#beartf

"I'm sorry," I said, after accidentally turning all my weight onto my boyfriend while trying to get comfortable at night. My name is Tommy; I’m 22 years old… or rather, I used to be. I met my boyfriend on a dating site two years ago. When he told me he had magical abilities, I didn’t believe him. Until he proved it, right in front of me, making objects appear or change shape. After a few months of dating, I made a mistake and ended up cheating on Matt at a party. I didn’t intend to tell him, but… he’s magical, and he found out on his own. There was no way around it: he threw everything in my face, and I had no choice but to humiliate myself, begging for forgiveness. After all, I loved him. I made just one slip-up, which, in the end, came with a very high price.

"I used to be a good-looking, fit twink, everyone would stare at me, and I couldn’t help it that I was so drunk that night. Well, maybe a little bit of guilt," I thought.

“Well,” he said, “I can’t believe you had the nerve to do this to me. I don’t know if I can trust you again, but… I can make the most of this.” He grabbed one of his books and pointed his finger at me. I knew nothing good would come from this. “I’ll make sure you never betray me again. And since I like older, bigger guys… I’ll make the most of this.”

The result of this "game" is that today, here I am – a man in his 50s or 60s, old and fat. I never imagined I could be this big. Being old felt strange. I preferred lying down all day, and no one looked at me like they used to. I had no choice; Matt had said countless times that he would never undo the spell, no matter how much I insisted. All I could do was accept this new life as an old man. My back hurts, and I still haven’t gotten used to this huge belly. Being fat is a complicated experience – I sweat from the smallest effort and, all the time, I’m hungry. My deeper voice and advanced baldness give away my age.

But, when I think about it, not everything is as bad as it seems. After all, I love Matt, and someone like me – now old and fat – would hardly have another chance at a relationship. And, to my surprise, Matt seems to like it. In the afternoon, we sit on the couch, while he feeds me and strokes my belly, which has become a kind of giant cushion. At night, when we go to bed, he buries his face in my sagging chest, and at least now I fall asleep much faster than before, even though I snore loudly like a sleeping elephant. Everything feels much more affectionate than before, even though everyone thinks I'm Matt’s grandfather, not his boyfriend. And apparently, no one looks at me anymore. In fact, his exclusivity plan seems to have worked.

Although I want my old life back, I can’t deny that some things have improved, at least for Matt. He assured me that my life hasn’t been shortened – I’ll just keep this form until he also becomes an old, fat man like me. So, I guess it’s better to get used to this new appearance. After all, I kind of deserved what happened. I just wish my back didn’t hurt so much from having to carry this huge belly around…

My gaze traveled up and down Marco's completely transformed body as I tried to absorb what I had become myself. He was… colossal. Every muscle looked like a block of stone, his arms thick and strong, his chest defined, and even his face was more square and charming. Of course, the Hercules of the party. And me? When I looked down at myself, all I saw was a round belly, a tight white shirt, and a cigar that seemed glued to my mouth, already half-burned and letting out smoke. My calloused hand couldn’t stop touching my giant belly; it was a funny sensation.

— Stop flaunting those arms near me! They’re not even yours! — I said bitterly, my voice slipping out deeper and hoarser than usual. I almost jumped back, startled by the sound. Is this my voice now? With the jump, I felt my belly sway from side to side; that was strange.

Marco looked at me, more confused than before, but with a glint of amusement that made me even angrier. He was looking at me, holding back laughter. He looked stunning, as if he had stepped out of a Greek sculpture. And me? A fat, old, hairy cowboy with a belly and man-boobs resting on my stomach. Just breathing made my shirt tighten, the fabric practically begging to burst open. — Dude, what just happened? — Marco asked, flexing his massive arms, not hiding his fascination with being a “living legend.” — We should take these things off, — I retorted, trying to suck my belly in unsuccessfully. I’m not going out like this; there’s no way I can explain this to my parents!

That was the worst attempt ever. The shirt seemed to cling to me with hatred. As I pulled it off, my belly jiggled like jelly, and when I looked in the mirror, damn! I never thought I’d be this fat one day. I felt the wind on my hairy arm and got chills. Marco, more relaxed, started taking off his costume too. I tried not to stare too much at his massive body, but God, what jealousy! I should have picked the Hercules costume. There I was, waiting for something to happen while trying not to topple forward with my weight. As we removed the last pieces… nothing happened!

I looked at myself, growing more anxious by the second. My sweaty hands — large and rough — told me something was wrong. It was as if my own body had betrayed me. My heart started racing, my belly gently swaying with each beat. — Marco, what’s happening? Why haven’t we gone back to normal?

Marco blinked a few times, unsure of what to say, before grabbing his phone and showing me the contact for the store where we bought the costumes. It was a simple number from some random Halloween shop. I dialed, trying to control my breathing, which was now heavy, every moment reminding me of how tight the shirt was against my body. The attendant answered with a calmness that only worsened my mood.

— Look, — I said, my voice coming out even deeper and more authoritative. — We bought some costumes from you and… I don’t know, I think there’s something wrong with them. I need you to reverse this immediately.

— Sir, the costumes have an additional cost to be undone, — the attendant replied, her tone suggesting she had been expecting a call like this. — Just a reminder that all items were purchased with an understanding of the risks involved.

— Risks? Are you kidding me? — My voice turned even harsher. I felt sweat trickle down my forehead as my belly protested, demanding more space. — We paid good money for this to be turned into freaks!

After hearing my complaints, the attendant let out a dry laugh.

— I see that you gentlemen aren’t fond of your new bodies. — There was a hint of disdain in her voice, as if she was enjoying my frustration. — Well, that’s unfortunate. You know, we like to keep rude customers trapped in the form they despise the most.

And then the line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a few seconds, unsure whether to laugh or smash the device against the wall. But the only thing I could manage was to look at Marco and say:

— What did she mean by “keeping us like this forever?”

I felt my face heat up, my chest rising and falling with a heavy, uncomfortable breath. I glanced down again, and that volume of my belly stared back at me, almost like a cruel irony of a malicious fate. I had never felt such an uncomfortable weight, nor a fatigue that came simply from existing.

Marco, still unsure of what to do, began to try to calm me down.

— Roy, maybe there’s a way. She must not have been serious; she just wanted to scare us.

— Scare us? Look at me, Marco! — I shouted, and once again, I was startled by the tone of my own voice. — I’m not me anymore. I’m this… this disgusting cowboy, smelling of tobacco with a sagging belly! Maybe it’s easier for you as a big, handsome man!

And then it dawned on me that maybe he was right; that this could be permanent.

A year has passed since the cursed transformation happened. Looking at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the man reflected back. The grumpy, fat cowboy I had become had become part of me, a weight I couldn't bear. It was as if I were that grumpy uncle who lives unhappily with relatives, and to make matters worse, my younger brother now thought I was Santa Claus, calling me "grandpa" with an innocence that only irritated me further.

My body, once young and agile, was now a mountain of flabby flesh and hair, as if every passing day was a new reminder of what I had lost. My clothes no longer fit, and the new ones only seemed to accentuate how far I was from my former self. God, how I wished I could be young again—I thought often. Meanwhile, Marco, with his sculpted body, sailed through life as if he were meant to shine. He was happy, and in a way, I couldn't feel angry at him for it. Our friendship had become strange; often, we exchanged longer glances, as if there was something more between us. My God, I must be going crazy, I caught myself thinking, trying not to confront the confusion that our new dynamic was generating.

I would do anything to go back to who I was, even lose a few pounds—at least that would give me a bit of the self-esteem that had been lost in this aging body. But the reality was that acceptance had never come. Every day was a struggle against the reflection, against the role I had been forced to live. On that Halloween night, as I watched children having fun in costumes, a part of me still dreamed of wearing an outfit that wasn't a symbol of my own misery.

Waking up in my uncle's body had always been an unpleasant experience, but the first time was a shock I’ll never forget. As soon as I opened my eyes, I was immediately greeted by a sight that made all the white hairs I now possessed stand on end. I blinked a few times to process that the enormous stomach of my uncle was now stuck where my once beautifully defined abs had been. It was there, sitting on me like a watermelon. It took a few seconds to grasp the reality, until I stumbled out of bed with difficulty. I was now heavy and bloated, struggling to move with the agility I once had.Still a bit dizzy, I followed the sound of what seemed to be my old voice shouting in my uncle's bathroom. As soon as I arrived, I saw my body feeling up my chest in disbelief, with an expression of curiosity. The moment our eyes met, the shock was mutual, and we stood there, wide-eyed, staring at each other.

After a few occasional swaps, we discovered that, for some inexplicable reason, we could switch bodies for 24 hours whenever either of us wanted, and for some reason, this only worked between the two of us. It was a full 24 hours. In the beginning, the swaps happened more often on my uncle's side, of course, since I didn’t like being a hairy, overweight man. He seemed to find the idea of being a handsome young guy like me fascinating, as if he had been given a temporary ticket back to youth.

Waking up occasionally in my uncle's body became a recurring nightmare. I remember moments when I would simply open my eyes after a nap, and there I was, lying in his bed in just his underwear, with my hand resting on his belly. It was disgusting.

The worst of all, of course, was going to the bathroom. Peeing with my uncle's body was terrible. Not to mention the bath. I never thought I would have to see this man naked so many times a day. As the exchanges only ended after 24 hours, I had to face many more intimate moments. I was once aroused by my uncle's body, it was so embarrassing... But what could I do? I think that so much friction between my flesh ended up making me hard. I confess that I have admired myself naked on my uncle's body in front of a mirror and I'm not proud of it... It was more out of curiosity than for other reasons

And his job… exhausting. I spent the entire day with his huge butt planted on a tractor, following the instructions he had given me. Even while sitting, that body sweated like it was running a marathon. There was no way to wear the same clothes two days in a row.

Over time, my uncle seemed to lose his enthusiasm. I think he realized how the swaps were affecting me and that my life wasn’t as glamorous as he had imagined. And honestly, I couldn’t stand being old anymore. Months passed, and I was never taken out of my body again, until a party was announced at my college, and my uncle, in one last burst of youthful curiosity, insisted it would be a good farewell to my body. He promised it would be the last swap, and it was… but not in the way I wanted. I gave in. I also needed a break from the loud college parties and decided to stay home, watching TV while stuffing myself with something.

The swap was done, and here I was again, in my uncle’s heavy body. I got out of bed, feeling the familiar weight press down on my legs as I sat up, letting out a long sigh. It had been so long that I’d almost forgotten the feeling. I went to the bathroom. "Hello again, big guy," I said to my reflection in the mirror, patting my belly with a hint of nostalgia that I didn’t like to admit. But as the day went on, I remembered all the reasons I hated being in this body.

When night finally came, I threw myself onto the bed, sighing heavily. I just wanted those 24 hours to end quickly. I was already anxious to return to my body, to my normal life, and never be this guy again. But then, just as I was falling asleep, a phone call woke me up. It was my dad, calling my uncle—meaning me. When I answered, I got the worst news of my life. There had been a car accident. My body, my real body, had died. The despair hit me like a punch in the gut. I was trapped, forever, in the body that had once been a temporary experience. Something that had even been fun for my uncle. Now, it was my new reality, my new life. My young body, my entire life, had been wasted. Now all I had was my uncle's body. The reflection in the mirror of someone who wasn’t me. But now it was the body I would have for the rest of my life.I felt the death of my oncle, but we mostly fougrt more than anything elso, and now, in a way, i was condemned to see his reflection forever and to adopt his life as my own. It was his name they would call me by from now on…

Years have passed since that fateful day, and here I am, living a life I never chose, but one that now seems to fit perfectly. I took on my uncle’s identity, and while I left my old job behind, I found a new home as a mechanic. I spend my days in a workshop, fixing motorcycles and cars, always with my belly sticking out, exposed to the heat and dirt. I learned to smoke and drink like my uncle, adopting his habits and even his way of speaking. The curious thing is that over time, I began to realize that those moments when I felt excited in his body were actually reflections of a deeper desire to be like him. Now, sitting in a plastic chair, waiting for a new customer, I rest my hand on my sweaty belly, a symbol of my new life. I can't deny that, strangely, it's not so bad after all. This body that once felt foreign to me is now part of me, and in a way, I've found a peace I never imagined I would have.

"Raine… Raine," I said, my voice sounding much deeper, but I assumed it was just because I was still sleepy. "For God's sake, turn to your side! You're snoring so loud, like a tractor! Raine?" I reached out, expecting to find my girlfriend's slender shoulder, but instead, I touched a sweaty, hairy, and broad shoulder. I widened my eyes in shock. Between me and her, the first thing I noticed was a huge, rigid belly. No, a mountain of belly!

"Raine?! What the hell is this?!" I tried to jump up—or at least I attempted to—but my body felt like it weighed a ton. I collapsed back onto the bed, my round belly resting heavily on my legs. My skin looked aged, and my arms were covered in gray hair. As I turned to my side, a body rolled over—it was a man, just as old and big as I was. My mind raced: "Raine?!" It had to be her. The transformation must have happened to both of us. "Raine!" I yelled, my voice hoarse and deep. "We… we’re old men!"

She blinked, still confused, and brought her hands to her face. As soon as she felt the rough beard with her fingers, she quickly pulled her large, calloused hand away. Her tongue brushed against the thick mustache now sitting above her lips. "No!! Nooooo!!!"

She turned to the side, saw my new form, and froze in shock. Horrified, she rolled out of bed, standing up with her hands pressed against the enormous, hairy belly now hanging from her frame.

"What happened to us?!"

I wanted to run to her, to comfort her, but the moment I tried to get up, I realized it was going to be a battle. My legs felt like tree trunks, my back ached as if I’d carried a truck, and the heavy, drooping belly had completely shifted my center of gravity. "We’re… our neighbors?"

That’s when we realized that, somehow, we had become the old neighbors who owned the flower shop in the building. Later, we found a letter explaining everything. They had stolen our bodies and taken over our lives! They ran away before we woke up and told no one in the building where they had gone...

The following weeks were a nightmare. Raine, once a beautiful and refined girl, was now a man named Mario (according to the documents we found) and went into a crisis."Tomas, I look horrible! Look at this, I have a penis, and I can’t even see it because of this huge belly!"

"Welcome to my world, darling! We’re in the same boat," I grumbled. "My name is Alfredo now, apparently, and I have a belly so big it looks like it could swallow a horse whole."

I had to teach things that, honestly, I never thought I’d have to explain to Raine, like how to shave (she cut her face about twenty times) or how to pee like a man. Although, given the way we were now, we could only pee sitting down.

"This is disgusting, Tomas," she yelled as I tried to explain how to clean herself in the shower.

On my end, I was suffering too. Climbing the stairs in this building without an elevator was a challenge. And bending down to pick something off the floor felt like trying to fold a refrigerator. The worst part was showering; my belly was so big I had to lift it just to reach certain parts.

"Can you see your feet? Or have you accepted you’ll never tie your shoes again?" I asked Raine, trying to be funny.

After a few months, we gave up hoping the two would return and undo the swap. But honestly, what sense would it make? Giving up a young life to come back to this heavy one… "So, this is it," Raine said one night while we sat on the couch, shirtless, with her lying on top of me. "You’re not going to leave me? Even now that I’m a hairy, fat man?"

I looked at her — or rather, at him, at Mario. Her eyes, even in a wrinkled and chubby face, were still the eyes of the Raine I loved. I sighed, stroking her belly (she loved that now) "I never wanted to leave you. I still love you, Raine… or should I say Mario! I love you, and honestly, I still find you attractive, even as a 60-year-old man, haha."

She smiled and got up. We tried to kiss, but our bellies collided — it was like a natural airbag.

"I still need to get used to this part," she said, laughing.

"Yeah, I guess we’ll have to adjust. But honestly, it’s not that bad. The two of us, eating whatever we want, not working too hard, living a quiet life," I replied as she — or rather, he — leaned in to kiss me, successfully this time.

It was my day off, and I was already bored just thinking about staying still. As I walked down the sidewalk, my mind full of disdain for that stifling day, I spotted a manual laborer leaning against the wall next to the shop. He was only wearing pants, his sweaty, exposed body making his repulsive appearance even worse. He was an old, pot-bellied man with sticky skin from all the sweat, and the graying hair scattered across his arms and chest only made him uglier. The mere sight of that man made me nauseous.

For some inexplicable reason, he flashed a feeble smile when he saw me approaching and said in a hoarse voice, "Good morning, pretty girl."

That irritated me deeply. Who did he think he was? I responded, full of disgust: "Shut up, you ridiculous fool." The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a look of sadness. He lowered his head, clearly hurt, and went back to his heavy work, but I didn’t care anymore. It wasn’t my problem. I left home that morning determined to waste some of my time on something trivial. That's when I passed by that little esoteric shop in the city center, almost hidden between a café and a clothing store. I went in, more out of curiosity than real interest. The place was a mess of trinkets, smelling of cheap incense, with lighting that seemed to come from melted candles. "So ridiculous," I thought, smirking in disdain.

"Can I help you with something, dear?" the clerk asked in a soft, almost irritating voice. The way she looked at me, as if she knew something I didn't, made me uncomfortable. But I wasn't going to show it.

"Oh, I'm just looking. These things… they're funny, aren't they?" I replied, not hiding the sarcasm in my voice. She didn't seem fazed.

"Sometimes, the funny things have more power than we imagine," she said, with that tone that only made me want to laugh more.

She looked at me for a moment, as if she were assessing me, and then said, "I have something you might want to see." Without waiting for my response, she went to the back of the shop and returned with a small metal amulet, hanging from a black cord. It looked cheap, worthless.

"This amulet can reveal a person's true nature. Maybe it will show you something interesting," she said, holding it out to me. I laughed, taking the amulet with disdain.

"Oh, sure, like this is going to make any difference in my life. It's going to put me in my place, right?" I replied, laughing at the suggestion. "Well, at least it will give me a good laugh later." Still laughing inside at the situation, I held the amulet in my hand, and then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Terror overwhelmed me. The world around me seemed to spin as I struggled to comprehend what had happened. I looked at my hands… thick, dirty, calloused. I was wearing a shirt that was drenched in sweat, sticking to my skin and accentuating every curve of that voluminous belly. And the hair… my God, the hair! I felt the brush of the damp hair under my armpits, heavy and nauseating with every movement. The stench of my own body was unbearable. A bitter, sour smell mixed with the stifling heat of sweat running in rivers down my back. I could feel my new anatomy sticking between my legs. With a mix of panic and fury, I re-entered the store, feeling that grotesque body sway with each heavy step. I was furious, desperate, and at the same time disgusted with every part of myself. I adjusted my shirt, embarrassed with people around staring at me. As I corrected my posture, I could feel the spherical belly against the now-closed damp shirt—it was terrifying.

“What have you done to me?!” I yelled, but the voice that came out wasn’t mine. It was deep, rough, laden with a rage that felt so… masculine. I stood there, panting, feeling the sweat trickle down my stubbly face as I tried to understand what was happening. That’s when I saw her: my body, my real body, standing in the store, just as terrified as I was. I was looking back at myself with my own eyes… and they were filled with fear. The old witch of the store smiled enigmatically and said, “This place provides fair exchanges. Now, the worker is in a better position… and you are where you truly belong.” I clutched my protruding belly while shouting, “Do you think this is my place?” The witch merely laughed, watching my terrified face. I looked at that man in my body, trying to process what she was saying. He was as lost as I was, looking at himself, at the slender, elegant hands that were now his. He looked confused, scared, like a child in someone else’s body.

I had to make a deal with the shopkeeper. I knew my parents would never believe a word I said about what had really happened. Who would? She promised that the change would last only one day. "As soon as you sleep, you'll return to your original body," she assured. I had no choice. I went to the worker's house, and he went to mine.

His house was a cramped, dirty cubicle, nothing like what I was used to. I just wanted to lie down and sleep, but before that, I had to use the bathroom. My God, the disgust I felt… that bathroom was so degrading, with the cold water, the sensation of damp hair, and the unbearable stench of sweat embedded in the skin. I almost cried out of revulsion.

Finally, I lay down on the hard bed, feeling the weight of that body against the rough sheets. I focused on trying to sleep, hoping that the nightmare would end.

But when I woke up… The first thing I did was scratch my hairy chest—nothing had changed. I was still him. The smell, the weight, the sensation of the hair, the belly that felt like it weighed tons on my body. In desperation, I grabbed the phone and tried to call the store. But the response was always the same: "The number does not exist." My God, the number does not exist!

Panicking, I went to the store in person. When I arrived, my heart sank. The store simply did not exist anymore. There was no sign that it had ever been there. It was as if everything had been a delusion.

I stood there, sweat running down my back, feeling the weight of that grotesque body crushing me. And for the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do...

In the past few months, my life has turned into a nightmare. I had to learn to be a man in ways I never imagined. The body, once smooth and feminine, now forced me into a rough, macho behavior that I hated. There were no traces left of my former femininity; everything had transformed into something I barely recognized as myself. No matter how hard I tried, not even my feminine gait remained; I walked like a big, beer-bellied man.

Going to the bathroom has become a terrifying experience. Peeing standing up? A nightmare. Now I understand why guys always miss; it's incredibly difficult to aim with these things, especially since mine seems to be on the larger side. And men's bathrooms, with their awful odors and filth, are even worse. The simple act of taking a shower has turned into a complex task. I no longer needed to use shampoo on my head since my hair was falling out in clumps, but now I had to use shampoo all over my body to clean all the hair that covered me and also to try to control the unbearable smell emanating from me. I tried shaving, but the hair grew back so quickly that it was impossible to keep up. With the miserable pay of a laborer, I couldn't afford a constant shaving routine. Waxing was expensive, and the rapid hair growth was a constant reminder of my new reality. I ended up resigning myself to dealing with the smell and the hair because there was no other choice.

Every year my father dragged me to the family’s farm in the middle of nowhere. I never understood his obsession with the countryside, with the woods, with the mud. It was all disgusting and dirty. But nothing, absolutely nothing, was worse than the great-uncle himself, his uncle. A gross old man, in his seventies, and a retired truck driver. The first time I saw Uncle Frank, I had to hold back from vomiting. He was the kind of person who takes pride in being gross, you know? The kind of person who finds humor in being filthy. He would fart loudly, sneeze as if he were about to die, and didn't even bother to cover his mouth. And that smell? My God, it was as if the stench had been absorbed into his skin. It was a smell of old sweat, mixed with cigarette smoke and a bunch of other things I didn’t even want to imagine. I'll never forget the time he walked past me in the hallway and laughed when he saw me covering my nose. "Smell of a man, kid, get used to it!" he shouted, as if it were something to be proud of. Disgusting. Besides that, Uncle Frank made a point of always walking around the house in his underwear as if his body were toned and healthy—pathetic. That’s exactly what he was. Every summer was the same: I was forced to face the filth, the heat, the insects, and worst of all, Uncle Frank.

I was already counting the days to go back to the city, to my life, to the air conditioning, and away from the smell of the countryside. But my father had other plans. He wanted to make a Sunday lunch, but we were short on ingredients, so he decided that I should go with Frank to the neighboring town to buy some things. My father had an annoying insistence that I get along with my uncle. Of course, I would have much preferred to stay locked in my room rather than go in that old car, but as usual, I had no choice. At least I convinced him to let me wear something decent. There I was, in the passenger seat, trying not to breathe deeply, while Uncle Frank drove. The heat was suffocating, and his smell mixed with the old leather of the car made me want to open the door and jump out.

The drive to the town was hell. The dirt road shook the car, and every time Uncle Frank tried to make small talk, I only responded with monosyllables. There was absolutely nothing I wanted to discuss with him. But of course, the old man didn’t know when to stop. He started complaining about the city, how young people today didn’t know what real work was. I couldn’t take it anymore. We started arguing, and I didn’t hold back. He was an old-fashioned fool and had no idea what he was talking about. As if life in the countryside were something to be proud of. We were so wrapped up in the argument that we didn’t even notice when the sky suddenly darkened. A deafening thunderclap split the air, and suddenly, everything turned white.

When I woke up, the first thing I felt was a strange pressure in my stomach. What the hell was happening? My vision was still blurry, but I felt something was wrong. Very wrong… My hand instinctively went to my belly, but it wasn’t my hand. It was a thick, calloused hand, full of prominent veins and white hairs—a hand that seemed to have spent a lifetime carrying weight. And what was pressing on my stomach? My God, the steering wheel was sunk into a huge, round, hairy belly. What the hell was that? I looked down and almost screamed. A monstrous belly was there, where my smooth abdomen used to be. I could taste the sweat dripping from a mustache that had magically appeared above my mouth.

An unbearable heat enveloped me, and I realized I was sweating. A lot. As if I had just come out of an oven. The clothes clung to my body, sweat dripped down my face, neck, and back. I was drenched, and that stench, that disgusting smell, was coming from me. My breathing became heavy, and that’s when I heard a curse word in my old voice. I looked to the side and saw my body, my face, with an expression of pure terror. It was Uncle Frank. He was in my body, looking at me as if he had seen a ghost, but soon a wicked smile began to form on his lips.

— What did you do? — I shouted, or at least tried to. My voice came out hoarse, choked, like an old man’s. I put my hands to my throat, feeling the roughness of the skin, the hair on the chest. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. I tried to move, but the body was heavy, slow.I could feel my balls, or rather, Uncle Frank's balls, sticking with sweat between my legs.

— It wasn’t me! — my uncle, now in my body, said with my voice, equally surprised. — But damn, this isn’t half bad.

I was about to vomit. I tried to get up, but the weight of the new body threw me back into the seat. The steering wheel was pressing into the belly, which seemed to have a life of its own, jiggling with every movement. I finally managed to get up, feeling the sweat dripping down my back, and looked at Uncle Frank, who was now admiring his own reflection in the car’s mirror, in my body. He was running his hands through his hair and over my clean skin.

— What are we going to do now? — my voice was desperate, and he just shrugged. — Go back home, I guess. — he said, still admiring his own reflection. The idea of going back to the farm in this body was unbearable. I could barely move, each step was an effort. The heat was suffocating, the smell of sweat was unbearable, and the feeling of the coarse beard rubbing against my neck was nauseating. I was sweating so much that my shirt was already soaked, sticking to my skin. But what irritated me the most was the old man’s grin. He was clearly enjoying himself, as if he had won the lottery. And me? I was trapped in this hellish body, with no idea how to get out of it.

In the car, I realized I had to adjust my posture to adapt to my new center of gravity. My man-boobs spilled out of the tight tank top that my uncle wore. The fat sweat dripping from the mustache was the worst thing after the giant belly. On the way back, I tried to think of how to tell my parents, but who would believe such a story? “Hi, Mom, Dad, so, I swapped bodies with Uncle Frank.” They would send me to a mental institution. So my uncle and I agreed not to tell anyone until we figured out a way to fix this. I hoped at least to wake up in the morning back in my body, hoping this would all end.

I woke up with that dry cough that felt like it was tearing my throat out from the inside. Nothing like a natural wake-up. I rubbed my sweaty forehead, trying to push away the feeling of fatigue that had been with me for months. I slowly raised my torso, feeling the familiar pressure of the mattress sinking under my weight, while scratching my belly. The rough skin stretched over the accumulated fat was something I had never managed to get used to. It wasn’t my body. It wasn’t what I should be feeling. But there I was, in that damned body, exactly one year later. I got up from the sofa, where Uncle Frank was sleeping, with the feeling of discomfort that had been accompanying me. The feeling of discomfort that came only from the extra weight he now carried. The tight underwear revealed a raging morning erection, something that became one of the few things that relieved me early in the morning. Every day I masturbated, and after orgasm I felt disgusted and repulsed, because the first thing I saw was my uncle's disheveled, hairy belly.

I went to the bathroom to clean myself up, each step making the floor creak under Uncle Frank's weight, which was now mine. I stared at the reflection in the mirror, as I did every morning. That old man, with reddish skin, unshaven beard, and deep-set eyes, stared back at me. I sighed as I always did. I started thinking. It had been exactly a year since the swap, and there was still no sign that it could be undone. I tried to maintain some level of dignity, even trapped in this repugnant body. I took showers, unlike Uncle Frank, and used deodorant. At least I tried to keep the smell under control, which was an ungrateful task, considering this body sweated non-stop. And the gas? It was hell. It was as if all the bad air in the world had accumulated in my stomach, with no escape.

Meanwhile, Uncle Frank seemed to adapt perfectly to my body, and my life. I saw his photos, now on my social media profile, showing off my body on the internet. Each image was a punch to my gigantic stomach. A reminder of everything I had lost. He was happy, smiling, enjoying life, like a city boy, while I was here, trapped in this old carcass. In addition to my routine masturbations, I still managed to pay some twinks to have sex with me. No one wanted to be with me anymore, not for free.

I sighed once again, wondering if I would ever be able to undo the curse. Or was he doomed to be a disgusting old man forever? I reached out and tapped her belly, feeling the soft flesh bounce on impact. It was surreal to still feel the repulsion when touching my own skin. But there wasn't much time to mourn. It was time to start another day of routine on the farm, in Uncle Rank's body. I opened the buttons on the front of my t-shirt so it wouldn't be so hot, I hated the feeling of my belly fighting against my clothes. As soon as I got dressed I was hard again, oh my, my body was massive and sometimes it ended up turning me on. My old dick hurt from so much moonshine against my huge dirty underwear. But I decided I should work, maybe Frank's twink helper would relieve me later if I paid him some money to suck me. Another day of pretending there was still a chance to get back what was taken from me.