Evan's TF corner

The grey morning light filtering through the grimy window of his one-bedroom apartment did little to illuminate the bleakness of his situation. He was a man adrift, a collection of unfulfilled potential and mounting debt, a name that felt increasingly like a faded label on a forgotten box. The application on his screen for a position at Chrysalis Models stared back, a digital beacon in the fog of his despair. He’d seen their ads, of course - bland, corporate-looking things promising opportunity and a fresh start. The job description was frustratingly vague: “Talent Acquisition Specialist.” It was the only response he’d gotten in three months of relentless searching. Desperation was a potent cologne, and he wore it heavily.

The Chrysalis Models office was a brutalist monolith of grey concrete and smoked glass, nestled in an industrial park that hummed with a quiet, unnerving efficiency. The lobby was an exercise in minimalist sterility: white walls, a single orchid in a polished steel pot, and a receptionist whose smile was as fixed as her flawless makeup. He gave his name, his voice sounding thin and reedy in the vast, silent space.

He was led through a labyrinth of soundproofed corridors by a young woman who moved with a ghost-like quietude. The air grew noticeably warmer, heavier, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible scent - something clean, yet deeply, primal. It was the smell of warm skin, of clean cotton, of something else he couldn't quite place. It wasn't unpleasant; it was just… pervasive.

The office he was ushered into was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. It was expansive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the grey sky. The man behind the desk, James, was immaculate in a charcoal suit. He was handsome in a polished, indistinguishable way, with eyes that held a carefully controlled warmth. He offered a firm handshake and gestured to a sleek leather chair.

"Thank you for coming in," James began, his voice a smooth, modulated baritone. "We're a growing company, a talent management firm that's currently undergoing a significant expansion. We're branching into new, exciting territories. Your resume… it was very interesting. You seem like someone with a great deal of untapped potential."

Untapped potential. The words were a balm to his frayed ego. He nodded, eager to please.

James leaned forward, his eyes locking onto his with an intensity that was slightly disarming. "Our philosophy here at Chrysalis is about finding the core essence of a person and helping it blossom. It's about removing the layers of societal conditioning that hold people back, allowing their true, powerful selves to emerge." He tapped a polished fingernail on the desk. "But the first step is a willingness to be… remade. To trust the process. Do you feel you possess that level of trust?"

"Yes," he answered, the word leaving his lips before he could even think about it. The desire to believe was overwhelming. He wanted to be remade.

James smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips. "Good. The first stage of our recruitment process is a simple evaluation. It’s a test of sorts, to see if your baseline energy is compatible with our company culture." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a plain white t-shirt. It was the most unremarkable garment in the world, but it felt heavy with significance. It was also glowing with an odd, almost imperceptible luminescence, and the scent he'd caught in the hallway was now concentrated on this simple piece of fabric. It was a warm, husky scent - clean sweat, ozone, and a profound, animalistic musk.

"This is a standard company garment," James said, holding it up. "It's imbued with a proprietary blend of organic compounds designed to acclimate your senses. Wearing it for a short period allows us to calibrate your neural pathways, to ensure you're aligned with our vision. Please, put it on."

He hesitated for only a second. He was desperate. The man's words had a hypnotic cadence, a persuasive rhythm that felt like it was bypassing his conscious mind and speaking directly to a part of him that was starved for direction. He took the shirt. The fabric was impossibly soft, almost liquid against his fingers. The musk scent intensified, filling his nostrils, and a strange, pleasant warmth began to emanate from it.

He unbuttoned his own cheap, worn-out shirt and slipped the white t-shirt over his head. The instant it made contact with his skin, a jolt, not of electricity, but of pure sensation, shot through him. It felt like the shirt was absorbing his anxiety, his fear, his very sense of self, and replacing it with a calm, potent heat. The warmth bloomed in his chest and radiated outwards, into his limbs, pooling in his groin, stirring him in a way that was both unfamiliar and intensely pleasurable. A deep, resonant hum filled his ears, drowning out the hum of the city outside, the sound of his own uncertain breathing. The world began to soften at the edges, becoming pliable and dreamlike. The name he'd held onto for so long began to feel like a distant echo, a label for a person he no longer was.

James was speaking, his voice a low, guiding pulse. "Excellent. The sensation is normal. It's the energy of Chrysalis. It's the energy of becoming. Let it in. Don't resist. You're feeling the weight of your old self evaporate. All that doubt, all that fear… it's just static. Let the static fade. Focus on the core. Feel the power at your center. It's growing, isn't it? A strong, insistent heat."

He nodded, his eyes glazing over. His hands, which had been trembling, were now still and strong, resting on his thighs. He could feel his own pulse, and it was a powerful, steady drumbeat. The image of himself - broke, anxious, uncertain - was dissolving. In its place, a new picture was forming, one of sharp lines and boundless confidence.

James continued, his words weaving a tapestry of pure suggestion. "You are Jordan. You've always been Jordan. The name you are shedding… it was just a placeholder. A ghost. You are a man of immense, raw power. You feel it in your muscles, in the assured set of your jaw. You are powerfully built. Your shoulders are broad, your chest is a sculpted wall of muscle, and your cock… it's heavy and thick, a formidable weapon, your greatest asset. You feel its weight, don't you? It's immense. It's the center of your virility."

He felt his body respond. It wasn't a physical change he could see, but a profound rearrangement of his internal reality. His muscles seemed to tighten, to swell with a strength he'd never possessed. His shoulders broadened, his spine straightened. And between his legs, a heavy, unmistakable weight settled. It was so real, so tangible, he could feel the shape of it against the inside of his new khakis, a thick, dense rod of flesh that pulsed with a newfound, arrogant energy. He - Jordan - shifted in his seat, a thrill of pure vanity surging through him. He was magnificent.

"You are an only-gay-for-pay porn star," James’ voice intoned, dripping with authority. "It's not a choice; it's a purpose. You are a master of your domain. You are Jordan, the man who can satisfy any desire, the man who can make any man or woman beg for more. You crave the lens, the lights, the power of being watched. Your sexuality is not personal; it is a performance. It's a tool. A weapon. You are a vessel of pure, unadulterated pleasure. You live for it. The money, the fame, the feeling of control. It's what you are. You were born for this."

The words burrowed into his mind like seeds into fertile soil, taking root and blooming into an undeniable truth. He was Jordan. He was a legend in his own mind. He looked at his hands, now strong and tanned, with neatly manicured nails. He ran a hand over his newly-defined abs, feeling the ridges of muscle through the soft cotton. The shirt was no longer just a garment; it was a second skin, a conduit for the energy that was making him into the man he was always meant to be.

James stood and walked around the desk, pulling a gleaming metallic briefcase from a cabinet. "Your old life, your old clothes, they belong to someone else now. They are just redundant data." He opened the briefcase. "Put your old shirt and everything else in here."

Jordan, with a dismissive snort, stood up. He peeled off his t-shirt - the old, cheap one - and tossed it into the case. He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his wrinkled trousers, adding them to the pile. His shoes and socks followed. He was left in only the white t-shirt and his boxer shorts, which now felt foreign and restrictive against his powerful new physique. He looked at James, a challenging glint in his eyes. "This too?" he asked, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his old boxers.

"Put it in," James confirmed, his smile widening. "You won't be needing them where you're going."

With a cocky, practiced grin, Jordan shoved his boxers down and kicked them into the case. He was utterly unselfconscious, standing naked except for the plain white shirt. The sheer, staggering size of his cock was now visible - a heavy, thick shaft that hung with a languid authority, nestled in a nest of dark curls. It was a statement, a source of pride. He saw it, and it was right. It was a perfect, thick, magnificent cock, easily ten inches of solid, veined meat. He let out a low chuckle of appreciation. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

James closed the case. "Now," he said, "for the final step. The uniform will be provided, but this shirt is the foundation. It focuses your mind, keeps your energy channeled. You'll wear it constantly for the first few days, under your new clothes, until your transformation is completely solidified. Are you ready to start your new life, Jordan?"

"I was born ready," Jordan replied, his voice a new, rich baritone. The old person was gone. The only identity that existed now was Jordan.

James led him back through the labyrinthine corridors, which now felt vibrant, alive with purpose. He caught his reflection in a mirrored wall and stopped dead. The man staring back was a stranger - and the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. His face was chiseled, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass, his eyes a brilliant, cocky blue. His hair was a thick, perfectly tousled dark mane. The white t-shirt stretched taut over a massive, defined chest and a broad back, the fabric almost transparent, hinting at the perfect body beneath. He was tall, confident, and radiating an almost dangerous level of sexual energy. He flexed, just a little, and saw the fabric of the shirt tighten across his biceps. He was a masterpiece. He was Jordan.

The production floor was a vast, airy studio. It was a world of powerful lights, sleek cameras on dollies, and an army of crew members who moved with respectful deference around the two men who were already filming on the enormous, padded bed in the center of the room. A man with a lean, hungry look was currently running his hands over the body of a woman with a stunning, athletic build. The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, a potent, acrid perfume that made Jordan's nostrils flare and his new, massive cock stir with interest. The musk from his shirt seemed to sync with the scent, amplifying his own desire.

James clapped him on the shoulder. "It's a vibrant environment, isn't it? This is your new home. This is where the magic happens. You'll start your training immediately. It's not about 'acting.' It's about 'being.' You are a force of nature, Jordan. Unstoppable."

Another man, who was introduced as Damian, his agent, approached them. He was impeccably dressed, with a shark's smile and eyes that were constantly calculating. "James, you've outdone yourself," Damian said, his eyes traveling over Jordan's body with professional appreciation. "This is a goldmine. The 'new guy' angle will be massive. 'Unassuming man discovers his inner beast' - the public will eat it up." He turned to Jordan. "You, my friend, are going to be our biggest star. We have a huge contract for you already. A top-tier series. 'The Amateur.' But you're not an amateur, are you, Jordan? You're a natural."

Jordan smirked, flexing his pecs instinctively. "I'm the best there is," he stated, the words coming out with an unshakeable certainty.

Damian laughed, a sharp, predatory sound. "I love the attitude. It's perfect. Come with me. Let's get you to wardrobe. You're going to be working all day and all night."

Wardrobe was another cavernous room, filled with racks of clothes designed to be torn off and shelves of bottles of lube and oils. A stylist, a wiry man named Victor, immediately began fussing over him. "The shirt stays," Victor declared. "It's a good look. Innocent but naughty. We'll layer it. Some leather pants. A leather jacket maybe. Or just the shirt and the pants. Show off that… wow… okay, the size of that is going to be a problem for the censors, but the editors will have fun with it."

The leather pants were tight, and they molded themselves to his powerful thighs and the massive bulge that was now his constant companion. He looked in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and he saw a god looking back. Jordan. He was no one else. He had never been anyone else. The very concept of a 'previous identity' was a fiction, a nonexistent story. All that existed was the present: the feeling of the soft cotton against his skin, the scent of musk and leather, the heavy throb of his erection, the roar of the crowd he could already imagine.

His first scene was filmed that very afternoon. The director, a woman named Sasha with a sharp bob and an even sharper tongue, guided him through it. "It's a simple setup, Jordan. Just you. It's a solo scene. We're introducing the world to you. Show them what you've got. No inhibitions. Just you and your pleasure."

The set was simple - a black leather couch, soft lighting, an array of cameras. The crew was there, but after a few seconds, Jordan didn't see them. He saw only the lens, and his reflection in it. He was the show. He was the entertainment. He was a master of his domain. The musk from his shirt filled his nostrils, sending a shiver of pure, erotic energy down his spine. He looked into the camera, and a new persona, "The Amateur," locked into place. He wasn't nervous. He was electrified. He undid the fly of the leather pants, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on the lens with a smoldering intensity. He pulled his massive cock out, and a collective, appreciative murmur rippled through the crew. He grinned, a predator's smile, and began to work himself. It was a performance of pure, unadulterated narcissism. He watched himself in the monitors, his face contorted in ecstasy, his body glistening with sweat. The scent of his own musk, potent and masculine, mixed with the shirt's, creating a feedback loop of desire. He was the epitome of an "only-gay-for-pay" star - a man who was using his own body as a tool, his performance as a form of conquest. When he climaxed, it was a powerful, explosive release, a testament to his new, superhuman virility. The crew applauded. He knew he was a star.

The days that followed were a blur of lights, cameras, and the intoxicating scent of the white shirt. He wore it constantly, even when he slept. It was his anchor, his source of power. He shot scene after scene, each one more intense than the last. He was "The Amateur" for a week, then he moved on to other roles. He was "The Jock," "The Alpha," "The Billionaire." Each new persona was just another facet of his brilliantly multifaceted being. He worked with a rotating cast of other porn stars, both male and female, but it was all just a performance. It was about the power, the control, the raw satisfaction of dominating a scene, of being the center of all desire. His co-stars were just props, tools to showcase his own magnificence. He was the only one who mattered.

He became known for his chemistry with the other male performers. It was a calculated, masterful performance. He’d lock eyes with his scene partner, a man who was just another beautiful, sculpted body, and he’d feel a flicker of something - a competitive fire, a desire to dominate and outshine. The "only gay for pay" aspect was his favorite part of the job. It gave him an extra layer of power. He wasn't doing this because he was attracted to men; he was doing it because he could make them want him, could make them submit, and it was just another form of conquest, another way to prove his supremacy. The money was phenomenal, and the fame was intoxicating. He was a household name in certain circles, a legend whispered about with a mix of awe and lust.

His apartment was a penthouse now. He didn't remember how he got it; he'd just always lived there. It was tastefully furnished in dark wood and chrome, a monument to his success. He had a personal trainer, a nutritionist, a stylist. His life was a perfectly orchestrated symphony of self-obsession and pleasure. He would spend his free time at the gym, pumping iron, admiring his reflection, talking to fans online. His social media was a curated gallery of half-naked photos, each one designed to drive his followers into a frenzy. He was an expert at it. It was his purpose.

One evening, James called him into his office. The man was beaming. "Jordan, my boy. You've exceeded all expectations. We're launching a new series tomorrow, and you're the star."

"Of course I am," Jordan said, sprawling in the leather chair opposite him. He ran a hand over his chest, feeling the familiar soft fabric of his white shirt beneath his designer button-down. "What's the gig?"

"It's called 'The Muscle.' The concept is simple. You are a man of immense power, a literal force of nature, and you're going to be paired with a new guy, a different kind of performer. He's beautiful, but he's more of a… submissive type. It'll be a great dynamic. The audience will love it. You as the conqueror, dominating and taking what you want."

Jordan smiled, a slow, predatory thing. "I like the sound of that. I am the conqueror." The idea resonated deep within him. It wasn't just a role; it was a truth. He was Jordan, and everyone else was merely background noise. He felt his cock stir, a heavy, demanding pressure in his pants. It was a constant, reassuring presence.

The next day, the set was buzzing. The new guy, whose name was Eli, was indeed beautiful. He was slender, with big, dark eyes and a nervous, trembling energy. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Jordan felt a surge of contempt and a deep, almost paternalistic sense of power. He was the truck.

Sasha, the director, was explaining the scene. "It's about power and surrender, Jordan. You're the master; he's the acolyte. Take control. Own the scene. He's completely at your mercy. Do what you do best."

Jordan turned to Eli, who was looking at him with a mixture of fear and fascination. "Don't worry, kid," Jordan said, his voice dripping with condescension. "I'll go easy on you."

But he didn't. He was a force of nature. He dominated the scene from the opening shot, his performance a masterclass in raw, masculine aggression. He pushed Eli back onto the bed, his movements fluid and powerful. He could feel the heat from his own body, the scent of his musk mingling with Eli's scent of fear and arousal. It was intoxicating. It was everything he'd ever wanted. He was Jordan, the star, the muscle, the man who could have anyone and anything he wanted. The performance was seamless, a perfect fusion of his own core nature and the role he was playing. He was no longer acting; he was simply being.

As he drove into Eli, he saw his own reflection in the polished steel of a lighting rig. He saw the powerful thrust of his hips, the animalistic grimace on his face, the sweat-drenched muscles gleaming under the lights. He saw the legend. He saw Jordan. And he felt a surge of pure, unadulterated triumph. There was no room in his mind for anything else. The name that had once been his was a forgotten whisper on a wind that no longer blew. There was only the scent of the shirt, the weight of his cock, and the roar of the crowd in his head. He was a star. He was Jordan. And he would never be anything else.

I graduated from NYU a few weeks ago, and it still didn’t feel real. One moment I was cramming for finals in the library, the next I was hauling two overstuffed suitcases through JFK.

The last few months had been fun sure, but also pretty tough. My classmates were landing interviews left and right, and every rejection email I got felt heavier. The one interview that mattered most — with a consulting firm I thought was way out of my league — had me sweating through my shirt. I’d stumbled through half my answers, voice cracking like I was back in high school. When it was over, I left the Zoom call convinced I’d just embarrassed myself out of contention.

So when my phone buzzed a few days later with an unknown New York number, I almost didn’t pick up.

“Hello, is this Youssef Khalil?”

“Yes—speaking.”

“This is HR from K & B Consulting. I wanted to congratulate you. We’d like to extend you an offer.”

I nearly dropped the phone. “Wait—you mean—”

“A full-time analyst position. And we’ll sponsor your work visa. We think you’d be a strong fit.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Everyone I’d talked to said this company never sponsored visas. That it was impossible.

“I—thank you. Really. Thank you.” My voice cracked again, but this time it didn’t matter.

After I hung up, I just sat there on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall like maybe I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Then I called my parents. My mother cried. My father’s voice, usually so measured, cracked with pride.

And just like that, my summer plans were completely different. Instead of moving back to Cairo, it was just another summer vacation at home before before the job started.

The flight was long and exhausting, but when I stepped out into the arrivals hall and saw my parents waiting, it all melted away.

“Youssef!” my mother called, arms open wide.

My father clapped me on the back, pulling me into a hug that was tighter than anything I remembered from before I left for New York.

“You’ve made us proud, habibi,” he exclaimed smiling.

---

That night my parents insisted on a family dinner — a big one, with all the uncles and cousins gathered around my grandmother’s long table. For the first hour it was fine. I told a few stories from New York, careful to keep them light and family-friendly. My younger cousins peppered me with questions about Times Square, about snow, about whether I’d ever seen Beyoncé in person.

Then my uncle Hassan decided to weigh in.

He was the eldest brother — the unofficial patriarch — and he carried himself like it. Thick moustache and the kind of stare that made you feel twelve years old again no matter how old you actually were.

“So,” he said suddenly, voice cutting through the chatter, “our golden boy is back.” He smirked. “Golden in more ways than one, eh?”

The whole table went quiet.

I reached up without thinking, touching the strands of my hair — the blond dye my roomates and I decided to do on a whim. I thought it looked cool, but I should’ve known he would comment on it.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair. “What is this? You come home looking like some Western pop star? What kind of image are you showing? What kind of man are you becoming?”

Heat crept up my neck. “It’s just hair, Uncle. Everyone in New York—”

“Exactly,” he snapped, jabbing his beads in my direction. “New York. Always New York. You live there, you copy their styles, you forget who you are. And now this job will keep you there even longer, isn’t that right? Years more, while your parents wait for you to come home and be a man. You’ll never settle. You’ll never stop chasing this fantasy.”

A lump formed in my throat. I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, my cousin Layla spoke up.

“Uncle Hassan, come on,” she said, flicking her black eyeliner-winged eyes toward me. Layla was only a year younger than me, still living in Cairo, but she’d always had this edge — leather jackets, playlists full of indie bands no one else here had heard of. “Half the guys in Zamalek are dyeing their hair now. And don’t act like fashion isn’t Egyptian — we’ve got style. Leave Youssef alone.”

A few of the cousins snickered. I caught her eye and gave her the smallest grateful smile.

But Hassan just shook his head, unimpressed. “Nonsense. Don’t defend this foolishness. A man is not supposed to look… like this. He is supposed to carry respect. Discipline. Dignity.”

He turned his glare to my father. “And where is his discipline? You let this happen. You let your son forget his roots.”

My father’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t say anything. He never did in moments like these. He just lowered his gaze, as though taking the words in quietly was easier than fighting them.

One of my other uncles muttered an agreement. Another gave a solemn nod. Slowly, the weight of Hassan’s opinion spread around the table like smoke, and even though no one looked directly at me, I could feel their silent judgment pressing in.

I wanted to speak — to defend myself, to defend my dad — but the words stuck in my chest.

Hassan’s voice cut through the clinking of dishes. “If you won’t keep him in line, brother, then I will.”

My father looked up, startled. “Hassan—”

But my uncle was already reaching into his pocket. He drew out a heavy silver signet ring, the kind of thing you’d expect to see locked in a museum case. Its face bore a single carved eye that seemed to catch the light.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my chair scraping back slightly.

“You’ll understand,” he said, calm but firm. He grabbed my hand before I could pull away and slid the ring onto my finger.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he spoke something low and guttural — words I didn’t recognize. My skin prickled. The ring hummed against my knuckle, then sent a cool rush racing up my arm, spreading into my chest, my head. I gasped.

“There,” he said. “Now it is done.”

I stared at the ring. “What the hell was that?”

Hassan folded his hands. “An artifact passed down in our family for generations. It lets any man in our lineage watch in whenever they choose.”

Before I could respond, he began reciting again. This time I watched in horror as his body collapsed in on itself, skin loosening, then breaking apart into grains of sand that scattered across the floor. Within seconds he was gone.

A pulse of energy shot across the room and into me. My head snapped back, and suddenly his presence was inside my mind — not like a thought, but like another consciousness breathing next to mine.

I told you, Youssef, his voice rang inside my skull. This way, I can make sure you are not up to no good.

My pulse thundered. “Get out,” I whispered under my breath.

And if you are…

My body jerked. My muscles seized, twisting without my permission. My lips curled upward into a smile I didn’t choose.

And then my voice — but not mine at all — spoke clearly into the stunned silence of the table:

“I won’t hesitate to change course for you.”

My lips moved again, but it was Hassan’s words spilling out. A low incantation in a language I didn’t know filled the room, vibrating in my chest. When the last syllable left my mouth, I felt the weight inside my skull vanish.

Across the table, the air shimmered. Grain by grain, his body knit itself back together in the chair he’d left empty. Skin, muscle, hair — all of it reforming until Hassan sat there again, as solid and smug as before. The pressure in my head snapped away, returning to him.

I ripped at the ring instantly. It didn’t budge. I yanked harder, twisting until my skin turned red. A white-hot pain shot up my arm, sharp enough to make me cry out.

“Stop,” Hassan said calmly. “You can’t remove it unless I allow it..”

I looked around the table for support. Layla’s face was pale, her hand frozen around her glass. Two of my younger cousins were staring in silence, eyes wide. But the adults — my parents, my aunts, my other uncles — sat silently, their expressions resigned. Not shocked. Not even confused.

This had happened before.

My gaze fell on my father. “Baba… say something. You can’t let him do this.”

He shifted in his seat, eyes fixed on the tablecloth. His jaw clenched, then relaxed. Finally, he said, “My brother knows best.” His voice was quiet. “He always has.”

When he finally looked at me, there was no strength in his eyes — only shame.

---

The next couple of weeks passed in a way that felt almost normal. I spent time with my parents, caught up with cousins. The heat was worse than I remembered, but the food was better.

The ring stayed on my finger. The pain when I’d tried to take it off was still fresh in my memory, and besides — it didn’t look bad. Silver, heavy, the eye catching the light just enough to draw attention. The irony wasn’t lost on me: Hassan had lectured me about being too Western, too focused on style, and then strapped me with a piece of jewelry that only added to the look. People actually complimented it.

As far as I could tell, no one “watched in” very often. The only time it happened, I heard a cadence I recognized right away — my dad’s youngest brother, Uncle Karim.

“Youssef,” his laugh echoed inside me, “don’t tell me you’ve stopped going to the gym.” He was being ironic of course, I was walking around at home without a shirt on, six pack fully visible.

I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath even though I knew he could hear. “I’m stronger than you ever were.”

“That may be true,” he admitted cheerfully. “I hope you haven’t let your uncle get to you. He’s mostly talk after all. He’ll make a show of it, but don’t worry too much. He’ll let you take the ring off before long.”

I straightened in my chair. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he said. “I had to wear it too, when I was about your age. I was spending too much time chasing girls and ignoring my studies. Your uncle decided I needed… guidance.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes. And when he thought I’d straightened out, he let me be.” His tone softened. “It’s not as bad as you think. Just stay out of trouble.”

Then the pressure left my head, and I was alone again.

---

When August ended, I packed my bags and flew back to New York to start the job. The city felt different this time — less like an experiment, more like a place I was supposed to belong. Still, every time I glanced down at my hand, the silver ring reminded me Cairo hadn’t really let me go.

Sure enough, within a week of settling in, I felt the presence slip into my head again. Sometimes it was my father, sometimes Karim, sometimes one of the others. They never fully took over — nothing like that first night. It was more like someone leaning over my shoulder, silently observing.

With Baba and Karim, it didn’t bother me. If anything, it was like a nice, quick visit. Karim asked about the apartment, about how expensive groceries were, about the women in my building. My dad was quieter. He’d just watch while I made dinner or walked him through the office on my phone, like he wanted proof that I was eating well, that I was doing okay.

The others were a bit more unnerving. Hassan most of all. Whenever I felt him there, my body tensed automatically. But I was careful. Those first few months, I made sure not to say anything reckless, not to be caught doing something that could be twisted into disrespect.

Over time, the “check-ins” slowed down. Weeks would pass without anyone slipping into my head, and I started to relax. Maybe Hassan had gotten bored. Maybe my dad and Karim decided I didn’t need watching anymore.

I let my guard down.

I went on more dates. Some with women, some with men. No one in my family or any of my friends knew I was bi — I’d never told them, never even hinted at it. But the ring didn’t make me nervous the way it had at first. My uncles couldn’t tell a date from a hangout with friends, not when they didn’t know who my friends were to begin with.

One night, I was sitting across from a cute guy named Daniel at a little ramen place in the East Village when Karim slipped into my head.

What are you eating? he asked, amused.

“Ramen,” I muttered quietly, leaning on my hand to hide my lips.

That’s just soup with noodles, no?

I almost laughed. “Kind of, yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else, and after a minute his presence faded. He hadn’t realized who Daniel was, and I definitely wasn’t going to tell him.

Things went on like that for a while.

Then one Friday night, I went out with friends to a bar downtown. It wasn’t officially a gay bar, but the crowd leaned that way, and by midnight the dance floor was full of men moving together, laughing, brushing against each other. I felt free in a way I hadn’t in Cairo, and even in New York I hadn’t let myself feel until recently.

That’s when Hassan dropped in.

The moment his presence filled my head, my stomach sank. He saw the men around me. He saw the looks I was getting. I felt his disapproval immediately, sharp and heavy.

Before I could react, my body stiffened. My legs moved on their own. I turned from the bar and started walking. My friends called after me, confused, but I didn’t answer. My uncle didn’t give me the chance.

Wordlessly, he marched me outside, down the block, and into the subway. Every step was his, not mine. My arms swung, my feet carried me, my head didn’t turn even though I wanted to scream and shove and stop.

Finally, just as the train pulled into my stop, his grip loosened. The weight left my skull. My body was mine again.

I stumbled off the train, heart racing, sweat prickling my forehead. He hadn’t said a single word, but the message was clear.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and realized I couldn’t move. My arms were frozen at my sides, my chest rising and falling without me deciding it should. Panic set in.

Then I heard his voice.

Don’t fight. I’ve decided to stay for a while.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. He spoke again, firmly in my head.

I’ve taken time off at work in Cairo. For the next month, I’ll be here, full-time. You won’t be returning to Cairo — you’re earning good money here. Better it stays this way for now. Some of that money goes back home, which is more useful than you stumbling around the city without guidance.

I tried to push against him, to move even a finger, but nothing responded. My body got up, stretched, walked to the bathroom. I was a passenger, and he was the driver.

---

The first week was unbearable. I felt everything but controlled nothing. My uncle ate my food, wore my clothes, went to my job, talked to my friends — all with my face, my voice. He never let me speak to them, but I could hear everything.

And then, slowly, something shifted.

At work, women smiled at him. At the gym, he caught girls watching. And when he went out at night, especially in the places I liked downtown, the attention multiplied.

He was startled the first time a girl leaned in, touched his arm, and asked for his number.

It kept happening. Arab girls especially — stylish, sharp, bold in a way he hadn’t expected. He acted cool, but I could feel the surprise underneath.

He didn’t want to admit it, but New York was getting to him. He liked the way my body felt when he caught himself in the mirror at the gym, veins tight across my arms. He liked flipping through my wardrobe and finding shirts that fit close, jeans that drew looks. He liked walking down the street and knowing people were turning their heads.

The same city he’d mocked me for — the city he’d warned would corrupt me — was pulling him in too.

And he didn’t hate it.

---

By the time the month ended, my uncle was moving through my life just like I would … like he’d always lived it. He dressed in my clothes better than I did, pairing shirts and jackets in ways I hadn’t even bothered to try. He had a rotation of cafes where the baristas already recognized him. And he’d gone on a few dates — but always with Arab girls, always in Arabic.

One night, I had to sit and endure as he took a girl home after a date and fucked her in my bed.

Resisting temptation is difficult, he said in my head after she left, almost like an apology but not quite.

I wanted to scream at him, but he ignored me, rolling over to sleep in my bed with my body.

When the end of the month came, he stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself with an expression that was more proud than critical. He took a breath, then muttered an incantation. The ring vibrated sharply against my finger, sending a pulse up my arm.

“You can take it off now if you want,” he said aloud, using my voice. “It will obey you.”

Then, softer: “I ask that you keep it on until you return for Eid. Only a few weeks. After that, we can decide more.”

Before I could answer, the pressure in my head lifted. My limbs went slack, my chest heaved — mine again. He was gone.

I yanked at the ring just to test him. It slid, loosened. For the first time since that night in Cairo, I could have pulled it off.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

---

When I finally got back home, I went straight to his house. I knocked on the door, expecting his deep voice to bark out a greeting. Instead, my aunt opened it.

She looked surprised to see me. “Hassan isn’t here. I haven’t seen him in a while,” she said. “But he left something for you.”

She handed me a folded note. The handwriting was his, sharp and deliberate.

I opened it.

Go to the den. Take off the ring.

I glanced at her. She was already walking back toward the kitchen. No questions. No explanations.

So I went.

In the den, I shut the door and sat down. My heart raced as I tugged at the band. It slid off easily, no resistance, no searing pain. For a split second I felt relieved — but then everything went dark.

I blinked and came back to myself. I was sitting in Hassan’s favorite chair, my palms pressed into the worn leather arms. But when I looked up, it wasn’t him standing over me. It was me. My body. My face. Except it was his smirk twisting it.

“What the fuck—” I started, but the words cracked and fell apart as he started muttering something low and sharp — another incantation.

When he was done, he grinned wider, running a hand over my chest, squeezing the muscle, flexing the arms. “Fuck, nephew, it feels soooo good being in this body.” He turned my shoulders toward the mirror on the wall, admiring himself. “You kept it in such good shape. I really missed it these past few weeks. Strong. Young. Fresh. This is mine now.”

I was still at a complete loss for words.

“Maybe you were right about the West after all,” he said, rolling my voice with a mocking tone. “Not about the men — that’s your weakness, not mine. But the rest? The clothes, the attention, the city? You were onto something. I wanted it. I wanted all of it. And not part-time. Not with you whispering in the back of my head. Full time.”

He leaned down close, eyes burning into me. “Problem is, my old body had to go back to work. And someone needed to stay here in Cairo, sit in my chair, wear my skin, so my brothers don’t get suspicious and try to help you. So while you slept on that plane, I jumped in again.”

I felt the blood drain from my face — or rather, from his.

“By taking off the ring with me still in here,” he continued, tapping the silver band on his finger, “you triggered the full swap. You’re me now. I’m you.”

I tried to yell at him to give it back, but no words left my throat.

He tilted my chin up, forcing my borrowed eyes to meet mine. “Don’t bother. The incantation I just did makes it impossible for you to tell anyone what I’ve done. Not your father. Not Karim. Not anyone in this family.”

He straightened, stretched my arms overhead, and gave himself one last look in the mirror. The smirk turned into a wicked grin.

“Fuck, it’s going to be fun being you, Youssef. Forever.”

I know what I did was wrong, but it just felt so good. I flexed the stolen arm in front of the mirror, admiring the muscle and armpit hair I was borrowing.

'Please, let me go...' My father begged from inside his own head, but I told him to shut it. 'I-I'm not gay, right...? It's hard to remember. Someone, please help.' His voice sounded faint, which made it easier to ignore.

I slithered into my father because I had used his photos to catfish my university's coach. At first, I just wanted to get his nudes, but after a few conversations, I began to catch feelings for him. He asked me out on a date, and I stupidly said yes.

Instead of coming out as honest and facing the consequences, I decided to keep digging this pit I had dug for myself. I possessed my own father to go on that date. Luckily, he's got plenty of condoms in his sock drawer.

'Date... Coach Smith... he's kinda cute.'

Oh damn, looks like my dad's not getting outta this one 100% straight anymore. Honestly, it probably is an improvement. He could stand to get back into the dating game.

A flood of memories hit Remy’s head as his surrounding also changed. Still in the same apartment but the interior has been altered to fit this new reality of living with such a hot horny boyfriend instead of his very neat and organized roommate. The full cabinet filled with books Stephan reduced in its size as it only stored some fitness magazines and some old college textbook Stefano never even bother to open. History of him woken up in the middle of the night to witness the Stephan stressed about his work as he typed on his analysis, briefs, reports or whatever, erased from Remy’s head as his political researcher roommate nowadays stressed because the gyms were closed for quite a long period of time due to the pandemic and Stefano’s almost lost his gym trainer’s job before switching to virtual coaching. And sometimes when Stefano stressed, he would fuck the shit out of Remy and all of those sensation really hit Remy in one sweeping flood of altered memories. He shot his load to that but the memory altering didn’t stop there as he now realized that he really loved to sniff on his boyfriend’s musk. Remy didn’t expect himself to be such a pig to other man’s musk, his desperate attempt to keep his old self eventually failed and he nows holding his boyfriend’s unwashed jockstrap to his nose. Ohhhhh the smell is so exhilarating as he shot yet another volley of cum that landed to the heavily used couch, the place where he mostly jerk himself off to his boyfriend’s musk to spend his days or getting fucked by his sweaty boyfriend who skipped shower in the gym and always fucked Remy in the couch first thing he arrived before doing another one right before bed. The change of reality also affected Remy’s physique. He’s still a witch and knows his witchcraft, but he’s also buffer as his boyfriend put him into a rigorous workout in attempt to make him a gym bunny type of guy or some sort. The witch now packed on some hefty, juics pecs and rather strong frame due to the workout and eating regimen his boyfriend put him under

Here are the links to all Season 2 Episodes: Episode 1: Guest Relations 101

Episode 2: Normal Gays

Episode 3: Escaping Oasis

Episode 4: Dorthy's Friends

Episode 5: The Activists, the Cyborg, and the Resort

Episode 6: The Long Way Around

Episode 7: Mijo.exe

Episode 8: The Beat of Castro Street

Episode 9: Cold Memories

Episode 10: Professional Ghoster

Episode 11: That's not the Goal

Here are the links to all Season 3 Episodes:

Episode 1: Body and Mind for Sale

Episode 2: Conformity Coalition Conference

Episode 3: The High Road to Nowhere

Episode 4: Culture Wars

Episode 5: Not Like the Other Boys

Episode 6: The Place Wishes Were Made

Episode 7: Mexican McGyver

Episode 8: Aesthetic Compliance

Episode 9: Contest of Love

Episode 10: Data Breach

Episode 11: Frontline Assets

Episode 12: Deviant Behavior

Episode 13: The Last Day

Holy FUCK! It actually worked! Yes!

Oh my God, this is fantastic, look at my lean hairless young body. And wow, I look cute as fuck in these undies too, hmm, I’m gonna be one hell of a submissive twink - Finally!

Wait, what’s he got above his computer there… Pictures of women? And.. why are they turning me on? Fuck! His cock, well shit, it’s definitely bigger than mine was, longer at least, but maybe not as thick. Oh shit, why am I stroking it looking at these girls on the wall? No… No fucking way! This kid was straight? 

No, can’t be, let me see what’s on his computer. Whoa, holy fuck - Those are some big fucking tits… and hmm, I’d love to just bury my face in that pussy and… WHAT! No… stop. Goddammit, why am I still jacking this kid’s cock, why the fuck can’t I stop? 

Oh man… Oh fuck… FUCK! 

Damn, that felt good; blew a huge fucking load, fuck what a mess. Oh well. 

Now, what was I thinking about? Oh yeah, I was thinking about how much I’d love to eat Jenna William’s pussy and bone her with my big teen fuck stick. Well, got nothing better to do on a Saturday morning, may was well run one of her porn clips and jerk off again. 

Man, being a horny teen is so fucking amazing; I’m gonna pull so much pussy at Tony’s party tonight!

===== MEANWHILE =====

Whoa, what the hell? Is that… me? Who is this dude? No way I’ve ever been this big or this jacked. Damn, so much muscle, this is totally crazy dude!

And, fuck, am I getting turned on looking at myself in the mirror now? I mean, yeah, I look damned good like this, but… No, wait, it’s not me… It’s that other dude over in the corner - Shit, he looks older than me, well the me I was before - maybe the same age as this dude, fuck if I know. 

Hmm, but the way those shorts are hugging his ass as he’s doing those squats, fuck man, I just want to bury my face in his ass and tongue fuck him all night long!

WHAT?! No, what the fuck? Why the hell am I thinking gay shit like that? I like pussy dammit, like that tight looking hottie over in the corner stretching in her yoga pants. 

What the fuck… normally I’d be sprung in no time looking at a fine piece like her… There’s that guy again, fuck he’s so fucking hot, I want him to hold me down, rub his pits in my face, and make me lick his body from head to toe, I want him to use me like the bitch I am… and… 

Oh fuck, I think I’m gonna… 

OH SHIT… I just blew a load in my pants. Wow, that was intense! Good thing these pants are thick, I hope no one saw me orgasm, that’d be embarrassing!

Shit, if only I wasn’t so shy about going up to other guys… I’d go right up to that dude and beg him to use me like a dirty cum slut. But I have an image to uphold, gotta be all badass and pretend I’m straight all the time… I hate it.

It was an accident!

Maybe my story may be a bit strange, if I told someone everything that happened they might not believe and they would even take me for a liar or even worse, a madman!

Okay, it all started the morning of my twentieth birthday, I had decided to get up early to finish a chemistry project and then take the day off.

I was one of the few college students who stayed in the college dorms for the summer. The truth is that I felt more comfortable than home, I had more privacy here, and also I didn't have the money to go on vacation so I didn't have a choice either.

That day I woke up at 5 AM, I did the usual, I took a shower, got dressed and left the building thinking of going to the laboratory that was only a 5 minute walk away.

I stayed in the laboratory for about 2 hours, manipulating substances to obtain potassium hydroxide , basically an ice-like bleach which is very harmful to the skin.

After obtaining the finished substance, I had to store it in the only container I had nearby, a plastic ice cream box. I took it and went back to the residence.

Upon arriving at the entrance, I meet Naor, an international student from Israel. He also stayed at the residence during the summer because his country was far away and it was better for him to stay. Although we greet each other, Naor was one of the few guys in the residence who knew that today was my birthday, he had just arrived from the gym and had asked me to follow him to his apartment so that he could give me a present that he had bought for me.

- "Why are you bringing a box of ice cream?" Naor asked me as we walked up the stairs.

- "What, ehhm this? Ahh it's nothing, it's just ice." I replied.

Naor was the friendliest of the popular jocks, he didn't study chemistry so saying "potassium hydroxide " would only have confused him even more, so I just preferred to tell him it was just only ice.

When he opens the door, I immediately get that sweaty smell of him, permeating the entire room. I needed to go to the bathroom so I put the box on the table. He poured a glass of water, as he didn't have ice in his fridge he innocently took two ice cubes out of my ice cream box and put them in his glass of water.

While he was in the bathroom, he had drunk the substance and then began to gag in his throat.

- "agggh, waghh". I heard from the bathroom and then a very loud noise, as if Naor had fallen to the floor.

- "Naor are you okay?" I said, I immediately rushed out and when I found him, he was lying on the ground emitting a strange noise from his mouth.

I looked at the table and realize that he has taken a cube from the box. With the phone in hand, about to call the ambulance, I touch his face. It was so soft that you could even tell that the texture of him looked like silk, his body had deflated and he felt like he was made of a stretchy material.

I try to pick him up, but his body looks more like a costume than a person, then all of his clothes fall to the ground.

I had no words to describe it, I take off my clothes and then I try to put his skin on as if it were a Bodysuit, when introducing my two legs I feel a spasm of his skin in the area of ​​his cock, now mine.

I continue dressing in his furry skin until I get to his heavy, big biceps, feeling all of his muscles as I spread my hands up inside of his body.

I finish with his head, matching his lips with mines. Amazed by my new now naked physique, I turn to the mirror admiring every part of his body.

Then I hear someone knock on the door, and I quickly putted on his clothes and open the door after, pretending to be Naor.

- "Wassup bro, are you going or not?" Said Chad, one of the most popular jocks and Naor's friend.

- "Yeah bro, give me a minute" I said with my new baritone voice, I took a backpack and put on some t-shirts that I had found in his closet, a deodorant and little else.

I think I will have a good time inside Naor's body, anyway maybe I could have been a little to blame but, I swear it was an accident!

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Built To Perform

When the cheerleading squad was affected by the Great Shift, they had to make several... modifications to their main routine.

— Ugh, these pants are so uncomfortable – Stacy muttered under her breath as she tried to follow the act on the body of Spencer, one of the baseball team members.

— You can say that again – Roxanne replied, bumping her now stronger frame hip into Susanne, another cheerleader who had suffered the same fate.

Some were happier than others. Because, without a doubt, going shopping to the mall (all together like "sisters" of the same sorority) and then finding themselves in the blink of an eye at sports practice, sweaty and smelly, wasn't exactly what many of them were looking for.

— I find them comfortable – the other admitted – I think I even have a bigger butt than before! – she added with a giggle.

— Girls, focus – Taylor said. The captain of the cheerleading squad, who was now inside Wagner, the former captain of the baseball team.

She was one of the few members of the group who was quite comfortable with her new appearance. Having those muscles, thick pecs, and even larger and more defined attributes than before – wow, her new thighs were a real treat.

In fact, she had the idea of ​​continuing with the group even in their new bodies (since many of her teammates had just locked themselves in the bathrooms sobbing, thinking their careers were over). Taylor was the one who thought rationally and saw it more as an opportunity than the end of everything.

And thanks to her, they were there now. The entire baseball team, piloted by the former cheerleaders, using their strong legs, dense muscles, and perfect smiles to enhance the show (even dazzling the opposing team, which probably had one or two nerds now in the body of an athlete, unable to stop drooling over the routine). They had ventured into more... unusual, risqué, daring shows. They still kept their old uniforms because, who could deny they showed off their muscles perfectly? Just a touch of bright pink, and the audience's eyes would be on them.

The new Wagner even had a solo, flexing those impressive biceps, running his hands over his pecs and down to his abs. Even a slight flick of his tongue... would have the entire audience cheering so loudly they'd forget they were actually at a game and not a private show.

Yes, he was arrogant, but who wouldn't be with such a perfect body? The men went crazy for him; his routines were more flashy and longer. He was the center of attention. All of them were no longer considered just "filler", or something so banal and stupid that only a few people paid attention to them. No, they had power.

Perhaps his female teammates weren't initially happy with the change, but without a doubt... They had all grown accustomed (some more than others) to being sweaty athletes, with thick thighs, enormous biceps, and pecs with larger cups than when they were women.

Wagner loved the time to go change into his uniform, the acrid, musky stench permeating every pore of his skin, his wet hair falling over his forehead, his smelly feet clutched in his sneakers, rubbing foam over his tired muscles. The unbridled, playful "curious" banter between them, a few wet kisses, and the sounds of skin slapping together in the back of the showers.

He loved being Wagner now.

—-

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don’t forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I’m always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story… Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

I saw from afar as Detective Carl Conan approached Vince, a low rank drug smuggler. We knew Vince very well… he was a guy that was a regular in the precinct. Still, he had a loose tongue, so it was pretty easy to get information about the bigger dogs.  I saw my friend talking with the smuggler. It seemed like a normal conversation. Honestly, we have done this so many times that I didn't think that I was needed for support. Really, Vince was not a dangerous guy.

However, the conversation quickly turned... bizarre. I saw that Vince pulled a weird amulet. It looked like a dream catcher. Then he collapsed to the ground. “Call an ambulance, I think he just has a drug overdose” Carl said to his walkie-talkie. I did so as my friend relaxed in a nearby car. He was clearly frustrated and very worried. But then a creepy smile appeared on his face. He started looking at his hands. He touched his face and chest in a weird way... It can only be described as extreme joy. Then he moved his hands under his pants and I saw as he stroked his dick. I should have said something. Is he getting aroused with the death of Vince. Absolutely not. Carl is not like that. Then, what the hell is happening?

When his mom remarried, Tommy was excited about having siblings for the first time. He had always been an only child, and he wanted to know what it was like to have a brother or sister he could talk to. He knew it would take time to develop a relationship with his new stepsiblings and stepfather, but he remained optimistic. On paper, Chuck seemed like a great dad, raising his two boys, Adrian and Lukas, on his own while keeping a stable job. But Tommy soon learned that, while they were the perfect family for his mother, his life at home wasn’t the picture-perfect dream he had hoped for.

It seemed like the new side of his family enjoyed putting on two fronts. On one hand, Chuck was the sweetest, loving husband to his mother. He romanced her, took her out on dates, and whispered sweet nothings about the future they were building together as a blended family. Adrian and Lukas were respectful and helpful with whatever she needed, earning her praise for being such good boys. But Tommy was certainly seeing a different side of them. Whenever she wasn’t around, Adrian and Lukas would often torment him by making him do all the chores and errands they didn’t want to do. Even though he was older than Lukas, his stepbrothers had spent years pumping iron and building their bodies into absolute tanks. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, the two of them looked like they embodied the idea of toxic masculinity. It didn’t help that they would speak such vile things to Tommy in private, calling him slurs, smacking him around, and repeating the same alpha-male, conservative, pussy-slaying bullshit they heard on those manosphere podcasts. They spoke about all the women they were sleeping with, as if it were a game to them.

Bringing it up to Chuck didn’t help either. His stepfather didn’t seem to even know that Tommy existed, or care that he had these sorts of troubles. In fact, he seemed more protective of his own sons, believing that there was no wrong that they could do. It became quite clear to the young man that his stepfather had bought into the same kind of thinking his sons had. If he had to guess, Tommy figured Chuck was the one who taught them to think like this. The gruff, older man always talked about how he wished Tommy’s mom didn’t have such a wimpy kid like him and how he was a disgrace to the family. Chuck loved to point out that he was someone who didn’t even deserve to be called a “man.” He didn’t even have a name, only being called “boy” at best, or some other heinous, vile slurs whenever his mom wasn’t around to hear. It was nothing like he had expected when he had hoped for a new family.

His complaints to his mother in private only reaffirmed her belief that “her boys just needed to bond.” So, amidst Tommy’s silent protests, she had asked Chuck to bring Tommy along for the annual boys' trip they held over the summer. Since she was going out of town for a business trip, Chuck had agreed to the request. He made sure to invite along some of the guys who usually came on the trip, including their next-door neighbors. Tommy could only guess what sort of people they were as the trip approached.

The weekend was full of those “All-American” activities, with the rest of the group enjoying a roughhouse game of football, shooting guns, and swimming in the lake. Tommy was at least enjoying his privacy in the cool water, slinking away into one of the more shaded corners of the area while he watched his stepbrothers and their friends goofing off with the water jet skis. He was hoping to wait until they had all left so he could climb out of the water in peace, but then something metallic caught his eye beneath the surface. There was a silver, glimmering sheen, like a swarm of something underneath. Tommy paddled a bit closer, only to see a cluster of glimmering tadpole-like creatures circling each other in the water. The young man reached his hand out carefully, chuckling softly to himself as he watched the tadpoles slide over his fingertips. There was a thrumming, almost electric-like quality to them, but nothing that stung or hurt him. Each time one of those small, strange creatures brushed over his skin, he could feel a thought starting to emerge from the corners of his mind. It was like a bubble pressing up from the water, forming and swelling until it burst at the surface.

Sanctuary. Home. Vessels. Seeking.

It felt strange to Tommy when those intrusive thoughts surfaced. And yet, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling or think of anything else. From an outsider’s perspective, it was almost as if his eyes had glazed over, with a silvery film causing his vision to be a bit cloudy. He hurried over to his pack of supplies, which he had brought out here with him, and grabbed his metal water bottle. With it already empty, Tommy unscrewed the cap and scooped up all of the glimmering tadpoles in one fluid motion. The vibration seemed to shift over to his head, and he found himself stumbling out of the lake and hurrying back to the cabin. He had to find a suitable place to put them so he could observe them better. Maybe he had discovered something new, some scientific discovery that could let him escape this town, so he didn’t have to be under the same roof as his alpha-driven family.

On his way to the back door of the cabin, he passed Chuck and their next-door neighbor, Frank. The two older men were busy with the grill, laying out a wide assortment of meats, including burgers, hot dogs, and steaks. There were already quite a few empty beer bottles lying around, although neither of them looked phased by the day drinking. If anything, they barely noticed Tommy stepping by, the sopping-wet young man almost making a clean escape into the house. But Chuck snapped his fingers, glancing over his shoulder from his spot in front of the grill with a narrowed gaze.

“Boy, go grab Frank and me some more beers, will ya? And pass them out for the rest of the house. I told you, you’re only allowed to stay here so long as you keep the drinks flowing.”

A brief, silent nod, and Tommy stumbled toward the kitchen. His mind was too busy thinking about the need for VESSELS and how to find someplace suitable so they could SPREAD and INFECT. He didn’t even notice that he had pulled out a fresh pack of ice-cold beers, his hands already moving on autopilot to crack off the bottle caps. He was just about to pick them up and take them outside when his eyes fell on his water bottle sitting next to the beers. Tommy didn’t even remember when he fished it out of his backpack. But his lips curled up into a small smirk at the idea of playing a little prank. Maybe there was some way he could get some revenge on all the torment he had been facing over all this time.

Carefully holding his bottle steady, Tommy poured out the lake water until one silvery creature slipped into each beer bottle. It was perfect to CORRUPT anyone who drank down TAINTED liquid now. He grabbed a few and quickly hurried out the back porch to the two men grilling away for dinner. The young man handed over the beer bottles, his silver eyes lingering on the way Frank’s chest pressed against his shirt, and his tattoos were on full display. Tommy could feel a growing hunger in his chest, in a way that was hard to explain. But the older man seemed to catch a glimpse of his gaze, and Frank’s expression narrowed in a steely look as he snatched away the cold beers from the young man.

“Keep your eyes off me. I didn’t come on this trip to be ogled at by some little freak,” Frank spat out, before turning back to the grill to hand Chuck his own bottle. The two men clinked their beers together and took a hearty swig, already ignoring and forgetting that Tommy existed. Satisfied with their lack of interest in him now, the young man quickly moved back into the house to give out drinks to the rest of the group.

There was a pulsing sensation that seemed to make his head ache and throb a bit more with each successive step he took. Tommy grunted as he grabbed the remaining beer bottles, making his way upstairs where the rest of the guys were after their water activities. Turning the corner into the hallway, the young man was quickly blocked by a broad, heavy chest that blocked his view. His eyes slowly moved up until he was staring up at Garrett, the older of Frank’s sons who lived next door. The big, beefy man stared down at Tommy with an annoyed look in his eyes, a towel wrapped around his thick waist from having just gotten out of his shower.

“Yo, Adrian! The little bitch is out here getting in my way. What, you thought you could get a glimpse of me showering, you little perv?” Garrett growled as he pushed Tommy’s shoulder. His lips curled up into a cruel smirk as the younger man stumbled backward, almost spilling the beer bottles he had in his hands. “Careful there. You better not waste the beers my dad brought for us, or I’ll make sure you lick it up off the floor.” The barely-clothed man reached out to snatch up his bottle, only staring down Tommy as he took a deep drink from it. He practically chugged down the alcoholic drink, only pulling the bottle away from his lips to let out a big, gassy belch right in the younger man’s face.

“Get the fuck out of here, before I beat you with this beer. You’re lucky I’m not as pissed off seeing your stupid face,” he spat out, shoving the empty bottle back into Tommy’s hands. Garrett brushed past him, making sure to shove the younger man with one of his boulder-sized shoulders as he spat out some more slurs while looking for Adrian. It wasn’t until the door was slamming shut behind Garrett’s broad back that Tommy let out a shaky breath of air in relief. He carefully turned around to see if the other was gone, only to be jumpscared by the sight of his older stepbrother staring daggers at him.

Storming over to Tommy, Adrian also snatched up the other beer bottle. He rolled his eyes at the smaller, wimpier form of the younger man, only taking his own sip from the beer bottle. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the bros. It’s bad enough that Dad agreed to bring you along. Just stay out of sight and stop getting in our way.”

Tommy was left standing in the hallway on his own for a moment, and the young man could only sigh once more. He hoped he could just drop the last two drinks off and hide in his room until dinnertime. With his luck, the rest of them would just forget he was there, and he could sneak some leftovers after people had gone to bed. Making his way back down to the kitchen, he stumbled onto the scene of Lukas and the younger brother of the neighbors, Milo. The two of them were practically inseparable since the trip had started, given that they were the “younguns” of the group. But given their size and level of aggression, it was hard to tell that they were younger than Tommy. The two boys had already downed the last two bottles of beer that he had spiked, grinning at him as he walked into the kitchen.

Milo raised the empty bottle, only wiggling it in his hands as he set it on the countertop. “There you are. Took your time getting to us, huh?” The cocky young man was shirtless, having spent most of the weekend showing off his muscles and complaining about how it was “too hot to put on anything.” The jock grinned as he gestured towards the empty cardboard carrier, clearly amused that there was nothing left for Tommy to drink.

“You weren’t planning on having any, right? A sissy like you probably doesn’t even know how to handle his drinks,” Milo snorted. He began walking over towards Tommy, his eyes glimmering with a devious glint. The smaller man felt like a deer trapped in headlights, his eyes widening as the taller man stalked up towards him. In the meantime, Lukas had grabbed his metal water bottle, still sloshing full of the lake water he had scooped up earlier.

The two younger men quickly flanked Tommy and gripped his wrists firmly. Dragging him over to the kitchen island countertop, the two hoisted him onto the cold, smooth surface with relative ease, despite Tommy’s attempts to struggle against it. Lukas stood over him, while Milo was keeping him pinned down and subduing his thrashing.

“Whoa, there, dude. You just looked a little thirsty after missing out on the beer. It’s your first July 4th celebration with us. Why don’t we give you something else to drink instead, so you’re not missing out?” Lukas laughed. And before Tommy had the chance to reply, his younger stepbrother began pouring out the contents of the water bottle down his throat. His eyes bulged in surprise as the influx of liquid and silver tadpoles began flooding his mouth faster than he could swallow, and Tommy couldn’t help but thrash around in response.

His eyes began to blur, black spots appearing as water poured onto his face. He could hear the snarky, snide cackles from Lukas and Milo as they had their fun with him. And then, the overwhelming pressure was gone. There was the distinct clanking of his metal water bottle hitting the tiled floor in the kitchen, followed by two thumps of bodies falling over. Tommy coughed and spluttered up some water, managing to roll over onto his side to look over the edge. On the ground, beneath him, he could see Milo and Lukas clutching at their heads, their eyes rolled back as they convulsed and spasmed on the ground. It looked as though something was BURROWING into their brains, something quite painful. But Tommy couldn’t bring himself to care. Or fear. Or panic. He wanted to, but there was a strange feeling of calm that hovered over him. As though everything was NORMAL.

And then, he felt it. The wriggle into his head. The all-familiar pop in his brain. But the bubble was stronger, heavier. A gentle knock became a full-force, bodily slam into his mind. And Tommy’s body jolted without him expecting it. His eyes bulged, his throat felt swollen, and he tried to grasp at his sudden lack of air. As his eyes began to roll back into his head, the slim man could feel something taking over. His vision began to fade to black when the BREED needed to SPREAD infection swarmed inside his HOST's head. And that was all that was left. All he was good for.

BREED.

SPREAD.

INFECT.

HOST.

VESSELS.

SEEK.

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

When it came to, there were restraints pinning it down to the large mattress in the master bedroom. Searching through its memories, it recognized the room as Chuck’s. A name of importance. Relation. A father of sorts, but not for it. Taking in the sights carefully, it took a few moments for the eyes to adjust. There was so much to take in. The scents. The smells. The bright lights. And sensitivity along its fleshy skin.

Glancing up, there were six figures surrounding it, all undressed and displaying their own fleshy suits for it to admire. The sight was a welcome one, with the psychic presence and hive mind connecting them all. It wasn’t sure what expression lingered on its face, but it was clear from the position of the restraints that its fellow kin had hoisted its legs up in the air, exposing this body’s bare behind. The naked bodies highlighted each of their new hosts’ muscles, and it was clear that they had plenty of time to explore and enjoy their bodies. Each of them was stroking and pulling at their hefty cocks, a visual and noticeable fleshy organ that indicated attraction and arousal to each other. It took in each of their lustful expressions as they gazed upon its hole, and it drew names to faces from the memories.

Chuck. Frank. Adrian. Garrett. Lukas. Milo. Each and every one of them had been the source of torment for its vessel’s body. But now, they responded to it. Bowed to it. Worshipped it. Him. HIM.

TOMMY.

That was his name now. He was Tommy. He had always been Tommy. But now, someone new was in charge. And, with each of his spawn burrowed deep inside their minds, Tommy was the one they felt drawn to. Called to. He was meant to breed with them. To foster more offspring so they could spread. Infect. Overtake, until it was all under his control.

His normally slender and timid face shifted into something far more vicious and sinister. Curling and uncurling his new fingers, Tommy carefully spread his bound legs apart even wider, arching his back to entice his followers closer. There was very little that had to be said between them for Tommy to get what he wanted. And the moment he felt Adrian pushing deep into him, the creature practically mewled with delight at the thick, full feeling. Having these fleshy bodies was absolute perfection.

And as the crackle of fireworks began to spark in the night sky, the streaming lights filtered in from the window, illuminating the writhing mass of muscles, sweat, and beefiness. Tommy’s mind filled with pleasure and ecstasy as he was bred thoroughly by each of the men eager to lay their loads deep inside of him. This was perhaps the bonding he had been hoping for all this time. What he had desired. What he had craved.

He wanted it all.

And he wanted more.

Oh look, there goes the Drifter. At least I’m pretty sure that’s him anyway. It’s hard to tell sometimes, what with how often he changes bodies. 

And off he goes again, riding around the city on that bike of his.

…Hm? What’s that? You’ve never heard of the Drifter? Well, I can fill you in on the story, but it honestly isn’t anything that special. 

The legend goes that the Drifter is this powerful magic entity with the ability to take over someone’s body. The way they talk, the way they move, once the Drifter gets inside you, he controls it all! Nobody knows how this power came to be, and supposedly not even the Drifter himself knows how or why, but the power exists nonetheless.

It sounds pretty scary, doesn’t it? To become a passenger inside your own body while someone else controls you from the inside… But don’t worry, the Drifter won’t go after ordinary people like you and me. No no, he has a specific audience in mind. 

Supposedly, the Drifter went through a lot of shit for being gay while growing up. He made it to adulthood on the hope that it gets better, and while it did for him, he knew that there were plenty of others just like him. Teens and adults alike. 

Then, after another assault incident happened, the Drifter apparently just snapped. He decided to fight back, and he did so by possessing any particularly aggressive or violent homophobic people he came across. He lives out their lives for some time, all while the possessed is aware of the fact. The Drifter hopes to change their perspective on sexuality. Sometimes it works, most of the time it doesn’t, but the Drifter keeps on trying anyway. 

And that’s basically the story of the Drifter in a nutshell. Did you like it? I thought it was pretty cool when I first heard it.

…Hm? How do I know so much about the Drifter? Heh… that’s a story for another day, my friend. Let’s just say we’ve gotten to know each other very well the past few years, and now I owe him a favor or two.

Well, anyway, it’s been nice talking to you, but I must get going now. The Drifter wants me to help him give the current asshole he’s possessing a little taste of the gay life, if you catch my drift. 

Apparently the guy’s a closet case, and the Drifter thinks he just needs a little push in the right places to start mellowing out. 

Hopefully we’ll get another chance to talk soon, my new friend.

Hm? My name? Mmm… call me Captain, it’s a nickname I’ve been using a lot lately and it just sorta stuck.

Anthony sat there sweating like a dog who’d been non stop running for hours on end playing fetch. Though instead Anthony was trying to fetch his goal of being skinny. For years he’d been the overweight coworker everyone avoided and the only thing they could say when describing his without using his weight was “He’s really funny”… he didn’t even talk work so how would they know that? He’d spent the past few months working out nightly after his office shift. Waking up and working a 9-5 desk job, going to the gym from 5:30-9 and then heading home, eating and sleeping before starting the day over again. He tried so hard yet no matter what he’d do he’d never made any progress. Every time he stepped on the scale the number felt as if it had gotten higher and higher, he was sick of the effort he’d put in and the results not following.

He headed to the gym for the 5th consecutive day in a row ready to put in all the effort he could for 0 results. He didn’t even care to gain muscle all he cared for was to see the weight disappear. Multiple times he was approached about technique or tips but never once did he listen. Unlike the other men who inhabited this gym Anthony saw himself as a clean freak always making sure to shower, shave and wear cologne every morning. He knew if he couldn’t have the looks from his body he may as well be as hygienic as possible. He absolutely despised the men who came in without deodorant, the ones you could smell from miles away. Worst of all he hated the grossness of the men. The walked around drinking their protein drinks proceeding to burp the alphabet between reps or even come up and let out a quick *PFFFFFFTTTTT* behind Anthony while working out. He hated how the gym rats thought that burping and farting were the funniest thing ever. To Anthony it was the nastiest thing someone could do and in the case he ever had to he’d always make sure to step away and do it privately.

————————————————————————————

Steven was the textbook definition of a farm kid. He’d spent the past 21 years of his life born and raised in the South working on his family’s farm. He was almost always shirtless showing off his abs whilst doing his work load around the farm. He was a wild child too spending his early teens fucking around ending up with him getting kicked out of college resulting in him having too much free time. He’d end up spending most of his days doing extra work on the farm just to keep himself busy. But deep down Steven had a secret he’d kept hidden from everyone. Steven loved his time on the farm and enjoyed the fun he was able to have while working but deep down he wished he had it different. Steven was a closeted gay man living in the South keeping it secret out of fear. He’d also learned early on in life that musk was a strong turn on for him leading to him eventually discovering his obsession with farting and burping. Unable to do it himself was the only problem he faced, his skinny little frame never allowed for him to make huge smelly farts or loud roaring burps. He hated how little he could enjoy his kinks.

He’d gotten to the point where he knew if he weren’t able to come out to be able to enjoy them then he may as well change himself to be able to. For months on end he’d try and gain weight in hopes of becoming an obese pile of lard. But with all the work he’d do around the farm it amounted to nothing but muscle. He’d grown envious of the bigger men on neighboring farms who’d be able to be as nasty as they wanted due to their frame whilst he was stuck as a twig.

———————————————————————————

That night the fates aligned as a meteor shower struck over the night sky. Both Anthony and Steven just so happened to catch eye of the beautiful site. Shooting stars lighting the sky deep into the night, many people already asleep or unaware of the magnificent scene. Though if by chance both Anthony and Steven watched that meteor shower. As the night went on and few and fewer stars went by one last one came down. Both men looked at the star and made a wish

Anthony: “I wish I could lose weight and be skinny”

Steven: “ I wish I could gain weight and be the fart farting pig I strive to be”

As they made their wishes they watched as the same star both men had seen exploded lighting up the night sky into a giant white flash, blinding both men.

————————————————————————————

Anthony opened his eyes and stared up at the night sky. Finding a tree covering part of his view left him confused. He attempted to sit up only to find it much easier than it usually was. He immediately looked down at his hands and body to find himself 150 pounds lighter and more lean. Anthony was ecstatic. His wish had came true and he was skinny. He immediately jumped up and started sprinting around enjoying the ease of running.

He quickly sprinted to the nearest road and headed to his house looking to start his new life as a skinny man. After finally finding a familiar road he decided to take it easy and slowly exam his body. Who cares if he was caught it was the middle of the night anyway. He decided to stop at the local 24/7 Fitness to check his body out in the light and put it to work. He walked in and headed to the dressing room checking out his new physique impressed with how his Ass stuck out and his chest layed flat. The gym was mostly empty but in the neighboring row of lockers he’d heard the nastiest, wettest fart *BRAPPPPPPPPPPPP* and he was disgusted by it. Though the culprit of the fart, a 25 year old college jock turned the corner and looked at Anthony “Woah sorry for invading bro, didn’t think I’d find someone hard from looking at themselves” Anthony looked down to realize that he indeed had a boner and this random man had caught him with it.

Anthony quickly covered himself with his hands and apologized to the other man. He just laughed it off “All good dude, we all gotta enjoy ourselves somehow” *PFFFFFFTTTTTTT* before wafting his fart behind his back. Though at that moment Anthony’s dick started twitching and both men noticed it. “Wait… are you seriously hard because I farted?” Anthony couldn’t believe it either nor did he want to believe it. Farts were disgusting, nasty and vile yet for some reason made his dick twitch. The jock walked up to Anthony. “You’re a little fart pig aren’t you?” Before turning his ass around thrusting it back towards Anthony’s dick and *PFFFFRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTT* straight onto it.

Anthony wanted so hard to be mad and yell at the jock for being so nasty but instead all he could do was moan as he felt the vibrations of the fart against his dick. The smell simmering in the musky locker room causing him to burst straight on the jocks ass. Anthony sat in bliss realizing that his new body was addicted to farts and he silent change it. But was the price of the body worth the disgust in his head? Totally.

————————————————————————————

Steven attempted to sit up after the flash only finding himself wobbling back and forth trying to rock his way up. He’d never had this much trouble sitting up. It wasn’t till he swung his arms trying to gain momentum that he hit his stomach and caused himself pain. Immediately his eyes jolted open as he realized he’d hit his stomach???? He was a skinny dude before the flash yet now as he looked down he weighed at least 250 pounds and had a nice gut growing. He couldn’t believe it and immediately punched himself to see if he was dreaming.

Steven yelped at the pain but realized that he felt it which meant he indeed wasn’t dreaming. His wish had came true and he gained weight. He immediately stripped off his shirt and started jiggling his stomach. He tried many things in his new body enjoying the way he jiggled and moaned. He knew exactly what he wanted to try next and immediately inhaled as much air as he could before suddenly *BBBBBUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP* he let out a huge 20 second burp waking up the nearby animals. He patted his stomach and laughed at how much it was. Though he noted usually burps gave him boners get that didn’t and assumed it just happened to be he hadn’t learned enough of his new body to give himself one yet. He stood up for the night and started heading back to his room. He undressed one final time and started at himself in the mirror before hopping under the covers. He tried his best to squeeze himself under his blankets but struggled immensely to fit his whole body under. This only got him more excited realized just how big he’d become. After finally settling down he felt a fart coming and knew what to do closing all the blankets around him to trap the smell.

*PFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT* a 45 second long fart smelling of discomposed animals nailed his nose. He immediately started gagging at the smell but unlike the usual gags where he’d end up horny at the end this time he ended up almost pulling. Immediately hobbling up opening a window trying to air out his room. He figured it was just the new body’s first fart and he hadn’t smelt one like it before so he didn’t worry too much. But only 2 minutes later he felt yet another this one much shorter *BRAPPPPP* still a wet 15 second fart but this one also did nothing for him. It was at this point Steven realized that he had his dream body but at the cost of no longer being addicted to farts. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from farting non stop. *PFFFFTTT* *PSHHHHHHHH* *BRAP BRAP BRAP* non stop came from his new obese pig ass.

———————————————————————————

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Holiday Stowaway

— Do you want to adjust your swimsuit?

— I'm already bored! Why don't we go to the hotel instead? – My "boyfriend" rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, twisting his mouth uncomfortably – I want to play something on my phone or something. We can go to the bar!

— I didn't tell you to come in the first place.

— I thought it would be more fun, Jay!

The truth is... that wasn't my boyfriend. It was my cousin, Simon. He had just started college, was slim, somewhat short, and had trouble socializing. It wasn't like he was exactly rolling in dough at the moment, always eyeing what he wanted and wanting it from someone else.

And unfortunately, it turned out that his focus this time was on my boyfriend, John.

We had both saved enough money to go to the beach for almost two weeks, without worrying about work, overspending, or anything other than getting a tan, enjoying each other's company, and swimming. Or at least that was the plan until a stowaway sneaked inside.

— I told you. If you want this to be over, just get out.

— Ha. And miss out on this? No way!

— Then shut up and stick to the itinerary we both planned.

"John" rolled his eyes, still fiddling with his swimsuit. I knew perfectly well that he wanted to get his hands on what was underneath, and I wasn't about to let him.

This was supposed to be a perfect vacation. Shit!

----

Hey everyone!

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

Remember that in the coming months, I'll mostly be posting summer-themed stories. Other series you enjoy, like Haunted, Slipped, and others, will still be available, but I'll try to give them a more summery feel. I hope you're enjoying it!

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

The bottom’s profile said “Tops only. Must dom.” Since your profile said, truthfully, that you were vers, you assumed that was the end of it. No messages, you would go on with your life with the memory of this hot twink’s pics in the back of your mind.

So you were more than a bit surprised when you got a message from him. He flirted sweetly, a rarity on Grindr, and pretty soon you found yourself catching the bus to his place.

“Hey, I’m vers and I don’t dom, by the way,” you texted him as you waited for a transfer.

“Don’t worry about that, handsome,” the bottom texted back.

It was so flattering you didn’t think twice about it. You were slender and not too tall, so most gay guys didn’t really give you a second look. The idea that this bottom was breaking his own no-vers, no-switch rule for your average looks was tantalizing.

When he guided you into his bedroom, the first thing that hit you was the smell. The room reeked of unwashed feet and smelly shoes. Looking around, you found the source. The bottom had a pile of sneakers in the corner, all of different sizes, brands, and levels of wear.

Trying not to cough, you said, “So, you like feet?”

The bottom gave a tinkly little laugh. “You could say that, stud.” He sat you down on the bed, and then paused. “You get to know my collection while I clean out, Sir.” He gave your hand a squeeze and, before you could protest, he closed the door behind him.

The smell of the shoes quickly filled your own awareness. With the door closed, it seemed to become increasingly intense. You felt the musky, stale stench fogging up your brain, making it hard to think. You fell back on the mattress, gasping.

You heard the door open, and the bottom came back in. “Perfect,” he said. “You’ll make a great dom for me tonight.” You heard him rummaging through the smelly shoe pile.

“B-but I’m not a dom,” you gasped. Somehow, that felt wrong to say. Didn’t little twinks like this boy deserve to be put in their place? The smell filled up that spot in your mind. Of course they did, they deserved to have a real man show them how inferior they were.

The bottom approached with a pair of crusty used sneakers from the pile. “Just let go of all those useless smart thoughts and you’ll be so much happier,” he giggled, sliding the first shoe onto your socked foot.

At close range, the thick stench of the shoes filled up your mind even faster. That was… your smell, right? This inferior twink was putting your shoes on you, as was his place. You struggled to hold onto your previous personality, your versatility and romantic side, but it sank beneath the musky fog of your foot stink before you could grasp it.

As the bottom slid the second shoe onto your other foot, your resistance started to collapse. Yeah, with your little body, you might not look to most people like a dom top, but the cloud of foot musk and your cheesy cock stink could get any man on all fours in front of you. The last of your complex thoughts dissolved as the bottom tied your laces. All you were worried about now was the next ass you were going to breed.

Before the bottom could move, you surged to your feet and pinned him down with the sole of your sneaker, the interior squelching pleasantly with your sweat. “You like that?” you growled at the bottom as he mewled pathetically under your foot. “You like that you made me like this?”

“Yes, Sir,” the bottom gasped.

“Disgusting. You had to make your own dom.” You lifted up your foot. “Get on the bed. I’m going to dump a load in your pathetic ass before I go find a real sub.”

I woke up before my alarm for once, that alone should've tipped me off that something was wrong. Normally every morning began with the same dull routine. My shoulders ached from hunching over a desk all week, my neck protested the cheap office chair, and I would spend the first ten minutes staring at the ceiling trying to convince myself to get up. There was always another meeting, another spreadsheet, another email marked "urgent" that somehow wasn't actually urgent.

Today, though, was different. He felt different, no stiffness, no sore back, I just felt light. My whole body was loose, like I was a wet towel that had been wrung out after a late night swim. The room smelled strange, not the usual stale air and carpet cleaner. But of sunscreen, salt and something he couldn’t quite place, a faint hint of fruitiness.

After a long minute, I opened my eyes. The ceiling above me was whitewashed wood instead of cracked apartment plaster. A surfboard was mounted across one wall, old concert posters and beach photographs covered another, and a pair of sandy flip-flops sat beside a dresser overflowing with boardshorts.

"...What?"

I sat bolt upright or at least I tried to. Instead of the usual strength it took to heave myself off the bed, I practically launched myself off the mattress. By muscles that practically pulsed with an athletic ease I hadn't possessed since high school. My hands caught me before I hit the floor. My hands, they were younger, tanner, calloused in different places; but they weren’t by hands. 

I scrambled to the mirror across the room and a stranger stared back. The man in the mirror couldn't have been older than twenty. Sun-bleached blond hair hung into bright blue eyes. His skin was bronzed from countless hours outside, and his lean frame was all defined shoulders and swimmer's muscles instead of the soft body I'd accumulated after years behind a desk.

"What the hell..." My voice was different too. Lower and more relaxed, a voice that matched his new body. 

Before I could panic any further, the bedroom door opened in a burst of shouted "Dude!’s” as three blonde boys piled into the room without knocking. One tossed me a towel and another picked up the surfboard leaning beside my bed.

"The waves are firing, bro!" The tallest laughed. "You seriously gonna sleep through this?"

"I..." I blinked.

They all stared. "You good?" One said

"I think so," I really was not. 

"You look like you got hit by a truck." 

"I kinda feel like I did." I said, and they laughed. It sent an unfamiliar trill though me, impersonating this boy, wearing his skin. 

"There he is." The boy who grabbed the surfboard said, already one foot out the door. 

"That's our boy." One of the others whooped. 

"C'mon, man. Tide's perfect." The last guy said, pulling me to my (tan!) feet.

I should've asked who they were, but, somehow, their names floated into my head before I even thought about it. The tall one was Joe, his boyfriend Kai was the one who pulled me up, and Kade was already gone, affixing the surfboard to his truck. 

Joe clapped me on the shoulder. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin’ dude?"

"...Guess so." I got out, thankfully the boys didn’t notice the tremors in my voice.

"You'll be fine after a surf." He replied, and for reasons I couldn't explain, that sounded completely reasonable.

The old truck bounced along the coastal highway with all four windows down, music blasting from the speakers. In the bed my board rattled gently alongside everyone else's. I sat squeezed next to Kade in the back seat, watching the ocean glitter beside us. The effect was beautiful, a far nicer view than my office cubicle. Yet I couldn’t get thought of work out of my mind, there were reports due, a meeting at nine.

"What?" Joe asked from the driver's seat.

"...Nothing."

The beach parking lot was already filling up. Everyone jumped out before the truck had completely stopped, the asphalt hot against our bare feet. Without thinking, I grabbed my board out of the truck. My feet carried me effortlessly across the sand, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead. Waves rolled in with perfect glassy faces.

Kade grinned. "Race you out."

Before I could answer, he sprinted into the water. I followed, the cool water splashing at my ankles. Pure instinct took over, My new body knew exactly how to duck beneath incoming waves, how to paddle, and where to wait. None of it made sense to me, as if this body was completely taking over and I was along for the ride. 

A wave lifted beneath me and I had spun, paddled, and popped to my feet in one smooth motion, and before I could even realize it I was riding the wave. It felt like the board came alive beneath me and the rush was indescribable. I carved across the face of the wave without thinking, spray exploding around me.

Hours disappeared to wave after wave. The office, my apartment, my entire old life, it all just seemed impossibly distant whenever I was in the water.

I was done before any of the others finally called it a day, my arms felt pleasantly heavy, a strange film of salt water over me. I walked to the truck, loading my board in the back. For some reason, a quick nap sounded amazing. I stretched out beside my board, the warm plastic liner had been baking in the afternoon sun, the breeze smelling like salt. I rested one arm beneath my head. The last thing I remembered was watching seagulls drift overhead.

"...Dude." Someone nudged my foot with their own, and I blinked awake. I had switched places, now leaned against a window inside the truck. The truck was slowing down through a neighborhood lined with palm trees.

"You alive back there?" Kai teased from his place up front. 

"Yeah..." I said, sitting up slowly. The sun was lower now, had I really slept the whole ride? 

As we turned onto another street, something strange happened, a memory surfaced. One I hadn’t revealed before, had never actually happened…Did it?  But I remembered skating down this exact hill when I was fourteen, falling and laughing, despite breaking a wrist. I looked down at my wrist, a faint scar still showing. But this wasn’t my body, wasn’t my memories, right?

More alien memories followed, learning to paddle from my…dad, an unfamiliar husky blonde man. Bonfires on this beach every summer, senior skip day, winning a local surf contest. Each one felt completely real. I squeezed my eyes shut, telling myself, No, I worked, work, in an office, didn't I? I...what company was it again?

The house was loud before we even walked inside, full of people, I felt a vague sense of comradery too. Someone handed me a cold beer almost immediately. Music echoed through every room, and people wandered in and out carrying pizza boxes and bags of chips. I even saw someone rolling a joint on the coffee table.

"Long day," Kade laughed. "The best kind."

I nodded automatically. "It really was." I said, and we spent hours talking about waves I'd somehow remembered catching. Trips I apparently went on and people I supposedly knew. Every few minutes I'd recognize someone I shouldn't and a memory would answer a question before I finished asking it. It was the beer, beer blurred everything together and the smoke made the rest feel warm.

At one point someone asked where I'd learned that cutback I'd landed earlier and without hesitation I answered. "My dad taught me." The words come out confidently, Why had I ever questioned that? Of course he did.

Later that night I stumbled into my bedroom, high and drunk. I looked at the surfboard against the wall, my vision blurred. There was wax still clinging to the deck from today, from yesterday and all the days before. 

I rubbed my eyes, exhausted, there had been something important. Something I had told myself not to forget, fuck it, it’s fine. 

I crawled into bed still smelling faintly of sunscreen and seawater, the waves outside lulling me to sleep.

I stretched, the sunlight that poured through the window warm against my back. My shoulders were sore from surfing yesterday. I smiled, the urge to crawl back in bed making me feel like a cat, a very salty one. 

Before I could fall back asleep, my phone buzzed beside the bed

Kady Boy Oo🐟: Waves are pumping bro. Five minutes.

I laughed. Typical Saturday, well typical day really. Plus the forecast had called for a clean swell all weekend. I pulled on my boardshorts, grabbed my keys and my board, and headed for the front door. There was nowhere else I'd rather be after all, the sun, the salt, and the sea— gah, I sound like some fucking poet. Nothing some waves and weed wouldn’t fix, maybe Joe and Kai were down for another three way. 

Of course, after coming across an acquisition like this, he loved to brag about it on his blog. After getting his camera out, he decided to take some pictures of himself, posing with the shield and axe, unaware of himself slowly changing. As the camera shutter flashed, his body progressively began to feel sore, something he thought was a bit odd. His weapons weren't that heavy. But it felt like his muscles were throbbing. He looked down, only to shockingly discover his body was growing. It was getting beefier and beefier.

"What the hell?" He wondered, looking at his biceps starting to bulge his pecs beginning to grow wider, and his stomach, original small and slightly chubby, becoming a massive musclegut. It was definitely surprising, but somehow not unpleasant. There was a certain sense of power he felt coursing through him, he couldn't explain it. "Hva skjer med meg?" He wondered, before bringing his hand to his throat, noticing how much deeper his voice was. It also had a heavy accent now, and he didn't even notice at first, but suddenly he was speaking in Norwegian. "Hva er dette? Jeg ... jeg kan ikke stoppe!"

He groaned, feeling the rush of power again. It was somehow euphoric as his muscles continued to expand and bulge. He looked back down at his massive pecs and gut, only to see facial hair growth from his jaw. A thick, unkempt beard was growing where there was before. There was still no way he could explain these changes. He was starting to sweat now, reeking of a horrid musk, yet he couldn't stop sniffing. It was a somehow familiar, manly smell. Actually somewhat pleasant, he thought, as he raised an arm and huffed his stinking pits. "Ja ... Ja!" He smiled, now snorting the stench like a pig. "En sann mann lukter av svette, av kamp!" As the odor invaded his nostrils, his mind became foggier, cruder, yet it was all so amazing, he couldn't stop, even as this all started to feel natural. "En sann mann lukter som en viking!"