#age reduction

Alex and Michael knew that Michael's parents would totally freak out if they caught them making out on the couch. His parents were kind of homophobic and had no clue about their preferences. But that's exactly what made the thrill—it made everything even hotter. Damn, Alex's salty skin was like an aphrodisiac. The forbidden tension hung in the air like an electric crackle, and every touch felt like a risky game that addicted them both. Their breath quickened, their hands wandered hungrily over each other's bodies, and the fear of discovery only heightened their lust even more.

Alex moaned as Michael's tongue glided over his chest. Even Michael could barely hold himself together.

"Alex, I wish you were such a total stud like my dad!" he said with a grin.

"You want a transformation," sounded a female, resonant voice. "I'm activating the Chronivac voice control."

Alex and Michael froze. Did Michael's parents have Alexa? That was new. They'd heard of Chronivac before, but never thought it could be installed here in the house—a device that could turn fantasies into reality, with all the crazy possibilities that entailed. Their hearts raced, partly from shock, partly from excitement.

Michael grinned. "Chronivac, transform us into two hot studs like my dad!"

No sooner had the words been spoken than the two felt a warm wave flowing through their bodies, as if invisible hands were reshaping them from the inside. Their skin began to tighten like a shirt that was too small, ready to tear at any moment. Alex felt a tingling in his muscles, as if they were expanding, becoming firmer and more defined. His shoulders broadened, his arms swelled with new strength, and a faint cracking in his bones signaled that he was gaining height. Michael's chin, previously smooth and youthful, suddenly scratched roughly on Alex's chest—a beard sprouted, thick and masculine, while Alex's own chest hairs grew denser and tickled Michael's face. Their movements, which had just been awkward and youthful, gained routine: Suddenly, their hands knew instinctively where to grip, their hips moved with the rhythm of experienced lovers. It was as if they'd absorbed two decades of sexual practice in seconds—movements perfected on sofas, kitchen tables, and in steamy shower stalls. The scent of masculinity filled the room, a mix of sweat and testosterone that only intensified their arousal.

"Chronivac, make us hotter and even more masculine," moaned Alex, his voice already deeper and rougher. Michael tried to lean in to Alex for a kiss, but their growing bodies pushed them apart. Their chest muscles inflated like inflatable boats hooked up to a compressor, hard and bulging, veins popping out thick as water hoses, pulsing with new blood flow. Every breath felt like a surge of power, their shoulders widening, their biceps tightening as if they could lift tons of weight. Alex's beard grew further, scraping like sandpaper over Michael's skin, while Michael's own beard thickened. "Make Michael smooth and soft!" moaned Alex, overwhelmed by the roughness. Seconds later, Michael felt a gentle pull on his scalp—his hair vanished as if sucked away, and his head now gleamed in the light of the ceiling lamp like a polished billiard ball, smooth and inviting to touch. The change made him even more vulnerable, contrasting with his growing muscle mass, and Alex's hands glided over it in fascination, feeling how soft and sensitive the skin now was.

Michael ran his tongue over Alex's sweaty chest hairs, tasting the salty sweat that flowed in streams. His hands desperately tried to encompass Alex's massive muscles, feeling the hard contours outlining under the skin. "Damn, yes, more!" moaned Alex, his arousal growing with every pulse of his veins. Alexa—or Chronivac—felt addressed, and Alex's body reacted immediately: Another growth spurt surged through him like an adrenaline rush, making his muscles explode. His legs stretched, his feet pressed against the couch, and he and Michael were forced to stand up. Michael's arms, now massive themselves, could no longer embrace his lover—they were too broad, too strong. Alex's chest expanded to something superhuman, a wall of muscles that would make many gorillas envious. Even though his body hair partially disappeared, the volume remained, a colossus of pure power that seemed to fill the room. Every movement sent waves of pleasure through them, their cocks throbbing hard against their pants, demanding and untamed.

"Alexa, turn Michael into a loving, sweet loverboy!" Before Michael could protest, he felt his own muscle mountains beginning to melt—not weak, but softer, slimmer. The mass drained away, reshaping into something more elegant, impressive, but compared to Alex, he was now a beanpole, supple and graceful. His muscles remained defined but more sensitive, responding to every touch with a shiver. "Dude, that wasn't fair now," said Michael with a grin, but his voice already sounded softer, more playful. Alex tenderly ran his calloused hand through Michael's blond hair, which now fell longer and softer, and pulled his sweet lover firmly toward him. Michael began to lavish kisses on his massive friend's body, his lips soft and devoted.

Alex started moaning. Shit, on one hand, this monstrous body felt so amazing. On the other hand, Michael in his body was just unbelievably hot. His head turned into a cinema. Himself as Michael's super hot Muscle Daddy and Michael as a twink version of himself. Shit, he got rock hard. So hard that Michael noticed it too. He ran his tongue around Alex's nipples, which could have cut glass, and asked what he was thinking about. Alex said he thought it would be hot if they were a hot Twink-Muscle-Daddy pair. "I understand," echoed Alexa's voice through the room, cool and mechanical, as if she didn't notice the hot, heavy breaths of the two at all. But Alex and Michael felt it immediately—a wave of change rushing through their bodies

like an electric current, making every nerve vibrate.

Alex's body, already a colossus of muscles and masculinity, pulsed with new power. His shoulders broadened, his chest arched even more imposingly forward, as if he were a walking temple of virility. His skin stretched over defined muscles that looked chiseled, and a dense, dark beard sprouted on his chin, giving him the appearance of a mature, dominant Daddy. His voice became deeper, rougher, as he moaned: "Damn, that feels… right." Down below, his cock swelled, hard and demanding, a true monster pressing against the fabric of his pants. He was now the Muscle Daddy—strong, experienced, the type who gave orders and took what he wanted.

Michael, on the other hand, felt his muscles shrink, but not weaken. No, they reshaped into something slim, supple, seductive. His skin became smooth and soft, his features more youthful, with a hint of innocence in his eyes that still sparkled with lust. His blond hair fell in soft waves, and his body became that of a twink—slim, athletic, but with inviting curves. His ass rounded perfectly, his legs grew longer, more elegant. And his cock? It remained impressive but more sensitive, reacting to every touch with a twitch. "Alex… Daddy…" he whispered with a voice that now sounded higher, more playful, full of devotion.

The two stared at each other, their gazes melting into pure desire. Alex, the huge Muscle Daddy, grabbed Michael with one of his calloused paws and pulled him close. "Come here, my sweet boy," he growled, his deep voice a vibration that Michael felt down to his toes. Michael pressed against him, his hands gliding over Alex's massive chest, feeling the hard nipples that yielded under his tongue. He licked, sucked, kissed every inch of this massive body, while Alex's hands wandered down his back, stroking over the perfect ass and kneading it.

"Fuck, you're so hot as a twink," panted Alex, his fingers digging into Michael's flesh, lifting him up as if he were weightless. Michael wrapped his legs around Alex's hips, their hard cocks rubbing against each other through the thin fabric of their clothes, which was now just in the way. With a quick motion, Alex tore Michael's shirt in two, revealing the smooth, youthful skin underneath. "Show me how much you want me, boy."

Michael obeyed, sliding to his knees, his eyes wide and hungry. He pulled down Alex's pants, and there it was—this massive, throbbing member, surrounded by a dense bush of dark hair. Michael licked over it, from the base to the tip, tasting the salty sweat that covered Alex's entire body. Alex's hand buried itself in Michael's hair, guiding him, pushing him deeper. "Yes, like that… take it all, my little lover."

The sofa creaked under their weight as Alex lifted Michael and threw him on his back. He spread Michael's legs, kissed his way down, over the smooth chest, the flat stomach, down to the hard cock dripping with excitement. Alex's beard tickled Michael's skin, sending shivers through his body. "You belong to me," murmured Alex, before taking Michael's cock into his mouth, sucking and licking with the routine of a man who knew how to drive someone insane.

Michael arched his back, his hands clawing into Alex's shoulders. "Daddy… please… fuck me." The words came breathless, begging. Alex grinned, positioned himself, his massive body over the slim twink. Slowly he penetrated, inch by inch, stretching Michael, filling him. The pain mixed with pure ecstasy, and soon they moved in rhythm—hard, deep, animalistic.

Their moans filled the room, sweat dripped, muscles tensed. Alex's massive arms held Michael tight as he thrust deeper, faster. "Come for me, boy," he commanded, and Michael exploded, his orgasm a fireworks display that made his whole body tremble. Seconds later, Alex followed, pumping into him, roaring with pleasure.

Exhausted, they sank together, Michael's head on Alex's broad chest. "That was… incredible," whispered Michael. Alex smiled, stroking through his hair. "And that's just the beginning. Chronivac, save that."

Alexa beeped softly: "Saved. Ready for more?"

"Hey, boy. Would love to know more about you. 1m80, 72kg, very masc, shaved head, hairy bod."

And an accompanying picture showing a fitting-shaped man. The only apparent things in his look that he did not mention are the short beard, the sunglasses and the leather get-up ‒ though one can assume he does not wear that at all time.

What a DM to receive right when I contemplate going to bed. Who the hell present themselves with physical stats right off the bat to one who is basically a complete stranger ? Especially someone who is as built and attractive to a huge portion of submissive-inclined gays ? In which world would someone like that have to send his profile around to complete strangers outside a dating app ?

It is laughable. The catfishing is so obvious, yet this is not a dating app ! And to add insult to injury, he ticks off all my turn-offs ! The nerves of some…

But then an idea crosses my mind.

I am very horny after that climbing session, and I haven’t had the opportunity to expunge it from my system yet.

So… why not entertain him ?

"Hey, woow, such an attractive guy talking to me is that real ???"

I laugh.

"Yes, boy… you like people like me, right ? ^^ ‒ Absolutely !!! I looooove clean-shaven people like you !!!"

I imagine his beard receding down under his skin, soon enough all the pores they grew out of close back up, safe for a few ones around his mouth that are religiously shaved. I think about him putting his hand on his face, and instead of finding his nice beard ‒ or rather neckbeard ‒ he finds clear skin and is shocked… but decides to roll with it.

"Hahah, I’m glad, boy ! That pic I sent was quite old, I still had my beard, but I’m glad you have a good eye ;​P ‒ I loooove guys like you, so I knew you’d be clean-shaven, now ! You all are sooo good at keeping track of the trends ! ‒ Indeed ! Well, boy, what do you like else on me ? ‒ I love your body hair ! Especially how it is placed only on hot locations, like the treasure trail, the pubes and the armpits ^^"

I hope by now he’s getting afraid, and starting to reconsider bothering me with a catfish as he sees his wild body hair ‒ likely his only "hot attribute", even if fully abandonned ‒ receding down. Nothing remains on his arms, nothing remains on his legs, only a big bush in his pubes and armpits, as well as a tasty treasure trail. Yummy.

"Yeah" I smile. He is getting second thoughts ! But don’t worry, random guy, it’s only the beginning !

"Oh and I loooove your build ! I like people with an athletic swimmer’s build, who go to the gym regularly but don’t try to bulk up ! Don’t get me wrong, bulk builds are hot… but toned is where it’s at !"

I smile as I imagine his body deflating, his muscles ‒ or rather belly ‒ falling closer to the bones and firming up. I’d love to see his shoulders pop out with his pecs as abs carve themselves around his navel and his biceps and triceps swell a bit. God, I should be with him watching him freak the fuck out and being half grateful half pleading for everything to stop ! I do not usually have that dominant streak to me, but I like having fun from time to time…

"Dude what are you doing to me !"

Ah, "dude". I’m sure he’s noticing his change of speech patterns just as he sent that message. A nice side-effect.

"what the hell bro i don’t talk like that !" He continues, before again sending another message. "fckin hell bruh, i didnt mean to write it lik that man !"

Hah, his writing quality is degrading so fast ! I’m pretty sure he’s soon going to be dropping some Gen Z slang to sound cool ! And I’m not even doing anything to encourage that, I guess the jockish affirmations have been enough for him to transform himself ! I don’t know how old he was, but I’m sure by the end of it he’ll be around my age, heheheh !

"Nothing ! I’m just admiring you ! :​P" I troll him before going for the killing blow. "I especially love your hair, I love that cap hairstyle, it’s so popular on Tiktok !!!!"

He doesn’t answer immediately, I assume as his scalp first starts itching, and then tufts of blonde hair sprout in a fluffy mess. I prefer imagining it coming out from the bald cranium of the guy whose picture he sent me, but I must admit it likely filled up his heavily receding hairline ‒ menkind’s worst curse by far. The hair however quickly starts behaving itself as the strands arrange one another towards the front, where they hang above his eyes, when suddenly… WOOSH ! The hair flies upwards to create a straight band of fluffy mess, like the stiff bill of a baseball cap.

The perfect cringy haircut, fit for a cringy guy who tried to catfish me and somehow ended up looking like what I assume is a hottie.

"bro wth did u do i look so fckn good no cap" Fuck that’s too hot ! "dude can u make me write normally tho its bad for my rizz fr"

Hilarious ! Unfortunately I can’t do anything for him, it’s what I wanted ! But let me just make a few final adjustments…

"Don’t worry, you might not like it but it flatters the smart guys and the nice guys you’re so into ! You love how they’re smarter than you, and they love to get the attention of a hot guy like you !"

I can feel the neurons pouring out of his brain as I wait for his answer. This way, he can reverse catfish !

"fck dude ur so smart ! like bruh im kinda dumb but ur like at another level broski ! ‒ Haha thanks ! By the way, do you have another pic ? I don’t want you to be catfishing me ! ‒ sure !"

He turned out perfect. God I’ve outdone myself, his hair is poking out just right in front of the backwards cap that likely materialized on his head ! I didn’t expect the rest of his stuff to shift accordingly. However, I’m fully taken by the chain that wrapped around his neck and the fancy iPhone he took this picture with. I guess, now, he’s become my type !

"Wow you look sooooo hot !" This time I’m not even sarcastic. ‒ thx bro ! u look good too !" I didn’t send him my pic. "wanna swing by mine and suck my dick ?"

Oh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.

"Uh… I’m actually a top… what do you feel about sucking my dick ? ‒ fck dude id love that !"

If that were-jock transformation hits you on a Friday afternoon while you’re workin’ from home, bro… you better pray the cleaning lady shows up on Monday.

’Cause until then? There’s gonna be more sweat and testosterone in the air than in a high-school locker room right after football practice.

Floor? Covered in busted-up Kleenex, all glued to the carpet like sad little trophies.

He'll lose all memories of his old life. He won't mind that though, he'll be too busy jerking off all day in his room. He might be a nerd but he's one hell of a gooner!

Hey there! This one is kind of a spiritual successor to Calling the Plumber - and as such, it is one of the rare gay to straight stories of mine. While I do try to keep it friendly and without any homophobia or hate, feel free not read the story if you don't like g2s!

It was hard to overlook Montgomery and Archibald. Of course, that was always the case. But here, on the dirty construction site of their new home, the expensive silk suits of the couple stood out even more than elsewhere. Yes, the two of them were together - and they made sure everybody knew it. Not only were the two gentlemen standing in a tight hug whenever possible, but their flamboyant and colorful clothing left little doubt about their sexuality.

They were those kind of gays that conservatives were afraid of. Both were old enough to have been alive during the stonewall riots, although only Montgomery was actually there as a teenager. Still, the aged couple embodied everything the gay community prided itself on having achieved during the last decades.

Their house, too, would be a statement. The mansion was the largest construction in the area, and the most expensive one. It was going to be built on a large hill, overlooking the town, and its style was... extravagant. The house was to be built in a modern architectural style, but the two men had insisted that the walls would be entirely covered in rainbow colors, although that was still in the future by now. Surrounding the mansion would be a magnificent garden, a park even.

"My dear, are you satisfied with the construction?" Archibald asked his husband in his lime green suit. Montgomery had dyed his hair in an orange-pink tone today and wore a purple tie to his green suit. It was hardly the first building site he visited, since he had made a fortune in real estate.

Archibald, on the other hand, was a bit more conservatively dressed. His suit was a more subdued shade of beige, although his tie was of a bright sky blue color. He usually didn't dye his hair, and today was no exception: He wore the gray with pride, although he spent a fortune on hair and skin care products. He, too, had a respectable job as a top manager in a logistics company.

"Well, darling, I'm not sure yet." Montgomery replied. "I want it to look great, and the work has been good so far. But frankly, it feels that the workers motivation is somewhat underwhelming."

"I think I know what you mean, my dear." Archibald commented as they walked through the empty shell. "It is barely three in the afternoon on a Friday, and there isn't anyone around anymore. The workers must be out partying already. I can't fault them for that, but it is rather annoying, isn't it?"

"Indeed. It would have been nice if they were a little less lazy, though. The garden is behind schedule, and I believe the electrics are going to be delayed by another month."

"That is quite unfortunate."

Montgomery nodded and they walked a bit in silence. It was true. There was still a lot to do, and it looked like the workers left early for the weekend.

Finally, Archibald sighed.

"I guess I could take a look at the progress the electricians are making. I do know a bit or two about this. Maybe then we can talk to the foreman about their work. It's a pity that we cannot supervise every little thing here, but our jobs demand a lot of our time. If only we had a bit more hands-on control."

"My, what a fabulous idea! I will take a stroll through the garden then, to get a better picture there."

The husbands kissed each other on the lips as they split up and Archibald opened the fuse box. He had indeed done a bit of electrical maintenance in his prime, so he knew that what he saw in the box was nothing less than a mess. He sighed and was about to close the box again, but hesitated. No, he couldn't leave the mess like that. He would just tidy things up a bit, to show those inexperienced workers how it was done.

Carefully, he began to work on the wires, but before long, he felt uncomfortable. The fuse box was located in the bright afternoon sun, and it was just positively hot here. Still, not wanting to leave his work, he slipped out of his jacket and hung it over a nearby wall. He didn't notice that the piece of clothing disappeared once he turned away, nor did he notice that his hands became nimbler as he rearranged the wires.

Montgomery on the other hand found the garden construction even less advanced than he had hoped. Even worse, someone had left a few plants out in the heat. They would surely be dead by the time the construction continued on Monday. Montgomery couldn't let that happen. This garden would be beautiful, and no plant would die under his watch.

He carefully carried the plants to the place they were supposed to be. Of course, he knew - he had planned the park all by himself, so he knew where everything was supposed to go. As he arrived at the shady place, he understood why the plants hadn't been placed yet. The ground was wet and muddy, and there weren't any holes yet. He would need to talk to the foreman about that, but the man was surely already in the weekend as well. There was, however, a shovel nearby. Now, aside from ceremonial groundbreaking, Montgomery had never held a shovel. It wasn't that he didn't understand the concept, but he was just not the type for physical labor.

Well. He looked over his shoulder to his husband, who was apparently still busy looking at the fuse box. It seems like he had some time on his hands, so he might as well. Grimacing, he grabbed the shovel and carefully stepped on the soil, trying not to ruin his expensive shoes or pants. That worked well, for about two steps. But as soon as he tried to break the ground with the shovel, a big clump of wet soil splattered on his lime green silk pants.

Montgomery frowned. Well, that suit was ruined anyway. No reason to stop there. Determined, he pulled the shirt out of his pants and opened his vest. He wasn't going to ruin his custom tailored suit for no reason.

Meanwhile, Archie was getting into his work even more. From time to time, he had to wipe his brow, though, as he was sweating like an animal. His dress shirt was stained with multiple sweat stains already and didn't really *look* like a dress shirt anymore, but more casual. The same could be said for the rest of Archie as well. A certain youth had returned to his face, as he was concentrated on his work. This way, he didn't notice when his hairstyle dissolved into an unkempt mess or when a bit of stubble grew in on his chin. His shirt clung to his body now, drenched in sweat. It had long ceased to be a dress shirt though but had become a plain - although rather filthy - beige t-shirt. His tie was nowhere to be seen.

Due to the wetness, the shirt didn't leave much to imagination regarding his body. Not just his face had rejuvenated, no, his entire body had. He was leaner and his muscles firmer now. Out of the V-neck of his sweaty shirt poked a few golden hairs, and before long, his main hair had turned into a Nordic blonde, as well.

Meanwhile, Monty was digging like crazy. He had to get those plants in the ground, or the foreman would... Wait, what was he thinking?

He stopped for a moment, to scratch his head. Thinking was not his strong point, and Monty knew that. But he had other qualities, that made up for that. When he grabbed the shovel again, to keep digging, he heard a ripping sound that made him stop again. The shoulder of his shirt had ripped. His boss was going to kill him! Although, it appeared somewhat strange to him that he was wearing such a colorful and impractical shirt. Perhaps there weren't any other shirts left?

He looked around and saw only one of the electricians still on the site. He knew the guy, he was friendly enough. He surely wouldn't mind if Monty went shirtless for a bit. With an effort not to damage the clothing even more, he peeled out of the garment. He was only half successful with that, and a few more rips sounded before he had finished taking it off.

Monty looked down at his muscular and hairy torso. The cold air was good, and he wasn't afraid to get dirty.

With every movement of the shovel, his arm muscles tightened, and his frame filled out more. A short beard sprouted on his chin, and his now full earthy brown hair shortened to a more practical cut. It wasn't like he had money for an expensive hairdresser, after all.

Finally, he had the holes ready and wiped his hands on his sturdy pair of work pants. Now, he only had to put the plants in. Despite his impressive physique, Manny was always very careful with the flowers, and he made sure that none of the roots got damaged or that he didn't break the stem.

He looked at his work. Good, that would look great, once the plants grew. Someday, he would have a garden of his own, and a house like that. And a beautiful wife and two, no, three children. But that was still a long way to go, with his poor pay.

Someone behind him cursed and Manny looked back to the electrician.

Chad was still sweating like crazy as he worked the wires. His mates had all gone to the clubs by now and he was stuck here and had to fix the mess he had created. That was only fair, but he wished the foreman wouldn't have noticed until Monday. He had to hurry up, though. He didn't want to spend his Friday night on the site, after all. Perhaps he would even get lucky and find a guy... No, what was he thinking? Working on these fruits' house had made him all confused. No, perhaps he would find a busty bombshell to take home tonight. Chad felt his cock growing hard at the thought, creating an obvious bulge in his work pants. Great, more distraction.

Chad tried to readjust himself, just in time as he sensed the big burly gardener approach. He knew the guy loosely but had forgotten his name already - if he even had known it at all.

"Hey, everything alright with them wires?" the low voice of the brute asked in a friendly tone.

"Yeah, I just need to finish up here... Should be done aaaaany minute now..."

Manny watched Chad connect the last wires. Poor guy. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat, and he looked like he was really hot and stressed out.

"Cool. It's no fun working late, and on a Friday. Hey, do you want to hit a bar after that? I could go for a cold one."

Chad looked over his shoulder at the bear of a man. Was that guy hitting on him? Na, his face only showed dumb innocence.

He shrugged. "Sure, why not, eh..."

"Name's Manny." Manny said.

"Great. Manny." Chad said and closed the now somewhat better looking fuse box before wiping away his sweat once more.

"I'm Chad."

Martin was a typical insurance claims processor in his mid-forties. His daily routine consisted of mountains of files, endless phone calls, and the constant battle against bureaucratic hurdles. He always wore the same gray suit, had a receding hairline, and glasses that hid his tired eyes. His life was orderly but boring—a small apartment in the suburbs, evenings in front of the TV, and weekend walks in the park to clear his head.

On a rainy afternoon in February 2026, as Martin hurried through the park to get home after work, his gaze fell on something shiny on the ground. It was a plastic card, half-buried in the mud. Curious, he bent down and picked it up. It was an employee ID from the "Iron Temple Gym." The photo showed a young man with a mullet-like hairstyle and a confident grin. Name: Kevin Podolski. Born: Feb. 21, 2007. ID: 20070221KP. Position: Junior Trainer.

Martin wiped off the dirt and examined the photo more closely. The guy looked fit, athletic, with a hint of arrogance. "Poor kid, lost his ID," Martin muttered. Instead of turning it in, he slipped the card into his bag. He wasn't sure why—maybe out of pure curiosity or because he wondered what it would be like to be so young and carefree. At home, he tossed the card into a drawer and didn't think about it anymore.

The next morning, Martin felt strange. When he woke up, he sensed an unusual energy. His muscles tingled as if he'd just worked out. At the office, he sat at his desk and tried to process a damage report, but the numbers and clauses blurred before his eyes. "What was the formula for risk assessment again?" he wondered. It wouldn't come to him. Instead, an image flashed: A dingy middle school in a rundown neighborhood, where he'd hung out with buddies instead of studying. "Nonsense," he shook his head. "I went to high school."

Throughout the day, it got worse. His skin felt tighter, his voice sounded deeper, more youthful. At lunch, he stared at his plate and suddenly craved protein shakes instead of the usual cafeteria food. In the evening at home, he changed clothes and noticed that his belly looked flatter, his arms more defined. He pulled out the ID and stared at the photo. "Kevin Podolski... 19 years old." Martin was 45, but when he looked in the mirror, he saw wrinkles disappearing, hair growing—darker, longer, into a mullet.

That night, he dreamed. Not of insurance policies, but of an apprenticeship as a carpenter. He remembered the workshop, the smell of wood, the crude jokes from his colleagues. But he hadn't stuck with it—too boring, too exhausting. Instead, he hung out at the gym, pumping iron to blow off steam. One day, the manager had approached him: "Hey, kid, you're here more often than I am. Want to start as a temp? Pay's okay, and you train for free." Kevin—no, Martin—had nodded. That was his entry.

On the second day, Martin called in sick. He couldn't remember his passwords anymore, let alone insurance rates. Instead, he thought about parties in the hood, playing foosball with the bros, the feeling when the ball hit the goal. His clothes fit too tightly; he had to buy new ones—tight tank tops, sweatpants. While shopping, he felt eyes on him, and a strange tingling spread through him. He was horny, constantly. When he masturbated that evening, he didn't think of his ex-wife, but of muscular guys at the gym.

The transformation progressed. On the third day, he woke up with a six-pack. His memories of the insurance office faded like old photos. He looked around his room. For some reason, he'd expected a classic bedroom. Wardrobe, queen-size bed, a valet stand for his clothes. Shit, he must have had a bad dream. He was in his shared apartment room, the place he split with his old buddies: Mike, who was now a personal trainer, Tim the mechanic, and Alex the bartender. Back in the day, they'd played soccer together on the neighborhood youth team. Now they trained together, pumped iron, sweated, and laughed at dumb jokes. "Bro, you look like you could hit a new PR today," Mike had said yesterday during bench presses.

By the end of the week, Martin was gone. Kevin Podolski stood in front of the mirror, flashed his typical grin, pulled on his Adidas jacket, and headed to the Iron Temple Gym. He was 19, fresh, invincible. Insurance? What insurance? His life was the gym: Guiding clients, keeping equipment clean, and occasionally... well, earning a little extra. Some guys asked discreetly if he could "help" after hours. A blowjob here, a quickie there—it supplemented his salary, and hey, he was perpetually horny. Why not?