TheSideTF

You were just 21 years old, 184 cm tall, 72 kg, with a lean, smooth body and short dark hair. Most would call you cute. When you looked me in the eyes and made your wish, your voice was full of longing:

“I want to be a hairy hunk.”

I smiled. Wishes like that were my favorite. I granted it, but I always take payment. This time, I decided age would be the price.

The transformation began instantly.

A strange tingling started at the top of your head. Your short dark hair loosened and began to fall out in thick clumps, drifting to the floor as your scalp smoothed out completely, there was not even a hit of any hair. You were now fully bald, your head shining under the light. At the same time, your face began to change. Stubble pushed out rapidly, thickening into a full, dense, jet-black beard that covered his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Your jaw squared off under your new beard, becoming stronger and more masculine, while subtle lines and wrinkles formed around your eyes and forehead.

Your body was next.

A deep, powerful heat exploded in your chest. Your pecs swelled dramatically, pushing forward into two thick, heavy slabs of muscle that stretched his shirt to the limit before it ripped open down the front. Dark, coarse hair erupted across the expanding pecs, spreading like wildfire, thick, curly, and masculine, until your entire torso was covered in a dense pelt. The hair continued downward, blanketing your stomach and thickening around his nipples, which had grown larger and more sensitive.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, voice cracking and dropping into a deep, gravelly rumble, the voice of a real man.

Your shoulders broadened with loud cracks, traps rising high as his arms ballooned outward. Biceps and triceps swelled into thick, powerful peaks, veins snaking across the muscle as dark hair sprouted along his forearms. Your back widened into a powerful V-taper, while your stomach tightened into a solid, masculine core with just enough softness to look powerful rather than shredded.

Your lower body transformed just as dramatically. Your ass plumping up into two thick, meaty globes. Your thighs exploded with size, quads and hamstrings bulging heavily, covered in the same thick fur as the rest of your growing body. Even your cock and balls grew heavier, thicker, and more virile, now almost double the size they were and straining against your underwear.

But the years kept adding.l, I wasn’t stopping there.

You shot through his 20s and 30s in moments. As your skin took on a more mature texture. The lines on your face deepened slightly. By the time the changes slowed, you had settled comfortably into his mid-50s, a fully grown, experienced man.

When it finally stopped, you sat on the chair breathing heavily, staring down at your newly transformed body in awe. Your massive, hairy shoulders moving up and down with each heavy breath, along with your huge chest.

Bright orange briefs barely contained your new thick bulge and muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight over his hairy legs.

Your big, strong hands slowly over his body, squeezing your dense beard, groping your hairy pecs, rubbing the thick pelt that covered your chest and stomach. Every touch made you groan with pleasure.

“Fuck. I am bald. And old,” your growled in that deep, commanding voice, flexing one massive arm. The muscle peaked powerfully. “I am way older than my own father now, but look at me.”

You stood up, towering and imposing, every inch the hairy hunk you had wished to become, just with a few extra decades added as my little payment.

You turned toward the mirror, admiring the bald, bearded, massively hairy muscle bear staring back at you.

Archie and Felix were laughing as they finished their morning coffees on the way to the break room. They were discussing how the blonde bitch in marketing with the enormous tits managed to get that promotion, whether she blew everyone on the floor above or just let their boss fuck her up the ass. Both were laughing when they paused and saw a sight that made Archie grimace and Felix start giggling again. A round, fat arse was under the sink, the hairy crack exposed wiggling as its owner handled a tool trying to fix a leak. Heavy strained breathing could be heard under the sink as the overweight man with tattoos down one sleeve tried to get the issue sorted in the cramped area.

Archie and Felix approached and stood either side of the wagging fat butt and smiled at each other.

"Damn that sink stinks!" Felix said as he straightened his red tie and lent of the fridge behind him.

Archie couldn't help but let out a slight chuckle but controlled himself long enough to understand what Felix was doing. "Yeah there has been this awful smell coming from a crack in it"

Johnny fumbled his keys as he approached the door to his apartment. After a long day of shit going wrong, this was the straw that broke the camels back.

"Fuck!"

He already had to work on a stupid presentation for his master's program, then had a shift at his internship. It was like the world was collapsing in on him, and he still has to fit in a workout later on the day.

He managed to pull out his keys and unlocked his door. And just as he felt the cool air conditioning against his skin, he was suddenly thrown forward as a man tackled him to the ground. He tried fighting back using some bullshit he learned in a self defense class, but it was no use. It was like the attacker knew exactly what he was gonna do before he did it. After a few seconds of struggling, Johnny felt a prick against the back of his neck and it wasn't long before he was out.

...

"Ahhh fuck!" Johnny yelled as he came to.

He took a second to look around. He was sat on his couch, with a mysterious man standing in front of him. He was wearing business casual clothes and a mask covering most of his face. The man was also quite skinny compared to Johnny, which further confused him on how the man overpowered him.

Johnny lunged out of the chair, but was stopped by restraints that chained him to the couch.

The man scoffed, but didn't say anything.

"Who are you?"

No response.

"What do you want?"

The man ignores him, instead pulling something out of his backpack. It looked like some sort of powdery substance in an unlabeled container.

"What are you doing?"

The man walked over to Johnny's kitchen and rummaged through his fridge, pulling out a leftover chicken breast. He prepared it on a plate and sprinkled some of the powder onto it, as it was a seasoning.

"What the hell..." Johnny muttered under his breath.

The man approached him with the plate of chicken, cut off a piece, and started carrying towards Johnny's mouth.

"No! No!"

Johnny struggled, but he couldn't break his restraints. He tried keeping his mouth shut, but that proved ineffective as the man forced the chicken into his mouth and held it closed until he swallowed.

As much as he wanted to resist, he couldn't deny whatever that seasoning was, tasted amazing. It was sweet and savoury at the same time, it almost made the chicken taste like dessert.

"What the fuck was that for!?"

The man simply pointed at Johnny's stomach. He seemed confused for a moment, until he looked down at his own stomach and watched as a small belly formed under his shirt.

"Agh! What the fuck!"

His previously flat stomach started to rise like a loaf of bread, creating a mound of fat under his shirt. It continued to grow right in front of his eyes, throwing years of hard work down the drain as his abs became more and more buried.

He felt the fabric of his shirt tighten around his growing belly as it surpassed the size of a basketball. And unfortunately for Johnny, this was only the beginning. Unbeknownst to him, the rest of his body started to grow to match his ball belly. His hard pecs softened, losing most of their definition. His defined arms and legs grew a bit flabby as a layer of fat engulfed his muscles. He even felt a double chin forming under his once sharp jawline.

He leaned his head back and groaned as his pregnant looking belly gurgled. He wanted to rub it and quell the ache so bad, but his arms were still tied up.

As Johnny laid back, a strange noise caught his attention. The other man had started groaning, just like Johnny was moments earlier. Johnny looked up and was shocked to see the man's belly start to grow. Just like his, it started as a small bulge under the shirt, then escalated until the man was left with a round belly larger than Johnny's.

The man lost his balance and fell back onto a nearby chair as the rest of his body swelled. His skinny limbs filled out with fat, and Johnny could even see his face swell up a little bit under the mask.

The man took a moment to adjust before giving his new belly a satisfied pat.

The man spared no time in grabbing another piece of chicken and forcing it down Johnny's throat. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he should have resisted, regardless of how pointless it was. But in reality, he couldn't be bothered to resist, so he just let it happen.

Almost immediately after swallowing the chicken, he felt his body swelling again, but this time he didn't even bother to look.

He felt his body sink further into his couch as more and more fat poured into his body. His shirt rid up his expanding belly as it spilled onto his lap. His chest swelled into moobs that nearby burst through his shirt and his arms became padded in a thick layer of fat. Hell, it even became harder to move his fingers as they fattened up too.

His legs thickened, his ass expanded, and his dick shrunk into a growing fat pad. He didn't even seem to care anymore when his chiselled face plumped up and rounded out.

Johnny thought he would freak out in this situation, but all he could feel in that moment was relief. Relief that he didn't have to go to the gym anymore, relief that he didn't have to eat chicken and rice everyday. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted now that he was fat.

A slight smile took over his face just as he noticed the man begin to grow as well. Just like last time, the man grew in the same ways as he did, just more.

The man's belly swelled into a massive ball gut that popped all of his buttons off one by one until his hairy belly was on full display. His already flabby chest grew into full on man tits that sagged onto his gut, with grey hairs weaving through the pelt of fur covering his chest.

He flexed as his arms and legs swelled with both muscle and fat. His sleeves tightened around his growing biceps and his pants tore clean in half due to his expanding ass. The once skinny guy now looked even stronger than Johnny, with big arms, thick legs, and a barrel sized chest. And with the way the man rubbed his thick hands across his expansive gut, he certainly didn't mind.

Finally, the man's face seemed to adjust to the extreme growth of his body. An obvious double chin formed below his beard, and his cheeks puffed out even more, rounding out his face. Johnny noticed the elastic on his mask strain slightly as his face grew before eventually giving out.

Johnny followed the mask with his eyes as it slowly fell to the ground, and when he looked up, he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

It was himself. Or at least he thought so. Under the hundreds of pounds the man had gained, there was a vague resemblance to Johnny.

"You're... Me?" Johnny asked in utter shock.

The man sighed. "Yeah..."

"But... But... It doesn't make sense. You were skinnier than me, now you're fatter than me, and what's with the grey hairs?" Johnny stumbled over his words.

"Woah slow down. I am you, just, from the future. Just call me John."

Johnny didn't want to believe it, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

"Why... Why would you do this to me? To us?"

"Well in about 20 years, you... well we, come up with a theoretical method of time traveling, but nobody believes in it enough to find it. Eventually I managed to convince a sad and lonely billionaire to fund my project under one condition. I make this for him."

He held up the container filled with the powder he used to fatten Johnny up.

"It causes the body to store much more energy as fat than usual, so when paired with food." He paused to point at Johnny's fattened body. "Voila."

"Can you get to the point!?" Johnny snapped.

"Right. Well neither of my projects would ever be approved for human trials, for obvious reasons, so I thought I would do it myself. I built a time machine, which I immediately used to come here with the fattening powder. Then, well, you know the rest. Looks like both of my inventions were a success."

"Why test it on us, why not find some random person to fatten up." Johnny asked.

"Well I needed to know this lasted. My client wants to use this powder as a form of revenge, to fatten up the people he doesn't like in Hollywood and ruin their careers. If people could just burn the fat off in a couple months, then it would be useless. But clearly the effects of this lasted over 20 years, so I'd say it's a success."

"It more than just lasted, I mean look at you. You clearly get even fatter over the next 20 years." Johnny taunted.

"Yeah..." John laughed. "Though something about making you fat also made it so you never stopped going to the gym." He flexed again, showing off his massive arms.

*Gurgle*

He only stopped flexing when Johnny's stomach let out a loud gurgling sound.

"You hungry?" He asked.

"Hell yeah." John responded with a pat on the belly. "But first I gotta get some measurements."

"Huh?"

"Well I have a sample size of one right now, so I'm getting all the data I can."

John untied his younger self, letting the young man finally move around in his larger body. After finding his balance, Johnny lifted up his shirt and scoffed as he looked at his massive belly.

*Gurgle*

Johnny's belly let out another, louder noise, begging for food.

"Can the measurements wait until after the food?"

You're quite fortunate I'm not a genie, my friend. It could have been so easy to take your words to the most logical of extremes... Twist them into something that clearly wasn't what you intended, despite following your petition to the letter.

But there's no need to cruel after you made such an earnest wish. After all, who wouldn't love to be a huge man who's respected and adored?

Especially when it's so easy to give it to you...

---

You just had gotten home. Tired, yet happy you would get some time to rest... Alongside your boyfriend.

He was a great man. In all aspects. A wonderful personality and sense humor. Great talent for anything related to sex. And he clearly adored you. Still, he was huge: towering, muscular and hung. Some may say he was the perfect man. You the first among them. In regular circumstances, you wouldn't change a thing about him.

Conversely, you were rather average or even tiny next to him. Not that tall, rather slim. And your cock wasn't that much to boast about. Not that your boyfriend had ever made you feel any lesser because of it. No, he pampered you, and loved to submit to your will at every chance he got. It was almost funny, all things considered. He was such a big intimidating man, but loved to adore you, down on his knees, obeying your every m word.

Was this fate playing a bad joke? Clearly you made a great couple, but in a way you had ended with the wrong bodies. Your boyfriend would have been happier on your smaller physique, while you didn't want anything more than be bigger than him. If only there had been a way to rectify that...

That's why it was impossible to help your excitement when you saw it: a package in front of your door. A package made especially for you. It was a pink box, with white letters saying: HEXCHANGE.

You knew exactly what they were. Being a regular on the world of transformations, you had heard of Mr. Hexum, as well as his company Hexum Industries. You had asked for his help, and this was his answer.

Getting inside, you still had some time alone. Your boyfriend got home exactly half an hour after you did.

You opened the box, and saw two pills inside: a pink one, and a white one. They were small, like half the size of an aspirin. It was almost hard to believe these could do anything.

Next to the pills you found the instructions. They were rather simple: whoever took the pink pill would be the receiver, and whoever took the white pill would be the donor. Once both individuals had consumed the pills, the receiver just needed to wish for whatever trait the donor had.

The instructions gave a simple example: John had a girlfriend, Jane, who was taller than him. So, after taking the pills, he simply wished to take some inches of height for himself. Afterwards, he had reversed the height difference. It even came with small cartoon comic, something reminiscent of the 1950s advertisements, to illustrate the change and how it all worked.

The other side of the instructions came with the warnings: It was important to consume the pills with water, to ensure the body was able to absorb the magic properly. Also, the pills effect would only work for about three hours, after which no exchanges could be made. Finally, all swaps were reversible during the three hours the pill were in effect. Afterwards, another order of Hexchange pills would be necessary to reverse anything.

A final warning had to do with someone consuming both pills, but you ignored it. You already had a target, so why risk it? This wasn't an opportunity that you could afford to waste.

After all, this was an experimental product. With high demand and low stock. So it may be difficult to get a second package after already getting the first. It may easily be impossible, especially if the product proves unpopular.

As things stood, you couldn't waste this chance.

You explained everything to your boyfriend once he got home. Clearly, he didn't believe a thing. Probably assumed you were proposing to role-play, and you had already began doing so before him agreeing joining.

It didn't matter, however. As long as he did what he had to do, and swallow the correct pill, then it didn't matter if he didn't believe you. His belief, or lack thereof, wouldn't change the effects of the Hexchange pills had for the both of you.

"Very well, Leo," he said, that lovely fool, with a knowing smile. "I'll let you take anything you want from me, by taking this white pill. And suuurely it'll work. I want you to make sure to take everything you want!"

You didn't try to defend yourself. Why would you do so? Proving your boyfriend wrong was going to be quite easy. Once the pill was on his system, he would be helpless against your ambition.

This sole thought was enough to make you hard. To have such a tremendous control over him... More control than I've ever had before...

You barely contained your enthusiasm as you saw your boyfriend swallow the pill. Playful, he even opened his mouth so you could corroborate he had actively consumed the white pill. Soon after that, you swallowed the pink one.

Seconds later, you felt it. Both of you did, in fact. Once the pills finally reached each stomach: it was like a warmth extended outwards from your belly, reaching even the farthest corners of your body. Comforting, invigorating. A warmth so wonderful it was made any hesitation you heart may still have disappear as if it had never existed.

Your boyfriend felt in a similar way. A sleepy smile as he looked at you. Wouldn't it be nice to go for a nap? It was all so cozy...

But no. The three hour time frame was already too short. You couldn't afford to lose any amount of time without the certainty of having enough time. It was now or never. A chance like this didn't present itself everyday.

There was nothing more foolish that squandering it. And you were no fool.

"I wish that I grow, taking one inch from you until you were... 5'3". Yes, 5'3"..." you said, looking at your boyfriend with renewed interest. Feeling almost impatient for the changes to finally occur.

The effect was immediate.

Your boyfriend, that had always been well over 6 feet tall, was quickly growing shorter in front of your eyes. Not only because he was losing height, but because you were gaining from his loss.

Soon, you looked eye to eye (a first). Seconds later he had your former height. Then he had lost a whole foot compared to his original size. Eventually, he was merely 5'3", and not a fraction of an inch above it. He looked so dense and swole! His already impressive muscles had not diminished at all. They were only compressed, giving your boyfriend such a stocky and stout figure, he barely looked real.

As for you? All the height he had lost had been transferred to you. Your boyfriend was now shorter than you had originally been, making you even more of a giant that he ever was.

Or could have ever been.

Unfortunately, you also looked almost gaunt. Stretched out. Your body had changed its structure to adapt to this new height, but you hadn't really gained any weight or muscle yet. What a slender figure you had now! Enough you wouldn't be surprise if the wind could take you away, were you not careful enough while standing outside.

Still, your hands and feet were huge. Enough that you had to take off your shoes as soon as the transfer began. Otherwise... Well, it was better to not think what would have happened. Comparing your bare feet to your shoe was enough to make yourself and idea... Ouch.

"Wait... How did... How is this... Leo! They were real? The pills were real?" your boyfriend asked, yelling, panicked. "How can this be? I..."

And could you blame him?

He had gone from a man who rarely needed to look up at anyone, to one who was undeniably short. The room alone should feel so much bigger. His clothes looked like bedsheets on him.

"Of course they are real, babe. Why would I have lied? Don't worry, though... I'll take care of you, little guy. Nothing will ever happen to you."

"Little... Guy?" your boyfriend asked, his eyes wide as he was forced to crane his neck to look at your face. "I'm not a..."

"Shhh..." you said, with a smirk. Your hand looked massive, despite how slim it was, as you used your finger to shut him up. "There's nothing for you to worry about."

He gulped. You were so close now. Making him truly aware of how bigger than him you had become. How cute he looked...

"I wish I had all your muscle tone..." you said, gazing into your boyfriend's eyes. "Until you become as skinny as I currently am."

"You what?" your boyfriend asked, shocked. "But... It's years of..."

Looking down at himself, the exaggerated muscles he now owned began to deflate. Panicked, he tried to grab his pecs. But soon the mass had dwindle enough no trace of them could be found. His chest was completely flat.

But not only that. His clothes, that had been kept somewhat in place thanks to his bulging muscles, were now simply too big for his physique. He was no longer the massive jock he had been but a few minutes ago.

If anything, he was a twink. Or perhaps an otter. For he still had his body hair and that lovely beard of his.

You almost felt bad about stealing years of work from him. He didn't seem to enjoy this kind of theft that much... At the beginning. Yet the way he was looking at you presently... Maybe it was starting to grow on him, as ironic as it was.

"Undress," you ordered. Not loudly. There was no need to speak loud.

Obeying came so naturally to him, he didn't even realize he was taking his clothes off until a moment after. Perhaps because he was too distracted looking at you. Eyes wide, mouth slack with awe and horny curiosity.

After all, not only were your clothes completely shredded. Both transfers simply had done a number so catastrophic, nothing could be saved from your current outfit. Not that you minded. Garments seem too little of a sacrifice to become this herculean of a man. With a body like this there's little point in wearing clothes at all.

Thusly, you also took your clothes off. There was no point for modesty while alone with your boyfriend. Even more so when your clothes were so utterly ruined.

At last, both of you were naked.

"You are huge... Leo... It's just... Wow"

"I'm sure you love it, don't you?" you said, flexing your arm for him. "I'm rectifying what nature got wrong. I'm finally making myself the man you deserve to submit to. The man you'd beg to worship."

Your boyfriend was nodding, probably unaware he was doing so. How easy was to agree with you now that you looked like this! Any hesitation he may have had was superseded by lust, and the wonder that came from your transformation.

Holding his face, you relished on how huge your hands were now. Not only were they long. They were thick. Meaty. One of them alone was almost as big as your boyfriend's whole face. How exhilarating! You've never felt so powerful. You've never felt manlier.

"Since you seemed excited now..." you said, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. "Tell me, baby, what else do you want me to take from you? I'll let you choose one single thing. Something that's completely your decision... Something you want me to steal from you..."

Kissing him, he was unable to respond immediately. His mind clearly obfuscated by the transformations that had already taken place. And by the sensation of being so small and you so massive.

After all, it hadn't even been half an hour since you began using the pills. How could be expected of your boyfriend to keep with this experience?

"My cock..." he said, out of breath, smiling at the prospect. Eyes on you, so loving and trusting. So devoted. "Steal my size... Please..."

"Are you sure?" you asked, raising his chin with your index, ensuring he looked at your eyes.

"Positive... I want you to... I want you to be my superior in every way... Please take my cock. You'll use it better than I ever could..."

You loved him too much to not oblige.

There was no need to say the wish out loud. Merely thinking it was enough. And you soon discovered this to be true.

Grabbing his cock, you marveled at it, caressing it just below the head. It truly was a thing of beauty. Long, fat and uncut. The kind of dick most men would kill to have. The kind of cock that felt only made sense on a porn film. And your boyfriend, willingly, without you forcing him in any way, was giving it to you.

How could you ever not love him?

Despite having a large hand, his erection was still bigger... It was even bigger than your extended hand, from palm to the tip of your fingers. At least at first. Eventually your hand was able to completely cover it.

Soon you just needed your palm.

Seconds later even that was too much.

It got to a point you couldn't even grab his cock. Only your index and thumb were able to hold it, barely. Even a smaller hand, such as your boyfriend's, would struggle holding such a small cock. It had compressed so much, you were almost confident it had gone beyond simply being small.

Yet, as arousing as his shrunken cock could be, what awaited between your legs surpassed it greatly.

It was huge. Easily ten inches, maybe more. It almost looked fake. But it suited you. Suited your new giant self. With such a big body, anything less would have been underwhelming. A godlike body like yours deserved a godlike cock like this one...

"Boy that's big!" your boyfriend exclaimed, so shocked he didn't find any restrain. "You're even bigger than I ever was... In every sense..."

Falling to his knees, he looked as if trapped on a trance. One so delightful it would be cruel to wake him up from it. As if he vad entered the sweetest of dreams, and was being offered the most delectable delicacy in the land.

He was almost too short, on his knees, to adore your new endowment. You've never imagined him being this small. Yet it felt so correct. As if his soul was finally showing on his flesh.

Isn't he the cutest thing? These pills are a godsend...

"You know what to do, babe. You already know what to do..."

He nodded at your words, eyes shining so beautifully. Your hand was already on his hair, guiding him to the stolen treasure he so ardently desired. As he did so, you decided to take something else from him.

And what did you wish for? His body hair... His beard, the hair from his chest, arms, legs, pits... From almost everywhere...

He didn't notice. As he forced his mouth as open as possible, the perfect beard on his face began to recede. Shrinking inwards, until his face was as smooth as a baby's. As if no hair had even grown there.

And perhaps it would never grow again.

Similarly, the hair on the rest of his body seemed to also be going away. Not even his pubes were safe. Leaving his tiny hard rod completely exposed. The lack of hair made it look slightly bigger, but it also made it look so infantile it balanced things out. His slender form was such a contrast from his original manly body, it should have been shocking. It shouldn't feel this... Right.

His tongue, such a devoted worshiper, was already on your cock. Distracting your mind from whatever you were thinking, as he played with the tip of your dick. As he enjoyed the taste of your leaking pre cum.

Soon, he was half way. The amount of cock, both inside and outside his mouth, could be compared to an average dick. It was incredible to see. Your cock was so huge it looked like two average dicks stacked on top of each other.

Thank God I got these pills! Best decision od my life!

Could your boyfriend even get it all? Perhaps you were too big for him... After all, his whole body is so much smaller... He may simply not have enough space inside of him.

"You can do it, baby. I know you can," you said, quietly. Warmly. Your voice however, displeased you some.

It could be deeper... Invested with authority. Made impossible to question...

So you wished for it. For some of the depth is his voice. Just until you had a proper baritone. Just enough so you sounded like a man you can't afford not to listen to.

And you could listen to the difference. The way your boyfriend's needy whimpers and moans were of a higher register now. Long gone was the masculine man he had once been. Small, slim, hairless, with a tiny dick and a high voice. He was the quintessential twink.

Almost.

Only one thing was left to make your wish a reality. Only one thing to take from him, and become the man you always wanted to be.

Just as your boyfriend had finally gotten the entirety of your cock inside his mouth, you wished for it. To take his age, until he was merely twenty years old. It was the only way: how else could you become the daddy you wanted... No, needed to be?

And so you aged. Some years older. Enough for it to be observable. A few wrinkles, more pronounced entries, the stray white hair here and there. However, the years were kind to you. Not because you looked young, but because you seemed charmingly mature instead of old.

The sexiest daddy the world have ever seen. That's who you were becoming. That's who you always wanted to be.

Your boyfriend, on the flipside, was younger. His skin softer, his hair fuller. The slender frame he had acquired so recently thinned even more. Giving him that lean look so unique to youth. Something graceful and delicate.

He was so tiny, so small. On every sense of the word.

And he was yours alone.

That was enough for you to reach your peak. You came inside his mouth with what felt a unstoppable force. Ropes of hot cum going down his slender throat, as you held his beautiful face. Firmly, yet with such gentleness...

"That was incredible!" your boyfriend's voice truly was higher now. Even more so due to his renewed youth. Your cock had slid out of his mouth with a pop, glimmering with his saliva. A trail of cum sliding down the side of his mouth. "I never knew being transformed could make sex so much hotter!"

You smiled.

"We're not done yet, boy. Let's go to bed. I'll show ya what daddy is capable of," you had helped him up as you said it, holding his tiny waist as you two walked to the bedroom.

You could never forget the sex you had that night...

---

The next morning, you woke up with him in your arms. He was the little spoon. Always had been. Now it was even easier. He was as light as a feather, and so small...

Sun beams were already covering you and your boyfriend, illuminating your shared bedroom. He looked so placid in your arms. Even more youthful and innocent than last night... It was such an incredible thing to withness...

Wait. That means... Oh.

You hadn't reversed the changes. Not that you ever wanted to. But wouldn't this cause issues? Would anyone recognize you at work? Or your boyfriend? At most both of you looked like relatives of your previous selves. Neither looked anything alike your previous original selves.

Trying to not wake him up, you stood up and went for your wallet. Only to learn reality seemed to have shifted too. Your driver's license said it all. Year of birth was different. Your height was different. Everything you had changed had also been modified on all your documents.

The same was true on your boyfriend's license. And the photos of you two on the walls and your phone? All changed. Your previous self had been completely erased, and now you truly were this sexy towering daddy.

You returned to bed, embracing your boyfriend back. His eyes opened, and he smiled, looking up at you. He squeezed himself against your body, seeking your warmth and the safety your huge body so naturally provided.

Said embrace didn't last, however. For your boyfriend went underneath the sheets, his mouth craving for your massive cock again.

Truly, you had created the perfect life for the two of you.

And there was no going back.

The Last Shot

Evan had been hired to play a construction worker for a deliberately provocative fashion campaign: hard hat, reflective vest, tiny white briefs, and an oversized cigar clenched between his teeth.

“Give me tougher,” the photographer called.

Evan drew deeply on the cigar and stared through the glass wall as the camera flashed. The smoke tasted strangely sweet. Heavy.

His face changed first. Soft youth hardened into middle age within seconds—stubble spreading across his cheeks, lines pressing into his brow. Then his stomach lurched.

A huge weight burst outward beneath his tight shirt.

Evan gasped around the cigar as his abdomen inflated into a massive, hanging belly. His chest sagged, his waist vanished, and thick flesh packed itself around his hips, arms, neck, and thighs. The white briefs strained against his swelling body while the reflective vest was pushed helplessly aside.

The photographer never stopped shooting.

By the final flash, the handsome young model was gone. A heavy, middle-aged man stood in his place, breathing hard, cigar smoke curling around his bewildered face. His enormous belly protruded beneath the shirt, permanently reshaping his body.

Evan tried to pull the cigar from his mouth.

His hand refused.

Instead, he took another slow drag—and heard the photographer whisper:

Evan told himself he disliked his neighbour.

Graham was everything Evan feared becoming: bald, broad, heavily bearded, and burdened with a belly so large it strained every shirt he owned. Most evenings, he sat on his porch in tight navy shorts, smoking thick cigars and laughing loudly enough for half the neighbourhood to hear.

Yet Evan watched him constantly.

He watched Graham’s big hand rest possessively beneath his stomach. He watched smoke curl around his bald head. He watched the older man move without shame, utterly comfortable in a body Evan should have found embarrassing.

Secretly, Evan admired him.

One warm evening, while staring across the fence, Evan felt a sudden pressure beneath his ribs. His modest stomach pushed outward against his palm, swelling smoothly and rapidly as though years of heavy meals were being packed into him at once.

“What the—?”

His beard erupted before he finished speaking. Dark stubble thickened across his jaw, spreading into a coarse full beard. His shoulders broadened, his chest softened, and his belly surged farther forward until he had to cradle it with both hands.

Then age struck.

Lines carved themselves around his eyes. Grey threaded through his beard. His hairline raced backward, leaving a smooth, shining crown surrounded only briefly by thinning remnants. Within minutes, those vanished too.

Evan staggered into the bathroom.

Graham’s body stared back at him.

Not merely similar—almost identical. The same heavy stomach. The same thick neck and powerful arms. The same bald scalp and dense greying beard. Even his shorts had tightened around larger thighs.

He should have screamed.

Instead, a deep laugh escaped him.

It sounded exactly like Graham’s.

Evan clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified. The laughter continued between his fingers, rich and helpless, while unfamiliar memories settled inside him: evenings on the porch, the satisfying weight of a cigar between his teeth, the pleasure of smoke filling his lungs.

A wooden box waited on his kitchen table.

Inside lay twelve cigars.

The lid carried a simple inscription:

FOR THE MAN YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO BE.

Evan tried to throw them away. His hand refused to release the box.

By sunset, he was sitting in a wooden chair on his porch, his enormous belly exposed above his shorts. A cigar burned between his teeth. He hated the taste.

Then he inhaled again.

Across the fence, Graham raised his own cigar in greeting.

“Knew you’d come around,” he called.

Evan attempted to ask what had been done to him, but another booming laugh emerged instead. He rubbed his belly as though it had always belonged there and drew deeply on the cigar.

By morning, every photograph in his house had changed. Evan had always been bald. He had always been heavy. His family remembered decades of failed diets and constant cigar smoke.

Only Evan remembered the younger man he had been.

After several months, even that memory began to fade.

Every evening, two nearly identical men sat on neighbouring porches, laughing through clouds of smoke.

Uncle Martin’s Cigar

Daniel had been told not to touch anything in Uncle Martin’s study.

That warning made the room irresistible.

Martin was not really his uncle, merely his father’s oldest friend: a broad, ageing man with a taste for whisky, heavy cigars and antique furniture. While Martin spent three months travelling abroad, Daniel had been asked to check the house twice a week.

On the third visit, he poured himself a glass from Martin’s best bottle, removed his shirt and stood before the great mirror in the study. Then he opened the humidor.

“One cigar,” he said to his reflection. “He’ll never notice.”

The first draw filled his lungs with dense, sweet smoke. Daniel coughed, laughed and admired himself in the mirror with the cigar between his teeth. For a moment he imagined how Martin would look standing there.

Then his stomach cramped.

He staggered into the bathroom and gripped the basin. Something moved beneath his skin—not inside his belly, but across his entire body. His smooth chest prickled. Dark hair pushed through it in a thickening mat. His shoulders softened, his abdomen lost its definition and began to swell.

Daniel stared as a heavy beard spilled across his jaw in seconds.

“No. No, stop.”

The beard vanished just as suddenly.

For one hopeful moment, his face was his own again. Then it returned thicker, rougher and streaked with grey. His stomach expanded farther, rounding over the waistband of his jeans. His arms grew softer and heavier. Years carved themselves into his face, first ten, then twenty, then more.

His hairline retreated while he watched.

Daniel clutched at it, but every touch pulled away another handful. The crown opened into a widening bald patch. Grey curls remained only around the sides and back, framing a scalp that looked decades older than the terrified man beneath it.

His beard turned almost entirely silver.

By the time the transformation stopped, a stout, balding man nearing sixty stared back from the mirror. His chest and stomach were thickly furred. A pendulous belly strained his jeans. The only thing unchanged was the horror in his eyes.

Daniel tried to call his father.

His phone no longer recognised his face. His voice, when he attempted the passcode, emerged deep, gravelly and disturbingly similar to Martin’s.

The doctors found nothing wrong. His fingerprints no longer matched his identification. His blood suggested a man three decades older. Every photograph Daniel showed them looked like someone else.

After weeks of failed examinations, he visited a barber and asked for anything that might make him look younger.

The barber studied the sparse horseshoe of hair.

“There’s not much worth saving.”

Daniel sat in silence as the remaining grey curls were shaved away. Then the beard followed, leaving only a heavy silver moustache. It did not help. Without the hair, the age in his face looked even more complete.

Months passed.

Martin never returned.

His emails stopped. His telephone number was disconnected. When Daniel finally searched the study properly, he discovered that every photograph of Martin had changed. The man beside Daniel’s father now had Daniel’s old face: young, handsome and smiling beneath a full head of dark hair.

The cigar had not simply aged Daniel.

It had traded their places.

Daniel began sitting alone in the park each afternoon, dressed in Martin’s old undershirts and loose jeans because none of his former clothes fitted. He had tried giving up the cigars, but the cravings grew painful enough to make his hands shake.

Eventually, he lit another.

The first draw calmed him immediately.

The Cigar from Nowhere

Ethan was alone, half-watching a late-night film when his television flickered.

The picture vanished beneath a wash of blue static. For one second, words appeared across the screen:

RELAX. YOU’VE EARNED IT.

Then something struck the back of his throat.

Ethan gagged. A thick cigar now protruded from between his lips, already lit, its tip glowing orange. He grabbed it, but his fingers froze before they could touch it. An invisible pressure forced his jaw closed around the tobacco.

Smoke poured into his lungs.

He had never smoked. He expected to cough, yet his body inhaled deeply and held the smoke with practised ease. A warm heaviness spread through his chest.

Hair erupted across his skin.

Fine stubble became a dark mat covering his pecs, stomach, shoulders and arms. Ethan stared as his lean abdomen softened. The sharp lines of his muscles blurred beneath new weight. His waistband tightened.

The cigar remained fixed between his teeth.

Another involuntary breath.

His belly pushed forward.

It did not grow gradually. It lurched outward in a sudden, sickening swell, becoming round and heavy enough to rest across his lap. His thighs thickened. His chest sagged beneath dense body hair. The leather chair groaned as his weight increased.

Ethan tried to scream around the cigar.

A sharp tingling crossed his scalp.

His dark hair greyed at the temples, then rapidly retreated. Strands loosened and slid down his shoulders while the crown of his head opened into a spreading bald patch. Within seconds, only a thin horseshoe remained around the sides.

His face changed next.

Lines carved themselves around his eyes. His jaw thickened. His cheeks grew heavier. The frightened young man reflected in the black television screen became a broad, balding stranger in his late forties.

The cigar finally dropped from his mouth.

Ethan gasped and tried to stand, but his new stomach pinned him against the chair. His remote slipped from trembling fingers.

The television returned to normal.

The film continued as though nothing had happened.

Beside the chair, a wooden cigar box had appeared. Ethan opened it with shaking hands. Inside were eleven identical cigars and a small card.

ONE EACH NIGHT. NO EXCEPTIONS.

He threw the box into the aquarium.

By morning, it was waiting on the kitchen table.

That evening, shortly before midnight, Ethan’s lungs began to ache. The pain grew until he could scarcely breathe. He understood what it wanted.

He lit the second cigar.

The agony stopped immediately.

Over the following weeks, the transformation settled into permanence. Doctors insisted he was healthy for a heavily overweight, middle-aged man. His fingerprints no longer matched his records. Facial-recognition software identified him as someone named Edward Crane, a man who had supposedly lived in the apartment for twenty-three years.

Even Ethan’s family remembered Edward.

No one remembered Ethan at all.

Each night, another cigar appeared between his lips at midnight. Each night, he became a little heavier, a little hairier and a little older.

Eventually, he stopped searching for a cure.

He bought a larger chair.

And when the television flickered blue one final time, Ethan—Edward—was already lighting the cigar before the words appeared.

Twenty-four-year-old Tyler went into the costume shop looking for something to wear to his swim team’s end-of-semester party. The theme was “movie characters,” and he decided that his mustache and swimmer’s physique made him perfect for some kind of Magic Mike costume. Near the back of the shop, Tyler found faded blue plumber’s coveralls with a stitched name patch reading MIKE. He grinned at the word play. A sexy blue-collar version of Magic Mike practically wrote itself.

The Wrong Shake

Grant Holloway had spent twelve years building his body.

Every meal was weighed. Every workout was logged. Every gram of protein had a purpose. At thirty-four, he had shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway, arms that strained the sleeves of every shirt he owned, and abdominal muscles so sharply defined that strangers occasionally asked whether they were real.

That morning, he stood in his private gym wearing nothing but olive-green training shorts and a thin gold chain, admiring the results of his latest cutting phase.

“Two hundred and forty pounds,” he told his reflection in the dark window. “Eight percent body fat.”

He flexed one arm.

The muscle rose like a cannonball.

Grant smiled.

Then he reached for the plastic shaker sitting beside the squat rack.

It looked exactly like his usual one. Black lid, transparent body, chocolate-coloured liquid inside. His nutrition company sent him boxes of experimental supplements all the time, and he had stopped checking the labels months ago.

He took a long drink.

The flavour was unusually rich.

Not unpleasant. Just heavier than his ordinary shake, with a strange buttery sweetness beneath the chocolate.

Grant frowned at the bottle.

“New formula?”

He drank the rest anyway.

A body like his required fuel.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then his stomach growled.

Not the quiet sound of hunger. It was a deep, rolling vibration that seemed to come from somewhere beneath his abdominal muscles.

Grant lowered the shaker.

“What the hell?”

His skin prickled.

A wave of heat flowed through his chest, shoulders and arms. At first, he smiled. Perhaps the new formula contained some unusually strong pre-workout ingredient.

Then his abdominal muscles twitched.

One by one, the hard ridges beneath his skin softened.

Grant stared down.

His six-pack blurred.

The clean lines around each muscle seemed to melt, as though a warm hand were smoothing them from beneath. His waist widened by an inch, then another. The skin over his stomach loosened and pushed outward.

“No.”

Grant grabbed his belly.

It had never felt like that before.

Soft.

There was a layer between his fingers and the muscle beneath.

He squeezed harder, horrified by the small fold that appeared around his navel.

“No, no, no.”

His chest shifted.

The enormous pectorals he had built through years of bench presses remained massive, but their hard, square shape began to sag. Flesh accumulated beneath them, making them heavier and rounder.

Grant stumbled toward the mirror mounted beside the weight rack.

His face looked fuller.

A slight swelling had appeared beneath his chin.

The shaker dropped from his hand and bounced across the rubber floor.

Grant rushed toward it, snatched it up and turned it over.

A faded sticker had been placed beneath the usual label.

He peeled it back.

RETIREMENT BULK — RAPID MASS FORMULA

Underneath, in smaller writing:

For former strength athletes seeking a permanent transition to maximum comfort mass. Not intended for active competitors. Results cannot be reversed.

Grant’s mouth fell open.

“Permanent?”

His stomach answered with another growl.

The waistband of his shorts tightened.

He watched his belly expand in the mirror, round and heavy, pressing outward until it covered the drawstring. His once narrow waist vanished beneath new layers of flesh.

Grant sucked in.

Nothing happened.

He flexed his abdomen.

The muscles were still there somewhere, but they were disappearing beneath an increasingly thick cushion of fat.

His weight rose so quickly that the floor creaked.

“Stop!”

Grant slapped both hands against his stomach as though he could physically hold it back.

The flesh continued to swell between his fingers.

His sides widened. His chest dropped lower. His powerful thighs thickened until the fabric of his shorts stretched tight against them.

Then his scalp began to itch.

Grant froze.

“No.”

He ran a hand through his thick dark hair.

Several strands remained between his fingers.

His eyes widened.

He touched it again.

More hair came loose.

Within seconds, the floor around him was covered with short dark clumps.

Grant clawed desperately at his head, but every touch made the shedding worse. His hairline raced backward across his scalp. The dense hair at his crown thinned, revealing a widening circle of bare skin.

“Not the hair too!”

The last strands on top released together.

Grant stared into the mirror at a broad, shiny bald scalp surrounded by only the faintest shadow.

A tingling sensation spread across his upper lip.

Dark hairs pushed through the skin.

Grant wiped at them, but they grew beneath his palm, thickening into a heavy moustache that extended across his mouth. Within half a minute, it had become dense, dark and unmistakably old-fashioned.

His cheeks remained clean.

The moustache alone transformed his face.

Combined with the bald head, expanding jowls and swollen neck, it made Grant look less like a competitive bodybuilder and more like a retired wrestling coach who spent his evenings telling stories at the local bar.

He stared at himself.

“No,” he whispered.

His voice sounded deeper.

Then the final surge began.

His belly pushed forward with terrifying speed.

Grant staggered backward as his centre of gravity changed. The round mass grew beyond his chest, beyond his hands, forcing his arms apart. His abdominal skin stretched over it, covered in a thickening mat of dark hair.

His gold chain disappeared into the folds beneath his neck.

His chest became broad, soft and heavy. His shoulders remained enormous, but much of their definition vanished. His arms still carried traces of muscle beneath the flesh, yet they were now thick, bulky limbs rather than sculpted competition arms.

The yellow drawstring of his shorts looked absurdly small beneath the vast dome of his stomach.

Grant’s breathing became laboured.

At last, the growth stopped.

Silence filled the gym.

Grant stood motionless between the squat rack and the bench, holding the empty shaker in one hand.

He looked down.

His belly blocked his view of his own feet.

He lifted it with both hands.

It was shockingly heavy.

When he released it, it settled over the waistband of his shorts with a soft bounce.

Grant’s eyes filled with panic.

“I was supposed to compete next month.”

A notification sounded from his phone.

He lumbered over to the bench, moving with an unfamiliar rolling gait, and picked it up.

There was a message from his sponsor.

Did the new cutting formula arrive? Blue label, silver lid.

Grant looked toward the shaker on the floor.

Black lid.

A second message arrived.

Whatever you do, don’t use the brown sample. That one belongs to Walter. He’s our retired strongman ambassador.

Grant slowly typed a reply.

I drank it.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Then vanished.

Then appeared again.

Finally:

All of it?

Grant swallowed.

Yes.

The phone rang.

He answered.

“Grant?” his manager said. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Grant turned the camera toward himself.

There was a long silence.

“Oh,” the manager whispered.

Grant’s moustache trembled.

“Fix it.”

“We can contact the laboratory.”

“Good.”

“But the formula was designed to override metabolic resistance permanently.”

“Fix it!”

“We’ll try.”

Grant stared at his reflection while the manager continued speaking. Bald. Moustached. Vastly overweight. Still powerful, perhaps, but buried beneath an enormous body that no longer resembled the one he had spent half his life creating.

On the workbench, his untouched meal-prep container waited.

Plain chicken.

Broccoli.

Rice measured to the gram.

The sight of it suddenly seemed unbearable.

A new scent drifted into his awareness from the kitchen upstairs.

Bread.

Butter.

Something sweet.

Grant’s stomach rumbled so loudly that the manager heard it through the phone.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Grant disconnected the call.

He climbed the stairs slowly, one heavy step at a time. His belly shifted with each movement. By the time he reached the kitchen, he was sweating.

On the counter sat a box of pastries his neighbour had brought over the previous evening.

Grant had planned to throw them away.

He opened the box.

Six remained.

He ate the first while standing.

Then the second.

By the fourth, his panic had begun to fade beneath a warm, sleepy satisfaction.

Grant caught his reflection in the microwave door. The bald man with the thick moustache stared back at him, crumbs caught against his chest hair.

“This isn’t me,” he said.

His reflection looked unconvinced.

The laboratory confirmed the worst two days later.

There was no reversal.

The formula had not merely added fat. It had rewritten his body’s preferred state, changing his appetite, metabolism, hair growth and hormone balance. Dieting might reduce a few pounds, but his old physique would never return.

His sponsor cancelled the competition contract.

Three fitness companies dropped him.

His social media followers assumed the photographs were fake until Grant posted a video stepping onto a scale.

Three hundred and eighty-six pounds.

The clip received twelve million views.

For several weeks, he hid at home.

Then one afternoon, someone knocked on his door.

It was Walter—the retired strongman for whom the shake had been intended.

Walter was nearly seventy, enormous, bald and moustached, with a belly even larger than Grant’s. He wore suspenders over a white undershirt and carried two grocery bags.

He looked Grant up and down.

“So you’re the poor bastard who drank my breakfast.”

Grant folded his arms.

“You think this is funny?”

“No.” Walter stepped inside. “I think it’s familiar.”

He placed the bags on the kitchen table. Inside were steaks, potatoes, bread, cheese and several bottles of beer.

Grant stared at them.

“I don’t drink beer.”

Walter glanced at the empty pastry box.

“Not yet.”

They ate together.

Walter explained that the formula had been created for ageing strength athletes whose bodies had been damaged by decades of extreme dieting. It was supposed to make retirement easier: reduce joint strain, increase appetite, encourage rest and replace obsessive competition with contentment.

“The problem,” Walter said, patting his own belly, “is that you took a full dose while your metabolism was still running like a furnace. It hit you all at once.”

Grant looked down at his stomach.

“So this is forever.”

“Probably.”

“My career is over.”

“Your old career.”

Walter leaned back.

“You still know more about training than almost anyone. You just don’t look like the advertisement anymore.”

Grant scowled.

Walter smiled.

“Maybe that’s useful.”

Six months later, Grant returned to the gym.

Not as a competitor.

As a coach.

His first new client was a nervous nineteen-year-old who had been starving himself because an influencer had said carbohydrates destroyed muscle definition.

Grant listened quietly.

Then he lifted his shirt, revealing the vast hairy belly beneath.

“I used to measure lettuce,” he said.

The young man stared.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. It made me miserable.”

Grant wrote a sensible training plan and ordered him to eat dinner with his family.

Word spread.

Grant became known as the coach who understood obsession because he had lived it. His videos changed. Instead of posing beneath perfect lighting, he talked about injuries, unrealistic expectations and the difference between being strong and merely looking strong.

His audience grew larger than before.

He never regained his old body.

His weight settled at just over four hundred pounds. The moustache became his trademark. Eventually, he stopped shaving the rest of his face and grew a short beard around it, although the top of his head remained completely bare.

He also remained surprisingly powerful.

One afternoon, a loaded barbell slipped from a rack.

Grant caught it against his enormous stomach, adjusted his grip and casually lifted it back into place.

The entire gym fell silent.

Grant looked around.

“What?”

Someone began laughing.

Soon everyone joined in, including Grant.

That evening, he found the old shaker at the back of a cupboard.

He turned it over in his hands.

For a moment, he remembered the man he had been: chiselled, disciplined, admired—and terrified of missing a single workout.

Then Grant looked at his reflection.

A huge bald man with a dark moustache, broad shoulders, a mountain of a belly and a life he had never planned.

He placed the shaker in the rubbish.

From the kitchen came the smell of dinner.

Grant smiled.

The wrong shake had ruined the body he had built.

By the time the fourth phone's Scruff profile was activated, none of the four friends sitting at the dining room table were laughing quite as naturally as before.

(Pictured Left to Right: Phil, Don, Ralph & Tom)

Tom’s house had always been their safest gathering place. It sat at the quiet end of a suburban street, comfortably furnished but still half-decorated, as though Tom had moved in months ago and had never committed to where everything belonged. The dining room opened directly into the living room, where a warm floor lamp cast amber light across the couch, the darkened windows, and the crowded wooden table.

There were cards, poker chips, bowls of pretzels and tortilla chips, four beers, and four phones displaying newly created Scruff profiles.

They all knew the rules. One current photograph. No filters. No false ages. No changing the location radius. Each player would transform into the first man that messaged them. Not just his face. Everything.

It was several sizes too large, but he tried it on anyway. Staring at the baggy sleeves in the mirror, he laughed. “Yeah, real convincing. I look soooo intimidating.”

***heads up, this story contains needles and injections. You have been warned.***

"Hello there! Will, is it?" The doctor asked, reaching out for ahandshake

"Ugh, yeah." Will stuttered.

"Let me see..." The doctor flipped through the pages on his clipboard. "Ah! You're here for some gender affirming care."

"Ummm, I just wanted to look a bit manlier."

"Yeah, that's the goal of this appointment. To make the inside match the outside."

The doctor sat down on a small stool and scooted over towards Will. After putting on some latex gloves, he started grabbing Wills face. He grabbed his chin and tilted his face every which way while examining every detail.

"Alright, I think I've seen enough." He backed away and started ruffling through a nearby cabinet. "I know exactly what you need."

"But you haven't even asked me what's wrong?"

"Don't need to. Just trust the process."

He grabbed a small bottle and dispensed some foamy cream onto his hand. With no hesitation, he started rubbing the cream all over Will's jawline and across his cheeks.

"This is rogaine. It'll tell the hair follicles in your face to turn on, letting you grow some manly hairs over that baby face." The doctor said as he continued rubbing the cream into Wills skin.

"Oh ok... I've always wanted to grow a beard."

"Now we'll just leave that on for a few minutes."

Will could already feel it working, it felt like pop rocks against his skin as the cream settled into his pores. It even started to itch a little, which probably meant it was working.

It felt like hours of waiting before the doctor wiped off the cream with a towel.

"The results are coming in quick, why don't you take a look." He held up a mirror towards Will.

Will almost didn't recognize the man looking back. He had a full black beard covering his face. He couldn't believe it as he ran his fingers the 4 inch long hairs.

"Holy shit, that was fast."

"How do you like it?" The doctor asked.

"I love it!"

"How about we do a little more."

"Sure, yeah whatever you want."

The doctor quickly got to work. He rummaged through his cabinet and grabbed a needle that he quickly filled with a clear substance from a nearby vial. And without saying anything, he injected into Will's thigh.

"Ow, what the hell?"

"This is testosterone, it'll help balance out your hormones since you're clearly lacking it."

"You could have- ahem - you could have at least warned me." Will paused as he noticed his voice had dropped significantly.

"Ah, it's already working."

"Wow, I ummm, didn't know all this stuff would take effect so fast."

"Oh yeah, it's pretty much instant, I mean look at your chest."

Will looked down and saw dark hairs peeking out of his collar. He pulled at his shirt, allowing him to see the hair spread across his chest and down his stomach. The thick pelt of hair spread over his arms and legs, making his skin barely visible underneath. Even his hands and feet became buried under a forest of wiry hairs.

"Pretty sexy, right?" The doctor asked.

"Hell yeah doc."

He was busy admiring his hairiness when he felt a sudden pressure in his crotch.

"Oh shit!" He quickly grabbed his balls, trying to readjust them in his pants, but they didn't seem to settle right.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that, testicle growth is normal with high doses of testosterone." The doctor noted.

"You don't say." Will chuckled as he tried to hide the tennis ball sized imprints in his pants.

"How's about one more treatment."

"Whatever you say doc!"

"Right on."

The doctor grabbed another vial and filled the same syringe with the unknown substance. Then, with no warning again, he injected Will in the arm. This time Will didn't even flinch.

"This is a steroid that should help you reach the muscle mass that men your age should have."

"Ohhh I can feel it doc."

Wills arms started to pulsate around the injection site, and each time his muscle swelled larger and larger. His noodle arms quickly grew into watermelon sized biceps that would make any quarterback jealous.

His chest expanded into two juicy pecs that strained the buttons on his shirt, allowing his thick hair to poke through. His flabby stomach tightened into a defined six pack while waves of muscle formed along his back.

His pants began to rip when his thighs thickened with dense muscle, squishing his massive balls even more.

"Fuck, man. This feels amazing."

Will took a moment just to feel his newfound strength. He hit a few poses, so fixated on his own body that he didn't even notice the doctor getting hard as he watched on.

"Why stop now, onto the next treatment."

"Huh?" Will was barely paying attention.

The doctor pulled out a sketchy looking bottle and poured a couple pills into his hand.

"Here, take these."

"Whatever you say, doc."

Will popped them into his mouth without a second thought. This one took effect immediately. Will started to grunt and groan before bringing his hands down to his crotch. He writhed in discomfort as the bulge in his pants became harder and harder to ignore. His dick was full mast, sticking straight out, and growing. It came in waves, adding inches to his shaft every time. His once average dick quickly surpassed 8 inches, then 10, then over a foot.

Will let out a deep moan as his fly ripped open and his massive 15 inch cock spring out towards the doctor.

"Fascinating, I've never given a patient two of those pills before..."

"What!?" Will said between heavy breaths.

"Nothing. We can't stop now!"

He turned around and grabbed a small device from the counter. He grabbed Will's head and directed him to face down.

"There's no time to waste."

All Will could see was clumps of his hair falling to the ground as he felt a faint stinging feeling on his scalp.

"Almost done.... And.... Voila!"

The doctor held up the mirror to Will. Just like earlier, he barely recognized the man looking back at him. His hairline had receded a few inches around his temples and the rest of his hair had thinned out.

He ran his hands through the thin hair, it couldn't have been much thicker than the hair on his arms.

"My hair..."

"Looks great doesn't it, so manly."

"I'm really starting to look like a real man." Will smiled.

"Almost, there's one more step."

The doctor grabbed an unlabeled can and handed it over to Will.

"Drink this."

"What is it?"

"It's a beer. Nothing makes a man like an ice cold beer."

Will examined the suspicious looking can before opening it and chugging the beer. It went down smoother than any drink he'd ever had in his life.

He crushed the can like it was nothing and chucked it across the room.

"That's the spirit." The doctor smiled. "How do you feel."

"I feel...umm... I feel" Will grabbed his stomach.

*BBBBUUUURRRAAAAPPPP*

The burp echoed around the room. It was quickly followed by a loud growl that erupted from his stomach.

"I don't feel so good."

Just after the words escaped his lips, his stomach swelled outward with immense force. All the buttons of his shirt flew across the room as thick fat piled into stomach, burying his six pack. What started as a small bulk quickly spiraled out of control, growing into a full on belly. His hairy beer gut spilled onto his thighs as it finally stopped growing, leaving him with a solid dad bod.

The doctor grabbed Will's belly, examining it while pinching his soft fat.

"I may have finally perfected the formula."

"Huh?" *Burp*

"Oh, nothing that concerns you."

The doctor pulled back Will's shirt, or what was left of it, revealing his pecs, or what could be better described as man tits.

"Marvelous."

He grabbed Will's hands, acknowledging the plumpness of his fingers and the girth of his palms.

"You've truly turned out the best of my subjects. I mean patients." The doctor began putting his equipment away. "Now why don't you come back to my place, we can order some pizza and watch the game with my previous patients, you'll love them."

"I got a better idea." Will growled as he grabbed the doctor by the collar. "I force this beer down your throat and fuck you while you transform."

Paul was waiting beside the old leather chair, white sleeves rolled to his forearms, silver hair combed back, mustache curled at the ends. He looked less like a barber than the portrait of one hanging in some atelier.

Alan had been fed up with the laziness of his son. He’d never expected himself to get to such a point but everyday after coming home from work and watching the younger man sit on his ass watching football or whatever, instead of practicing while Alan went out to work at some dead-end job continued to add up.

Of course, the final straw was the complete and total forgetting of Father’s Day. There’s only so many birthdays or Christmases that Dave could forget before Alan had enough. It’s not even like Father’s day was all that special to the man. Usually just grilling some burgers and getting some pun of a card was all he wanted.

But this was the last straw. After seeing Dave sitting around and not even saying, ‘Happy Father’s Day’ to him, he took matters into his own hands. There was a card he’d bought, almost as a bit of a gaff, that was supposed to be enchanted. Instead of receiving the card Alan gave it to his son.

Not that Dave cared. He tossed it in the trash without a second thought. Alan smirked. It didn’t need to be accepted, only given. With that the present was already starting to take hold. With each step down the hallway, Alan could feel the smallest bit of his body starting to change.

Without thinking he was already walking taller with stronger steps. Each stride seemed to have added another week to his lifespan. Hair started to grow back on the top of his head. He could feel his atrophying muscles building up again without any effort at all. His clothes felt tighter across his shoulders and chest and his belt looser around his waist.

Without even thinking Alan entered into what he thought was his son’s room. Yet, when he looked at the Wolves mascot he had a certain kinship with it. But when he saw that the trophies had his name on it, Alan knew full well that the spell had worked.

Alan took a seat on what was soon to be his bed. The changes were happening whether Dave wanted them too or not. A sly smirk covered his face as he laid down and wallowed in the bed almost marking it.

Still his clothes continued to feel tighter. His chest was really starting to push against the buttons of his shirt. His shoulders continued to grow wider and waist thinner. Yet, his pants felt tighter as thick muscular quads started to fill them.

He sat back up wiggling his toes as his shoes were completely filled with his feet. “Only a matter of time,” he mused to himself as he grabbed the football and tossed it gingerly into the air.

Meanwhile in the other room, Dave started to feel something was off. His whole body started to feel a strange bloat to it. He tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. Neither farting nor burping did anything to release whatever strange bloat was plaguing him.

Dave stood up and tried to stretch, hoping that might make some kind of change. Yet, the first thing he noticed was his shirt. It was riding up over a belly. “What the hell?!” he cursed staring down at the forming stomach. What had been lean cut abs was now starting to become a belly. He let out a grunt as it continued to get even bigger.

“What the hell’s going on?!” he grimaced at the strange belly forming on him. Even worse the college sleeveless shirt was starting to feel tight against his chest. And his shoes were starting to feel even tighter. His thoughts raced back to the card. It didn’t make sense but it was the only thing that he could go off of.

Panic raced through Dave as weight continued to pile onto his once lithe body. His muscles almost seemed to have exploded with an unknown force adding power and strength that the lean ones would give. However, with that size also seemed to come age.

His shaggy blond hair was starting to fall out while thick coarser hair started to cover his arms, legs and chest. He scratched it absentmindedly. “This can’t be real…” he declared but when he saw his face in the mirror and he looked to be well into his thirties, that didn’t matter anymore.

Dave ran down the hallway as fast as he could. His thick burly body shook the house with each step. The hulking frame took up nearly the entire space. He only paused for a second seeing a picture and watching as Alan and him had swapped spots. “ALAN!” he shouted loudly through the house.

Alan chuckled. Hearing Dave’s voice echo through the house only spurred his excitement. He knew the changes were still happening. He could feel his strength growing more and more. Each muscle developed into something thicker and stronger than he had ever had. It was like decades of work were all piling into him at once as his body also lost those decades in age.

The once portly older man was now growing more spry and filled with a excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. His body moved easily and effortlessly. His muscles were strong and full. His face young and filled with a handsomeness he’d never known.

Alan ripped off the rest of his clothes, discarding the relic that he had been. They weren’t who he was anymore.

Alan went over to the mirror again examining the new powerhouse of a man he’d become. He’d stolen so much of his son’s youth and strength, that he almost felt bad. Yet, seeing those powerful muscles staring back at him washed any of those feelings away. A confidence burgeoned within him as he went through what had been his son’s closet to find something to wear. Most of it was a little tight, but he could figure something.

Not even the loud knocking on his bedroom door made him nervous.

On the other side was Dave. The lean handsome man had turned into an absolute beast. Muscular bulk covered every inch of the other an. However, it also gave him two more decades of experience. Alan wasn’t sure what the ‘curse’ really was, but seeing how Dave had only grown bigger and stronger than even Alan was, made him grin.

Even as Dave stared him down with as much anger and menace that the man could muster, it didn’t phase Alan the slightest bit. He gave his ‘dad’ a pat on the shoulder and started walking through the house. Dave’s anger turned to confusion. His hulking size would have made the biggest of men panic, yet, Alan walked past him like it was nothing.

Dave continued to follow Alan. His heavy footsteps were softening. Even with all that bulk he was quickly learning how to control his excess weight. He watched as Alan turned into the garage and was absolutely stunned by what he say.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said. “It took a while and I’m glad you didn’t come in and spoil it.” He smiled as he showed off the fully stocked gym in their garage. It didn’t make sense, yet the magic continued to push and pull making everything feel as though it made sense. Somehow Alan had been sneaking in weights and machines under Dave’s nose to surprise him with a fully stocked gym.

“Damn it boy,” Dave growled with a menacing tone. “I told you not to do anything this stupid.”

“Oh c’mon pops,” Alan grinned mischievously. The word fell out of him so naturally that he couldn’t help but add a chuckle. “I knew you wanted to take things to the next level and those paid gyms can’t handle your strength.”

“Whatever,” Dave grumbled as he entered into the workout space. He grabbed Alan into a headlock, forcing the other man into his pit and roughed up his hair. “All I wanted was some steak and you’d gone and given me all this shit.” He let go and then extended his hand. “Good on ya boy.” He grinned shaking his sons hand.

Alan smirked. The new reality was setting in. Dave didn’t seem to remember the old one. Or if he did, that past lazy son he was was now gone. Alan took his father’s hand and shook it. “Ready to test some of this out?” he offered.

“HELL YEAH!” Dave shouted. Before they knew it the two were working out with Dave pushing Alan to his absolute limit.

Tried something a little different to see if it worked. Created using ChatGPT. Pictures AI generated, Story written by me.

“Gift card?” Mason suggested, pushing through the door beneath a hanging rubber bat and a faded plastic skeleton.

Connor, blond, lean, and smug beneath the little mustache he’d grown mostly to annoy his dad, rolled his eyes. “For my father? He’d use it to buy socks and then tell me I ruined the surprise.”

Mason laughed. He was dark-haired, sharp-jawed, with a few days of stubble and the relaxed confidence of someone whose dad had never met a grill he didn’t try to dominate. “Then get him something stupid. Something he’ll actually wear once and pretend to hate.”

They found the aprons in a back corner beneath a sign that read DAD CLASSICS — HALF OFF. One was bright red and said KING OF THE GRILL in peeling yellow letters. The other was denim-blue with fake grease stains printed across the front and ASK ME ABOUT MY MARINADE stitched over the chest.

Connor held the red one against himself and made his voice deeper. “Boys, the secret is propane and emotional distance.”

Mason snorted and grabbed the blue apron. “No, no, you need to stand wider. Dads always stand like they’re guarding a cooler.”

There were changing rooms beside the novelty costumes. Neither of them knew why grill aprons needed changing rooms, but that made it funnier.

“Hey!” Connor said. “Take off your shirt and go try it on for the full effect. We can snap a couple selfies and use them as a prank later.”

“Gotcha, man! Good idea.”

They ducked behind the curtains, still joking through the thin partition as they tied the aprons around themselves.

The two young men stepped out to admire their aprons and take a sarcastic selfie.

After returning to their dressing rooms Connor fumbled for the knot on the back of the apron but before he could undo it he felt the knot tighten at his waist. Then his stomach lurched.

At first he thought the room had tilted. His knees cracked, his shoulders thickened, and a heavy warmth spread across his chest. Pale hair burst beneath the apron straps, crawling over his sternum and shoulders in dense, uneven patches. His blond hair thinned, then retreated, pulling back from his forehead until only a sparse ring remained around a mostly bald crown. His neat little mustache swelled outward, darkening, bristling, curling at the ends into a proud, ridiculous handlebar that dominated his face.

“Uh,” Connor said, but his voice came out deeper. Rougher. Familiar. “Are you feeling ok over there, Mason?!”

On the other side of the partition, Mason made a startled choking sound. “Not really, dude!”

His own body had softened almost instantly. His flat stomach pushed forward into a round, heavy belly that pressed against the apron. His arms grew thicker but less defined, covered in dark hair. His stubble lengthened down his cheeks and jaw, spreading into a thick beard that tumbled over his mouth until his lips nearly vanished behind it. His dark hair receded at the temples but stayed thick enough to look neglected rather than stylish. When he stumbled out of the changing room, he looked like a man who had spent twenty years saying he was “getting back to the gym soon.”

Connor stepped out at the same time, one hand on his bald head, the other gripping the edge of his huge mustache.

For a moment, they stared at each other.

“Mason?” Connor whispered.

“Connor?” Mason’s voice rumbled through the beard, muffled and older. “Why do you look like your dad?! You’re bald dude! You even have his mustache!”

“What about you, bro! Did you gain 100 lbs in there? And that beard!! You look just like your dad!”

They remembered everything. The shop. Father’s Day. The joke. Their real faces. Their real ages. The horrifying fact that Connor now looked exactly like his father, right down to the slightly squinting expression he wore whenever he tried not to admit he was confused. Mason looked like his own dad after Thanksgiving dinner: soft, bearded, hairy, comfortable in a way that felt impossible to fight.

“We have to take the apron’s off!” Mason said.

But neither of them moved.

Connor looked down at the red apron stretched across his broader, hairier torso. His hand settled on his belly, then rose to smooth the curled end of his handlebar mustache. The panic in his eyes weakened, replaced by irritation. Not fear. Just the vague annoyance of a man who had forgotten what errand he was running.

“Why were we here again?” he asked.

Mason frowned beneath the beard. “Grill stuff, I think.”

“Right.” Connor nodded slowly. “Need charcoal.”

“Already got charcoal.”

“Then steaks?”

Mason considered this, his memories sliding away like receipts tossed into a junk drawer. College apartments, group chats, late-night burgers, the urgent knowledge that he had once been someone else—all of it blurred and thinned until it seemed less like memory than a strange dream he had no reason to mention.

He patted his apron. “Could use a new spatula.”

Connor grunted approvingly. “Good spatula’s important. Better put our clothes back on and buy these new aprons. They are hilarious!”

A bored clerk watched the two middle-aged men leave the dressing rooms and approach his counter - still wearing the novelty aprons.

One was mostly bald with a grand handlebar mustache and a satisfied dad squint. The other was pudgy, dark-haired, and buried behind a long beard that swallowed his mouth. They paid in cash, argued amiably about whether lighter fluid was cheating, and walked out into the afternoon sun without once remembering they had come in as sons.

Across town, two older men woke up from accidental naps they had not meant to take.

Connor’s father jolted upright on a couch, suddenly blond, smooth-skinned, and twenty-two, his hand flying to a mustache that was far too small.

Mason’s father staggered back from a bathroom mirror, dark-haired and lean again, rubbing at the stubble on a jaw that had not been that sharp in decades.

For several seconds, both men stared at themselves in separate mirrors, stunned by the impossible youth looking back.

Then Connor’s father blinked and whispered, “oh shit, Father’s Day is coming up soon and I didn’t buy my old man anything yet!”

And Mason’s father, across town, touched his flat stomach with dawning horror - quickly fading into submission as he forgot his old life and responsibilities. His phone buzzed on the sink nearby. A text from Connor’s dad’s phone.