The Fine Print
Gabe always wanted to be hairier. Not in the âIâll grow a beard and call it a dayâ way. He wanted the full forest. Chest to toes, pits to knuckles. A body that looked like testosterone itself had built it from scratch and then got carried away with the paintbrush.
So when TestoPrime X-7 started making the rounds onlineâ"not yet FDA approved" but aggressively marketed through grainy before-and-after photos and forum testimonials that smelled like male desperationâhe bought a six-month supply. Shipping from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Very legit.
The first few weeks were promising. He started getting scruffier. His forearms thickened. His libido exploded. His boyfriend Drew was impressed, even turned on by it.
Then came the ears.
He noticed it while shaving. His left ear looked... longer. Wider. The cartilage had shifted like someone had grabbed it and stretched it in their fist. He poked at it for ten minutes before convincing himself it was just some kind of swelling or his imagine.
But when the right ear caught up a day later, he knew it wasnât a fluke.
Next, the feet. Those goddamn feet.
He was barefoot in the kitchen when he noticed his big toes werenât... quite right. Longer. A little curved inward. When he dropped a spoon, he instinctively flexed his footâand caught it between his toes. Like caught it. Like gripped it. Like prehensile monkey foot caught it.
That was when he started reading the warning label, tucked under the bottle cap.
"In extremely rare cases, subjects with primate gene expression markers may experience morphological regression."
He didnât know what half those words meant, but he knew regression wasnât usually a compliment.
The fur was next. Coarse black hair spreading up his spine and down his legs, arms, and now across his chest like wildfire. His hands werenât his hands anymoreâthey were thicker, fingers slightly longer, nails growing darker, blunter. Covered in fur that caught the sunlight like some freakish costume.
And the noises. The guttural, involuntary yelps that burst out when he got frustrated or excited. Like something deep and ancient had woken up inside him, and it really didnât care about social norms.
He started staying inside more or hanging out among the trees behind his home. He couldnât stand how people looked at him. How theyâd sniff slightly, like they thought he smelled off. How children would stare.
He hated every damn minute.
But Drew?
Drew was into it. Disturbingly into it.
Every time Gabe got more animal, Drew got more obsessed. Heâd run his fingers through the fur on Gabeâs arms, whispering, âGod, youâre perfect,â like heâd been waiting for this all along. He liked the new strength in Gabeâs grip. The way he could swing effortlessly from the pull-up bar. Even the chimp-screams made Drew laugh and bite his lip.
Gabe would growl in frustration, pacing the living room like a caged zoo exhibit, and Drew would just watch, hard as hell.
âLooks like lifeâs gonna be a little different, babe,â Drew said one night, cuddling against Gabeâs side, his hand stroking the thick fur on his chest like it was a security blanket.
Gabe didnât answer. He just stared into the dark, wondering if he should throw out the rest of the pillsâor order more.
Because deep down, despite the humiliation, despite the changesâŚ
Some part of him liked it too.
And that scared him more than the rest.
