squints at my name tag “Andrew, is it?”

“Actually, it’s Anders,” I say, rolling my eyes. People are always getting my name wrong. It annoys the shit out of me.

“Anders. Why are you standing here arguing with my boyfriend and I? Don’t you have something you should be doing?”

I briefly think that what I should be doing is correcting his grammar. It’s “my boyfriend and me.” But then I snap out of it. Of course I have something I should be doing.

“Yes, of course. Sorry about that, sir. Well, you indicated on your digital menu that you prefer more bitterness in your coffee, so I think you’re going to want to start with this new blend we just got in, using beans from South Africa. The soil there really…”

———

After my shift ends, I brew a cup of coffee just for myself, which is my favorite part of the day. It's so nice to remind myself that my tastes are perfect. In spite of my expertise as a coffee sommelier, people always chose the safe, boring options instead of the exuberant, rich beverage experiences that they could have had if they actually listened to me.

Like that couple earlier. The buff dude didn’t even smell the South African beans I recommended. He and his boyfriend just went for the regular Americano. And get this… they asked if we had milk for them to put into it. For crying out loud!

They called me pretentious, but that’s only because they wouldn’t know taste if it bit them on the ass. I shake my head and take another sip, letting the deliciously bitter taste wash the memory of those shitty customers away.

"Dude, I'm screwed," Marcus groaned, tapping his head against the desk. "Coach is gonna bench me if I don't show I'm worth during next game, but I don't have time to train or do anything because of this shit ass exam. I fucking hate organic chemistry. I wish I had full sports scholarship so I wouldn't have to worry about this stuff"

Devin looked up from his desk. "You're being dramatic. You did well on all exams this semester. And you are a good player. You'll do well. I believe in you" he said trying to be a bit more supportive towards his friend.

"Yeah, but that's all thanks to you and your tutoring. Seriously, thanks dude. I don't know what would I do without you " Marcus said, grabbing his own bicep. "Look at this. I'm 6'2 and weigh, what, 175 soaking wet? I get bodied every time I drive the lane. I need to put on some weight."

"You could just… eat more?" Devin suggested ignorantly.

"Bro, I eat. It doesn't stick. If only it was that easy" Marcus sighed. "If I was like 185, maybe I could actually hold my own down low. Get some rebounds. Be a little more physical."

Devin pulled out his phone, half-listening. He'd downloaded some weird app his old roommate sent him. He was given a free trial to test it out. Supposedly you could type things and they'd happen. Probably bullshit, but whatever. He just wanted to test it and this seemed like a good time for it.

Marcus weighs 185 pounds.

Marcus was still talking, but something was different. Looking at him, his shoulders looked broader under his tank top. His arms, usually wiry, now had visible definition. Not huge, but… solid.

"-and then I could actually finish through contact, you know? Like if I was 195, man. That's the dream. Just ten more pounds of muscle and I'd be unstoppable on the field."

"Wait," Devin blinked. "You said you just wanted to be 185."

"185?" Marcus laughed. "Nah, I hit 185 few months ago, your math is wrong. Keep up, man." He stretched a bit , his shirt definitely a lot tigher than it used to be "Been stuck at 185 for months though. Plateau is real. But I don't think I could get that big and continue playing basketball. These babies would just be too big" he added flexing his biceps that was now definitely more noticable.

Devin looked down at his phone. Then back at Marcus. Then at the phone.

Marcus weighs 195 pounds.

"That's why I switched to football, honestly. Able to get a lot bigger"

Devin's head snapped up. "Football? But didn't you play basketball"

Marcus was bigger now. Noticeably bigger. His tank top was straining. His neck had thickened, his chest pushing the fabric outward. He cracked his neck and kept going like nothing had changed.

"Yeah, played. Past tense dude. Back in highschool. You are supposed to be the smart one here" he laughed, his voice deeper "But I could never get this big and stay at basketball" Marcus leaned forward, and Devin could see the way his pecs bunched together. The tank top seams were working overtime. "I've been playing football since freshman year of college. You literally came to the homecoming game. Sat in the front row."

Devin had no memory of this. But it felt real. It felt true. Shaking his head after acquiring a new memory, Devin focused on more pressing matters... "You want to get even bigger?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Bigger?" Marcus stood up and stretched. The tank top rode up, revealing a tight stomach with the outline of his abs. "I mean… yeah. Honestly? If I could hit 220, I'd be a monster on the field. Tight ends are getting bigger every year. The guys I'm blocking are like 240, 250. I feel small half the time."

"Small." Devin's voice was flat. "You feel small."

"Bro, you don't get it because you don't play." Marcus turned as he heard a small rip. Looking at his tank top, he paused, frowning. "Fuck. I could swear this fit better the other day. I keep outgrowing my clothes lately." He said like it's the most normal thing that kept happening to him. Still, he quickly went back to the original topic... "220 is the goal. But 230?" His eyes got a little dreamy. "At 230 I could play defensive end. Always wanted to rush the passer. Just destroy quarterbacks."

Devin was already typing. He noticed the pattern so he was already a step ahead of Marcus. There was no way anyone would be disatisfied with 250.

Marcus weighs 250 pounds.

And Devin marveled at the change. Marcus's shoulders flared outward, his lats pushing his arms away from his body as the tank top gave up completely. His quads thickened, forcing his stance a little wider as his sweatpants almost tore apart. His chest expended every time he inhaled, but it didn't seem to get smaller when he exhaled. No... Instead it kept on getting bigger. His massive pecs forming a shelf that casted a shadow ober his abs. His jaw looked sharper, more defined. Everything about him was just… more. Was he taller? Perhaps the app changed his size a bit to make room for more muscle...

"Yeah," Marcus said, his voice dropping just slightly, like it had gained some bass. "Honestly being 250 is great. Defensive end is where it's at. The quarterback never sees me coming. Last game I had three sacks. The Coach said some scouts are already asking about me. NFL here I come" He grinned, and even his smile looked more confident.

Devin meanwhile stared at the man in front of him...the broad chest, the thick arms, the way he seemed to fill the room just by standing in it. He'd started this conversation with a lanky basketball player. Now there was a defensive end standing in his dorm room, talking about the NFL like it was inevitable. He couldn't help himself as his thumb hovered over the screen. Marcus was already massive. A 250 pounds of muscle packed into a torn tank top, looking like he could bulldoze through a brick wall. That was enough... at least for now. But Devin's mind started to wonder. What else could this app do?

Marcus caught him staring. "What are you looking at, bro?" He said putting on a new shirt since the last tank top gave up, casually flexing his bicep as it grew to the size of a football. "You've been on your phone all night. Texting some girl?"

"Something like that," Devin muttered. Looking at this muscle hunk he had just created, Devin got a little greedy. Marcus was looking so good, he had to adda few more things-

Marcus has a massive bulge. He's extremely well endowed. He's not shy about it.

"You know what's funny," Marcus said, shifting his weight and spreading his legs a little wider as he sat down, not seemingly not wearing any shorts. He was done with studying for tonight. "Playing D-end, you get a lot of attention. Girls love the big guys." He gestured down at himself and smirked.

Devin's eyes involuntarily dropped. The underwear that Marcus was wearing were suddenly… full. Very full. There was a prominent, thick outline of his bulge running down his thigh that definitely hadn't been there a minute ago. Devin felt his face get hot.

"Dude, my eyes are up here," Marcus laughed, but he didn't sound offended. If anything, he sounded proud. He leaned back on his hands, which only made the situation more obvious. "Not my fault I got blessed, you know? Genetics, man. Some guys get this or that. But I got it all. Muscle, height, dick. What more could man ask for" The man simply smirked

"Right," Devin choked out. "Genetics."

"I mean, you've seen it in the showers. You know what I'm working with." Marcus said it so casually, like it was common knowledge, as he stood up, moving to the bed behind them and the poor chair made a sound in relief. And suddenly... There was another memory in Devin's head. His brain supplied the picture. He had seen it. Marcus was famous for it on the team. Guys joked that he had to tape it down before games. A third leg. That's what they called him.

"Anyway" Marcus continued, adjusting himself without a hint of shame, "Coach wants me to move to offensive line. Says at my size I could be a hell of a left tackle. Protect the quarterback's blind side." He cracked his knuckles. "But I don't know. D-end is more fun. You get to be aggressive."

Devin was only half-listening. His eyes kept drifting down to Marcus's lap, where the thick outline seemed to pulse slightly every time the big man shifted his weight. It was hypnotic. It was also giving Devin ideas.

Marcus is extremely horny all the time. He talks about it openly.

"-and the thing about offensive line is the stance," Marcus was saying, then paused. He let out a low groan and adjusted himself again, more forcefully this time. "Sorry bro. I've been so damn worked up lately. It's annoying."

"Yeah?" Devin's voice came out squeakier than he intended.

"Dude, it's constant. I wake up ready to go. Practice is brutal because I'm chafing in my cup half the time. Showers after? Forget about it. I have to wait till everyone leaves or I'll poke someone's eye out." He laughed, but there was smugness in his expression. "Coach says it's all the testosterone. Guy at my size, lifting as heavy as I do, eating as much as I do… it simply natural"

"So you just… walk around like that?" He said pointing at the hard on he was having at the moment.

"Pretty much." Marcus didn't look embarrassed. If anything, he looked proud of it, like it was just another muscle he'd built. "Girlfriends love it at first. Then they get tired. I had one tell me I was 'too much to handle.'" He made air quotes with his thick fingers, before starting to casually stroke himself. Loking back at Devin, as if he wasn't just pleasuring himself, Marcus smirked again "You've got that look on your face."

"What look?" Devin asked, quickly shaking his head as he looked up from Marcus obvious bulge that was being stroked by those rough and collosal hands. He could see the thick outline of his new dick and the raging libido that came with it. It was... Mesmerizing. But he couldn't just stare at it-!

"The one where you're thinking too hard about something." Marcus studied him with those dark eyes... had they always been that deep brown? "You always do that. It's kind of cute, actually."

"Cute?" Devin's voice cracked. Did his straight roommate call him cute? He could feel it... The blood flowing through him and making his face fed.

"Yeah. That's the word." Marcus said it with a shrug. "You get all flustered. Your ears turn red. It's endearing." He leaned forward, hands still in his underwear . "Any girl would be lucky to have you."

'I'm not into girls' Devin thought as he looked as his phone, already with an idea on how to solve this situation. His thumb hesitated over the screen. Then he typed.

Marcus is bisexual. He prefers men. Specifically, he is deeply attracted to Devin.

A strange look crossed Marcus's face. He blinked slowly, as if seeing something or someone for the very first time. His gaze traveled from Devin's face down and back up again. The casual energy in the room shifted, grew charged.

"You know what?" Marcus said, his voice dropping into a lower register, "Scratch that. Any girl is the wrong thing to say." He stopped stroking himself as he stood up from the bed, all 6'5" of him, packed with 250 pounds of muscle, and crossed the small distance between them. "What I meant to say is... I've been thinking about you differently lately, Devin."

"You have?" Devin's voice was barely a whisper as he couldn't believe what was happening. He saw what the app could do, but this... This was on another level... Was he being too greedy with these changes? It startered out of joke, then goodwill but at the end was only fuffling his fantasies...

"Mm." Marcus was very close now, his face inches away from Devin's "I have. You're always here for me. You're smart. You're funny. And honestly..." He reached out and gently took the phone from Devin's nervous fingers, setting it aside on the desk without even glancing at it. "I find you incredibly attractive. I was just afraid to say it before. But this feels like the right moment, doesn't it? It feels... right." His hand came up, warm and solid, to cup Devin's "Tell me if I'm reading this wrong. Tell me you don't feel it too, and I'll back off. We'll go back to just being friends. No weirdness."

Devin's mind was racing through everything that had changed in the last fifteen minutes. The size, the height, the whole impossible wave of transformations. But looking up into those dark... And huge pecs, he found it hard to care about consequences. "You're not reading it wrong," he said quietly.

"Great." Marcus smiled "Because I was hoping that's what this meant" he said jokingly pointing out small bulge in Devin's pants and the smaller boy immediately blushed even harder. Taking him to bed, Marcus simply smiled "Since you are on board... I've got some ideas about what we should do tonight. And none of them involve studying."

Jordan looked at himself in the mirror and got sad. He noticed fresh stretch marks on his stomach which meant he gained fat again

See, Jordan wasn’t particularly proud of how round he’s gotten since the start of summer break.

He looked in the mirror and said “I should really start working out and getting thinner before heading back to school”.

“Might as well watch some TV downstairs”. He went down, got a cup of water from the tap and sat down across the living room TV taking a huge swig of the water

He watched TV for hours on end almost rotting in place in the living room. During that time though, he kept thinking to himself if he should work out in a few days, maybe even join a gym or something

It was already way past 10PM so he decided to just go ahead and catch some sleep - without a clear agenda tomorrow, he guessed it’s just the same routine again the following day

He got into bed and just dozed off immediately

Hours passed. Jordan wasn’t exactly a neat sleeper, he would toss and turn throughout the night switching positions, kicking off the sheet, and all that. He was also a heavy sleeper so it really wasn’t the best combo

What happened that night though he wouldn’t have been able to notice, let alone feel. His body started heating up and sweating, despite the room being cold already

His body started sweating like crazy but also started getting leaner and the fat that used to be there slowly got replaced with muscle…and then some

Everything about him started deflating and inflating at the same time. Muscles started appearing, fat disappearing. Practically showing signs of increased muscle mass and strength

It was in the middle of the night when the changes started completely ramping up and going crazy

His unconscious body already took note of the increased heat and pulled his shirt up revealing what’s been growing underneath

With every breath he took more and more muscle mass started showing up. He was now already sporting pecs and 6 pack abs - something he seriously didn’t have the day before - and all of it just kept growing, getting bigger and more defined

His muscles eventualy grew so much over the course of the night that it could no longer handle the growth so it just eventually gave up and exploded right then and there

He was almost practically unrecognizable at this point but the growth and changes kept going.

His arms kept getting heavier and heavier as more muscle piled onto his biceps and triceps, almost doubling the total circumference of his arms. Veins started snaking their way through to supply blood to the newly strengthened area

His chest also kept growing. His already present pecs were getting thicker and fuller, rising from his chest and defining their own place as if creating their own mounds and valleys

His abs were now much more visible and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

He was now occupying more bed space as his back and shoulders practically shot outwards making him near double in width from who he was just a few hours ago

And finally his legs, not only did they lengthen to the point that they now hung over the bed but the muscles in his glutes, thighs, ans calves were the textbook definition of tree trunks

He now practically looked like a behemoth on his bed. As he tossed and turned, his shirt already came off and showed off his back

Thick muscles creating valleys across his wide back that would make any man jealous of the definition. His width alone could eclipse anyone at that point

Then his alarm went off, it was morning the next day

He got up, still not noticing how heavy his body felt or how his vantage point is already at a much higher elevation. It was only by the time he felt a breeze on his chest did he notice he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looked down and screamed “HOLY SHIT! WHOSE BODY IS THIS?!”

His voice carried enough weight that it practically vibrated inside his room, almost an octave lower than his usual voice

He ran to the mirror and was shocked by what he saw

He still recognized his face but it was replaced by what he would call an absolute unit

His jawline alone was so perfect that he was aroused by the sight alone. Perfect lantern cut jaw, something he didn’t know he had under the fat that he knew he had the day before.

He inspected his new body and felt every crevasse of his new found musculature. “FUCK I HAVE ABS” he said while feeling up 6-8 bumps on his stomach that wasn’t there before

His pecs involuntarily bounced and he was shocked that they moved “what the fuck?” He said and tried to control it. Lo and behold they bounced on command. He felt the weight of them as each pec rose and fell.

He checked his arms and flexed, seeing such a massive bicep show up out of nowhere. Well, not really from nowwhere. “This can’t be me, can it?” He said as he flexed both arms

After some time of self exploration, he decided he wanted to get out of the house and take this new muscle for a test drive

He went through his closet and found the biggest shirt he had and jeans. He knew the shirt was the biggest one he owned but he struggled to put it on. His new massive frame almost not fitting into the shirt. The jeans also practically turned into skinny jeans due to his thighs stretching the fabric to its limits

He stepped outside and felt the sun hit his skin. Still somewhat of a foreign feeling seeing that he now occupied 2-3x the usual space he occupied yesterday

“Might as well head to the gym” he said confidently as he went back inside to get his keys

Hayley, the daughter of the nextdoor neighbor - who was the same age as him and went to the same school - saw him as he walked back. She knew Jordan but this man was someone she never saw before but she could tell from afar that he looked like Jordan. She shouted at him “Hey, are you new here or are you Jordan’s brother?”

Jordan heard her question and just laughed a bit but mustered up an answer “no it’s me, Jordan!” He said

Hayley was shocked by the answer that she couldn’t respond but Jordan could tell she was red hot and blushed as she ran back inside.

“Might visit her after gym” he said confidently. He knew his nee self could take her out on a date - heck even carry her with one hand at that point