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Here is the third story out the five part Love Languages series I've been writing. Check out Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service, the first two in the series. Hope you enjoy!

"Quality time."

"That's your love language?" The text read, "That's ironic."

Logan frowned at the nearly instant reply from his boyfriend, Sam. He could just feel the tension behind those typed words. With a sigh, he put his phone back into his pocket and walked into the office. Work. So much work. Time spent in the office working, time spent at home working- it seemed never ending.

"It's for our future." Logan thought bitterly- a future that seemed like it might not come true. The time spent working was certainly a constant topic of their arguments and was creating more tension, "He just doesn't get it." He frowned, "Wedding rings are expensive."

"Logan! How're you doing?" Kathy approached him with a grin, "Big day today!"

"Yeah..." Logan replied, barely paying attention.

"Are you excited?"

"Big day... Big day?" He turned towards her, "What's going on? Is there some kind of announcement?"

She smiled, "You've always been such a jokester." She laughed and walked off, leaving Logan confused.

"Weird." He whispered, grimacing at a sudden achy feeling in his knees, "Damn, that hurts." He grunted, "Leg day finally catching up with me."

And as he moved slowly to his desk, something caught his attention. The table in the break room was decorated and he spotted some donuts from his favorite shop.

"Wonder what the occasion is?" He walked over, suddenly distracted by a grumbling in his stomach, "One won't hurt." He whispered, grabbing a donut. He scarfed it down in what must've been record time for him, "Usually one's enough." He muttered, "But I'm real hungry." He grabbed a second. And a third.

"Logan!" He turned to see Steve, "We're not done setting up."

Logan blushed, "I... Uh sorry about that. I can run and get..."

"No, don't worry about." Steve smiled, "I guess it doesn't matter. They're for... Ah shit let me take this call."

Logan frowned, "What's going on?" He patted his gurgling stomach and froze, "Since when...?" His stomach was pushing out, straining slightly against his shirt, "Fuck, shouldn't have eaten so much." He winced at the discomfort in his stomach and his knees as he finally made it to his desk.

The workday seemed to be progressing normally. Logan sent a few emails and worked on a few projects he had been assigned. But the day was tiring- more tiring than it should've been. His fingers moved slower on the keyboard. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat as his lower back started to ache similarly to his knees. He found himself taking a few breaks and rubbing his eyes, finding the screen was bothering him more than usual.

"Hi Logan," Logan looked up to see a younger guy, probably slightly younger than him. Blond hair, clean-shaven, well dressed, "Mr. Carpenter wanted to talk to you about the Advent Project."

"Oh? Was there a reason?" Logan had been working on this one for a bit now. Big client, possibly lots of money to be made in commission if the deal went through.

"Since I'm taking over your projects, I thought I'd..."

"Taking over?" Logan coughed a few times to clear his voice. It sounded rougher, like he was coming down with a cold, "What're you talking about?"

The young man raised an eyebrow, "Umm, I'm taking over your projects, so I figured I should talk to you more about the most important one?"

Logan stared at the young man, confused. Was he being fired? Was his work not good enough? As the frustration built, he ran a hand across the top of his head and froze. His hair. What happened to his hair? Why did it feel so short? Why could he feel skin?

"What the..." Logan stumbled up out of his chair, nearly tumbling over at the change in his center of gravity, "Oh god, oh god..." His gut stuck much further out now, straining tightly against his shirt, "I... I need a bathroom..."

The other man looked on as Logan stumbled past him and towards the bathroom. When Logan finally did shut and lock the door behind him, he was nearly hyperventilating. Slowly and with a sense of growing terror, he looked in the mirror and gasped at what he saw.

"No..." He reached a hand towards the mirror as a much older reflection mimicked his movements, "No... that can't be me." He whispered, "I need to..." His phone buzzed and he looked down at a text from his boyfriend. His eyes widened as he read it.

"Can't wait to see you later." It read, "Are they doing anything big for your retirement party?"

"Retirement?" Logan gasped as another wave of changes rocked his aging body, "Oh fuckkkkk." He groaned.

It started with the itching. Everywhere. His back, his chest, his shoulders, his pits, his face. Coarse, grey hairs made there way to the surface, blanketing his previously clean-shaven skin in a blanket of curly hairs. Logan could only watch as his face sprouted a thick graying beard, while wrinkles formed around his face and under his eyes.

"Nnnnnggggg" His hand caught the mirror as he leaned over, breathing heavily, "Wh..."

He nearly doubled over as his already impressive gut took on more girth, while his lean, hairy pecs sagged with age and fat. Even his arms and legs grew larger as fat and muscle packed on to his once slender, youthful frame. All the while Logan could only stare as his youth drained from him at an impossibly alarming rate. By the time the changes seemed to have settled, he realized he must've been older than his own dad.

"Logan, are you okay in there?" His boss asked from behind the door.

"Ahh I'm... I'm okay..." He huffed, wincing at the ache in his back. Internally, he was screaming, "I think I ought to get home, fast." He said as he emerged.

But as he walked out, he was surrounded by his smiling coworkers. A sign was hung on the wall, reading "Thank You For Forty Years." Donuts were piled high in the nearby break room. There were even a few gifts. Logan looked at these wide eyed. Did his coworkers really not see that something was wrong? That this wasn't him? He swallowed nervously.

"We just finished up decorating!" Kathy said with a grin, "Can you stay for just a little?"

"I... I..."

"Yeah, it isn't everyday you retire." His boss said, "C'mon, let's celebrate. After, you can get home."

Logan gulped, and slowly nodded. His thoughts were racing too fast. He couldn't even think of what to do next.

-----------

"Forty-years and that was it." He mumbled as he lugged his wider, fatter, and older frame back to his apartment, "A donut party?"

Logan knew he should be worried about other things. Should be worried about how he went from a young, 20-something year-old man in the prime of his life to a fat, hairy, and balding 60-something year old in a matter of mere hours. With a sigh he entered his apartment and nearly fainted at what he saw.

"S-Sam?"

"There he is."

Logan felt sick- whatever magic had done this to him had also worked on Sam as well. Sam was naked, sprawled out on the couch. And as Logan looked at him, he realized just how identical they were. Large bellies, hairy bodies, balding heads, aged skin. Both of them had aged and changed rapidly, yet Sam didn't look even the bit bothered by it. Did Sam even realize what happened? Or was he like his coworkers?

"Sam, something's wrong, we're not..."

"Come here, handsome." Sam guided Logan inside, "Congratulations on your retirement."

"Sam, seriously..."

"I finally get my sexy husband all to myself." Sam smiled.

Husband? Logan suddenly felt something wrap around his finger. Eyes widened as a ring materialized seemingly out of nowhere. They were married. That thought should've brought him joy, yet now, he was horrified. As if his entire life had just sped by.

"No... Sam, there's something..."

"We finally have all the time in the world to spend with one another."

Logan's heart sunk. Time. Quality time. Sam was right. He was retired now. He didn't need to work. They could spend so much time together now. All the time in the world. Together. And as that realization hit Logan, he felt dizzy. Memories flashed rapidly. Their wedding day, their honeymoon, their day-to-day lives, growing older, vacationing, celebrating anniversary after anniversary- an entire lifetime flashed before him.

"Are you okay, handsome?"

"Yeah... Yeah I am." Logan slurred as he settled into this reality, "Feelin' my age a bit." He chuckled.

"Well I hope you're not too out of it." Sam smiled, "I have my own retirement gift for you."

Logan grinned. What a life they'd already built together. All the happy memories, all the challenges along the way. And as Sam helped Logan undress, the two pressing up against each other and kissing passionately, Logan was looking forward to all the time they'd get to spend with one another now.

Tonight wasn't any different than any other night. I was talking with Mark when I received a message from another empty profile showing only flame emojis as I opened it. Pictures, age, or any other kind of useful information were all missing. Sure enough he sent five or six hidden pictures without writing anything.

"Not interested." Was my immediate response before I switched over to Mark again. We chitchat a bit before wishing ourselves goodnight. I put my phone to the side not bothering about the multiple notifications I had received from the last annoying guy.

As always I had trouble waking up, my alarm rang multiple times before I finally turned it off and pushed my blanket aside. I was quite horny this morning, more than usual but I didn't think anything of it, I just shook it off on my way to the shower. Somehow I felt heavier as I undressed and went into the shower, I knocked my bottles and the holders down on my way in. Were they always hanging this low ? I couldn't help but feel a bit off, like I had woken up on the wrong foot. I usually didn't take much time in the shower but this time I kept getting hard while rubbing my hands around my body. It just felt so good and electrifying. I think a moan escaped my mouth before I heard my alarm go off again. Fuck it, I was late.

I ran out of the shower, not noticing how some darker stubbles had grown on my chin, or how my jaw looked sharper and more masculine. I put on some generic clothes before rushing to the car, hitting my head as I was trying to get in. I cursed aloud, getting really angry as I hit the seat with my foot. Somehow the synthetic leather seemed broken there as if it hadn't been the first time it was hit, but I just couldn't remember.

Traffic was slow, slower than usual even, and I was late for my classes already. I grew impatient as the cars started honking, everyone shouting at everyone made my blood boil somehow. I rolled my window down too and started cursing that one asshole behind me and honking furiously too. My voice got deeper as I shouted now at that woman in front of me to start driving as the lights went green, she just shouted back and having enough I just sped past her. My head hurt a little, I didn't really know what had happened, the incident suddenly seemed like a blur. I knew that I never behaved like that. Everything just felt slightly off, like I wasn't myself.

As I finally got to my class I felt a slight relief as I hadn't missed much. I opened my computer and started looking for my notes, panicking as I couldn't find them in any of the folders. I tried to look around a bit more not noticing how the screen of my computer got smaller and cracked, looking cheaper. I finally found a folder that seemed important filled with workout schedules that I could remember, I had just organised my routines yesterday. Instead of looking further for notes, I never had written any in the first place. I opened a new document and started typing. At first it all came easy to me, writing down what the professor said, I had read about it yesterday too. Though I suddenly found it harder to type on the keys. As I looked down I noticed my fingers getting longer and thicker, growing more calloused. My thighs swelled as my whole body expended slightly again, my arms grew with muscles and finally my chest seemed to expand a bit. Panic rushed through me as I only now noticed the changes that were washing over me. I packed my things as fast as I could, leaving the lecture and rushing to the bathroom.

I couldn't recognise myself anymore ! I had never done any kind of physical activity and yet somehow my arms were swollen with muscles, even my pectorals were showing through my shirt ! My hair had somehow gotten shorter and less messy, my nose seemed narrower, my lips thinner. I looked more masculine, more handsome even, yet a new sense of panic had washed over me and I rushed to my car. I wanted to get home as soon as possible. I sped again through the city, this time getting even more aggressive and angry as a fog clouded my thoughts.

As I finally reached my apartment I immediately went to the bathroom, scared of what I might see there. I took off my clothes again, looking at my unfamiliar body. My hair went from blond to dark brown, and now a full beard had sprouted on my cheeks and chin. I looked even more swollen than before, my arms strained at the slightest movement. My thighs jiggled a bit as I walked, and my calf looked even more pronounced. I bit my lip as a tingling sensation ran through my body. This didn't feel wrong.. It's actually really great ! I flexed my arms a little. I chuckled in my deeper voice, drooling a bit as the fog settled again on my mind. What was I scared of again ? I chuckled, my body seeming more familiar by the second as a rich tan spread on my skin. I started rapidly losing some memories, while gaining new ones. Instead of going to uni I had created an online account to share some fitness tips, I didn't work at a grocery store but made an only fan account which I paid the bills with. My smarts were drained from my brain as I got hard again. My hand reached towards the larger member, which grew beyond what I had until now, and I started stroking. Dark brown hair grew on my chest and ran down my treasure trail towards my crotch, soon a forest of hair formed on my thicker legs that extended to my feet. I chuckled dumbly again. Everything felt so hot and right, I was bursting with confidence, I was so horny. Reached for my phone and started taking pictures with my free hand as I was caressing my body all over the place. I opened my dating profile which is now empty, except for some emojis, and then opened the chat with Mark. I sent him a few new pictures.

"Hot now ?" I wrote.

Mark didn't respond, I was so horny.

"Hey U there ?"

"bro answer"

"???????"

I sent him a last picture.

Muscles in all the right places

“Ok, we should be all set to go.”

“How long until the anesthesia wears off?”

“Any second now. Have you got the camera prepped?”

“I’ll start rolling once we see some movement.”

“Perfect. By the way, how does this guy relate to our target?”

“He’s the nephew. If our terms aren't accepted after this, then we move on to the son next.”

“Nice. You think he’ll actually fold?”

“They always do.”

—

The growing pain in Christopher’s stomach was what awoke him. It was a logarithmic ache, the type one got after eating too much at a holiday dinner. It took almost a full minute for the woozy young man to recognize the foreign surroundings. Why was he not in his bedroom? Judging that it was quite late at night–perhaps even into the early morning–Christopher was confused to find himself sitting in a folding chair all alone on the campus quad.

Christopher's first assumption was that this was some kind of elaborate prank. However, he did not really hang out with the type of people who played practical jokes like these. The Accounting majors were not exactly known for hijinks, and the majority of Christopher’s friends were online anyway. Before he had a chance to draft up another hypothesis, the cramping in his stomach began to expand across his entire midsection. Christopher groaned in discomfort, struggling to move from his seat.

Still a bit conked out, Christopher loosened up and succumbed to the pain. He was unable to interpret the strange gurgling that began to rumble from his torso. Gradually, the layers of fat began to melt away. The effects of late nights spent in front of the computer with snacks on standby dissipated, revealing toned abdominals. A rich end-of-summer tan began to bloom out from the hardened muscles, carrying along a trail of hair as it spread out across Christopher’s skin.

The progression continued across the rest of Christopher’s midsection. Edges tightened and curves reversed, sinking inwards to create taut angles. The previously unremarkable upper chest firmed into two solid pectorals, forcing the shoulder blades to protrude farther out to allow for a wider wingspan. These changes, while certainly noticeable, were partially blocked by Christopher’s outfit. The battered gray tee and used running shorts he had been clothed in would have never been found in his closet before, but they would become a staple of the new man being created.

While hair fluffed into Christopher’s pits and meat expanded into his arms, the progression had also begun to work downwards. After his waist was cinched nicely, Christopher’s reproductive system was launched into overdrive. His balls nearly doubled in size, descending from the newly-pungent bush protecting his manhood. The dick itself remained rather average, but its width increased dramatically. The girth became a bragging point, one that would later earn Christopher the nickname of “Beer Can” amongst his fraternity brothers.

Christopher blinked, stirred slightly by the new memory that appeared in his head. Fraternity brothers? He was not a part of any fraternity? Although he did appear at a lot of the parties. And he attended every single meeting. Wait, did he live there too? As Christopher considered this new fabricated reality, more memories began to emerge. The rapidly increasing amount of evidence began to sway Christopher towards this new background, unaware that with every passing second, a bit of his former reality melted away.

Once the changes finished plumping out each of Christopher’s fingers–making them incapable of holding any wooden pencil beside his musky own–the progression was rerouted towards the neck. Vocal chords were stretched thin, tearing away the rich character to create a tunnel that could only create the simplest of words and phrases. In the lower half, Christopher’s legs had been forced apart into a permanent manspread by two thick, hairy thighs. His calves grew shapely, creating a flawless shape that symbolized athletic ease and innate young masculine perfection.

By now, the drug that had been forced into Christopher’s system had cleared out over half of his previous existence. A newly clefted chin ushered in a natural cocky attitude. A trendy haircut brought forth a desire for other males’ approval. Bushier eyebrows showcased a lack of tolerance and empathy. Even his feet, which were quickly filling out the large dirtied socks in their equally large dirty slides, helped construct a presence crafted solely by machismo and nothing else.

All of these were overwriting any of Christopher’s former potential. With his intelligence rapidly decreasing and aspirations drastically reduced, Christopher’s future lacked the promise of any high-ranking positions. He would not able to rise the ranks and become a CEO, nor would he be offered a spot in any executive suite. And most certainly, Christopher would now never be considered to become his uncle’s successor.

Thanks to the drug, Christopher’s promising, yet unforeseen destiny had now become predictable and standardized. He would remain in the fraternity for another year after failing to graduate on time (although he would claim that it was to prioritize his “social obligations”). After knocking up too many sorority chicks (leading to an onslaught of unwanted kids and child support), Christopher would settle down with “the one” (who he would stay married to for decades despite having numerous affairs). Golf, high school football games, and maintaining his upper-middle class home would be his main priorities until retirement, having never achieved anything besides a decent amount of cash from simply being a straight, white man.

The ultimate conclusion came out as a lackluster, yet heavy glob of semen into the new frat bro’s shorts. Nothing life-changing or extraordinary, just a thick splat. The jock remained unphased as two men dressed head-to-toe in black appeared from the bushes in front of him. The pain he had experienced gradually subsided, allowing him to interpret the scene playing out before him. One of the men was taking apart a camera attached onto a tripod. The camera had been recording the jock the whole time, but he did not mind.

“How are you feeling, Christopher?” the second man asked. His approach was guarded, but composed, as if he was repeating dialogue he had gone through many times before.

“It’s just Topher, bro.” Topher did not care who these men were, or why he was out in the quad at this time of night. 

“Do you remember how you got here?”

Topher shook his head.

“You can blame your fraternity brothers. They hired us.”

Topher nodded, smirking. They were always pranking each other. 

"I must've drank too much…” The words fell out with a dull thump. "Guess I gotta like, get back to the bros or somethin’.”

Satisfied, the second man turned back to the first, who had packed the camera away and was ready to depart. With a nod, they made their exit, disappearing into the night. Topher quickly forgot about the men and how he got into his current situation. No matter the time, there was almost always a party going at his frat house. And if there was a party, that meant there would be some ladies too. 

Stiles wasn’t phased by the strange girl emerging from the solid hedge and claiming to be a fairy. He’d seen weirder. But he was alarmed and embarrassed that, when she asked him his deepest desire, it immediately spilled out of him like water from cupped hands:

“I wish Derek was into me.”

As he said those words, Stiles pictured Derek waking up one day with his preferences suddenly shifted to include overly talkative skinny goofballs. The fairy pointed her finger at his chest, shooting a light that quickly enveloped his whole body.

Suddenly, Stiles’s mind was filled with vivid scenarios as Derek’s boyfriend. He’d become a disciplined workout partner, dedicating his body to everything Derek demanded of it. No longer belonging to himself, his body would be wholly possessed by Derek’s will, in every early morning run, every chin-up, and every bench press.

He’d even take whatever pills Derek would command him to take and bend over for whatever shots Derek wanted to push into his rear. He’d do anything to achieve a body truly worthy of collecting the Alpha’s seed.

Stiles would also give up all his own ambitions so he could fully serve Derek 24/7. He’d stay at home cooking all their meals. He’d keep Derek’s Camaro spotless. He’d shine Derek’s boots and condition his leather jacket. All while wearing short shorts and tight tanks (or no top at all) for Derek’s viewing pleasure.

As years’ worth of alternate memories reshaped Stiles’ brain, his body shifted with its new history. His shoulders widened, his biceps bulged, his pecs became pillowy enough to catch Derek’s member in the cleft between them. His tee shrank into a tank top, reflecting his new wardrobe.

Stiles blinked as he processed the girl’s question. He worried that she was expecting some abstract answer, and he was never good at those kinds of questions in school. But he also felt relief she wasn’t propositioning him, which happens all the time when you’re built like him. After a long pause he smiled once he realized he actually knew the answer to a question for once.

The masterful @c0rruptedz brings all the ideas to the table.

The apartment was tidy, the windows were welcoming in a gentle breeze, and the space smelled of lavender, just the way I liked it. I had always been a clean-cut kind of guy–it was one of the first things that my boyfriend and I had bonded over. “Cluttered space, cluttered mind” is what they always said, and boy was it true. Having the floor swept and the bed made kept me in check.

From my phone, I heard a soft ping.

“Babe,” I called out. “Maycee’s on her way!”

“Maycee who?”

“Maycee from Psych. We have our final coming up on Friday so we're gonna do some prep work together.”

Hayden strolled out of our shared bedroom. He was twunkish; as a swimmer his build had always been sculpted and shaven. Hayden was a perfect counter to my slimmer frame, which I topped off with a meticulously-styled head of luscious chestnut hair. The amount of money and time I spent on looking sharp was embarrassing.

“I’m so sorry, when did you tell me this?” Hayden knew that he was in the wrong. I was always on top of everything. 

“Hmmm…last week?” I coyly replied. “Don’t worry, Maycee and I won’t get too rambunctious.”

Hayden had been studying for his own finals, although he liked to do so in silence. “Do I know at least know this Maycee?”

“Um, maybe?” I thought for a moment. “Medium height, long brown hair, kinda loud but still nice. We have had a few classes together.”

“Wait, Maycee Evans?” Hayden’s face flopped into a frown. “Dec, I can’t stand her!”

“Really?”

“She’s siblings with Trent, one of the guys on the team,” Hayden explained. “She shows up at like every party and gets super messy. I don’t care if you want to have fun but then she always comes over to me and bitches and moans about her life. And you know why, because she LOVES gay guys. I’m talking obsessed.”

“Have you asked her to stop?” I asked.

“Yeah, and it went horribly,” Hayden sighed. “I explained that it was getting to be a bit much and she blew up on me. Full psycho. Heck, there’s probably a diagnosis for her in your textbook.”

I frowned. “I had no idea, I’m sorry. She’s already on her way though.”

Glumly, Hayden surrendered. “No, don’t worry about it. You had no idea. I’m just going to hide in the bedroom until she’s gone.”

“Ok.” A text popped up on my screen, announcing Maycee’s arrival. “I’m really sorry again.”

“You're fine,” Hayden replied, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

“I’ll bring you snacks every hour!” I shouted. Hearing Hayden chuckle behind the closed door brought a smile to my face.

— 

“Holy smokes! I had no idea your apartment was so gorgeous, Declan.”

“I had no idea anyone still said ‘Holy smokes’,” I replied, closing the door behind us.

“Seriously, I’m so jealous. This place is so nice.” Maycee strolled around the main living space, taking in every piece of furniture. The white couch Hayden and I had spent hours cleaning after purchasing it online. The perfectly aligned gallery wall filled with pictures of our friends. Even the coffee table books had a particular order to which they were laid out.

“Well, should we get to this then?” I eventually said. “I don’t know about you but I’m definitely feeling worried about this final.”

“Whatever,” Maycee scoffed, approaching the dining table. “You’re one of the smartest guys I know. And the cutest.”

Maycee ended her remark with a wink. I smiled awkwardly before taking my seat, Hayden’s prior statement flashing through my head.

“So, tell me,” Maycee started as she flipped open a textbook. “Are you currently seeing anyone?”

I shook my head. “I had no idea your procrastination tactics were so impressive.”

“Hey! I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“And I thought we were here to study.”

Maycee laughed, “Can't we do both?”

“I’ll tell you what, we can earn it,” I countered. “Let’s at least do a little work before we digress. Is that fair?”

Maycee pouted before softening into a smile. “Ok…”

We studied together for an hour, absorbing as much information as we could. Sometimes we asked each other a question or two, other times we read in silence. Every now and then, I could feel Maycee’s eyes on me. If I had had any hair on my body, it would have sprung up in these instances. But I ignored her glances and continued my work. Eventually, Maycee announced that she had to go to the bathroom.

“BRB!” 

The bathroom door locked behind her and within the same revolution the bedroom opened up. Hayden stepped out and made his way into the kitchen. 

“Just gonna grab a few things,” Hayden said in passing.

“You know, you could just come out whenever you wanted,” I teased. “This is our apartment after all.”

“Yours,” Hayden corrected, as I did in fact willingly pay a larger portion of the rent. “And no, I don’t want to interact with her.”

In less than a minute, Hayden had snatched his snacks and refilled his water bottle. He almost made it back to the bedroom unnoticed.

“You HAVE to tell me where you got this soap!” Maycee swung open the door, revealing Hayden mid-scurry. “It’s so-”

The pair locked eyes. The tension in the room grew thick.

Hayden was the one who spoke first. “Maycee…It’s uh, good to see you.”

Maycee raised an eyebrow. “Why, because I’m sober?”

“Wow, that was fast,” I said. “Look uh, Maycee, why don’t we just get back to studying.”

“Hold up, are you two…” 

Hayden and I watched as the puzzle was pieced together in her mind. Not that it was a big puzzle, but enough to momentarily silence her.

“Oh, this is just too good,” Maycee finally said. There was a darker undertone to her voice.

“Maycee, I-”

“Shut up, Hayden.”

With a flick of the wrist in his direction, Hayden’s lips snapped shut. Immediately, I knew something was off.

“Maycee, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly, Declan,” Maycee grinned. “But I think I’ll close you up for now too.”

She wove a hand towards me and my mouth instantly closed. I tried to say something in response, make any noise, but I was silenced. Hayden and I made eye contact, both stunned by this shared development.

“I’ve been meaning to get back at you for the things you said, Hayden.” Maycee’s voice had grown icy. “Because of you, I’m no longer invited to any campus parties. Trent said it ‘wasn’t healthy for me’.”

Maycee had Hayden drop what he was holding and move into the living room. It was at this point I realized I could not move.

“I honestly don’t know what Declan sees in you,” Maycee continued. “He’s one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met. Is that why you like him?”

Maycee allowed Hayden’s mouth to open so that he could reply. “Yes! I-”

“Stop.” 

Hayden’s mouth slammed shut once more. I shifted my gaze between Hayden and Maycee, unaware of what was to happen next.

“Tell me, Hayden,” Maycee’s grin returned, crueler than before. “What else do you like about Declan?”

Hayden’s face was freed, but before he could speak, Maycee specified her question.

“Let’s start physically.”

“He’s my type!”

The words came out rushed, as if the truth was being ripped from Hayden’s brain.

“And what’s your type?”

“Skinny, on the shorter side-”

Maycee cut him off and then turned her head to face me. The three of us sat in silence again for a moment–two of us forced to–as we waited for something to happen. Suddenly, I felt a strange ache blossoming through my system. Although I could not contort my frozen face much, I was able to close my eyes. When I reopened them, I was surprised to find that the room had shifted. Before, I had been just below eye-level with Maycee and had had to tilt my head to meet Hayden.

Speaking of Hayden, his eyes had dramatically widened, but I had no idea why. To be fair though, I was probably just seeing things. Being well above six feet did that to a guy, everything seemed a bit out of proportion when compared to what the average human being saw. And I was anything but average. I was not one to brag but one should recognize the hard work they had put into their body. Spending night after night in the gym for over half a decade could really create results.

Satisfied by something–I was not sure what–Maycee asked her question again. “What else?”

This time, I noticed Hayden trying to keep his mouth shut. He failed: “Twinkish-!”

I had been that way for the longest time. While all the other boys had hit puberty, I missed the cutoff. For some reason, the bus decided to pass my stop.

Until it arrived a couple of years later of course. And it made up for lost time! The other boys used to joke that I was some kind of bear thanks to the pelt of hair I had. Furry legs, furry arms, a full rug up my chest and down some of my back. I had to shave my body every day for Hayden, even if it annoyed me. But by nightfall I would already have a stubble. The hair was just too dense-

“-and odorless!”

And it brought a funk with it too! No matter how much deodorant I put on, how much body wash I lathered in, how long we kept the diffusers running, there was always a bit of my natural musk hanging around. It was on the heavier side, more footy than sweaty. Hayden and I sometimes argued over it, I tried to explain that I could not block out that locker room cloud no matter how hard I tried. But I still did, for him.

“Let’s go over some mental qualities next,” Maycee said. “What makes Declan’s personality so attractive to you, Hayden?”

“He’s clean and coordinated-”

“Is he?” Mayce taunted. Had I been able to, I would have defended myself. Was the apartment not enough evidence? Did my general attitude not prove itself? If she wanted, I could have walked over to the bedroom and grabbed the stacks of planners that I kept handy.

Well, had kept handy. I had thrown them all out because they proved to be useless. I just went with the flow, wherever the wind took me. Why would I need to be so anal about everything? Money, politics, even my hair, which was just one simple scoop of product to swoop the dull brown up into something manageable for the day.

The apartment set the scene too: dishes piled up in the sink, dirty laundry scattered across the floor. I was sure Maycee had spotted the yellow stains around the toilet bowl, and the floor. Who cared about all this crap? It was just too difficult to freak out about it all when there were more fun things in life, like drinking and working out and having sex. Hayden did not agree with me, except for that last part sometimes.

“What else?”

“-he’s thoughtful!”

Hayden’s eyes were tearing up. No matter how rocky the current situation and our relationship at large were, I still felt for him. I was worried about him. I wanted to know why he was in pain, why he was so worried. I wanted to know-

…I wanted to know why he was being such a bitch. I wanted to know how much longer this stupid magical interrogation was going to take. I was getting sick of Maycee and even more sick of my pathetic situationship. Yeah, we were both gay and yeah, we sometimes fucked, but it was not like serious or anything. A hole should not have feelings attached, you know? I have more important things to care about: my wants and needs.

As if having witnessed some horrible event, silent streams began to flow down Hayden’s frozen face. God he was such a fucking loser.

“Hayden, don’t cry,” Maycee frowned. “It makes you look so messy.”

Hayden’s eyes grew red.

“Our boy Declan here is almost finished, but I think there’s just one more thing we’re missing.”

Hayden's tears stopped, the floodgates closed.

“This is kind of a leading question but, Hayden, in regards to sexuality, would you say that Declan is your type?”

“-yEs!” Hayden choked out.

“And why’s that?”

Hayden’s red face grew purple. Whatever he was about to say, he did not want it to escape. 

“--because…he’s...gAY!”

Hayden gasped for breath, finally freed from Maycee’s power. I however remained frozen, forced to continue watching the scene before me. Hayden’s muscular frame was covered in sweat, his body begging for someone’s aid. Someone to tell him everything was alright. Someone to tell him he was loved.

Obviously though, that was not going to be me. It was not my fault the faggot was, well, whatever the way he was. Plus, why was I supposed to give a fuck about him when I instead could stare at the juicy breasts pushing out the front of Maycee's shirt. How had I never noticed the size of those knockers before? Despite being frozen, my thick schlong began throbbing against the seams of my smelly gym shorts.

“I hope you’ve learned something from this, Hayden,” Maycee said. Suddenly, I felt a certain looseness to my body. I had finally been freed of whatever had been holding me in place. The first thing I did was let out a juicy fart, adding to the wet, masculine blanket of stench that suffocated the room. Then, after giving my hungry pouch a hard squeeze, I shifted over to Maycee, placing an invisible line between us and the homo.

“Baby, you done yet?” I asked impatiently, slapping one of my mitts onto her soft ass and giving it a squeeze. “I wanna dump a load, pronto.”

Maycee smiled, “I think we are, Derek.” She said my name like there was some kind of double meaning behind it. “Hayden was just about to leave. After all, it's probably too messy here for him.”

I blinked, bored and too horny to play into whatever she was getting at. “Yeah, uh, sure.”

Not bothering to wait for the stranger’s departure, I picked my girl up and brought her to the bedroom. The walls were covered in miscellaneous trophies and jerseys, like the one I was wearing. Within moments, I had her on the bed with my fat cock driving deep into her, ready to unload. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the faggot watching us from the doorframe, but I did not mind giving him a free show. Not like he was ever going to get a piece of this anyway.

I walked into my boss’s office with a sense of accomplishment. I had just finished my latest project, the Chronivac, a device that could alter the very fabric of reality. I handed it to my boss, expecting praise for my ingenuity. But instead, he fixed me with a steely gaze and muttered something under his breath. In an instant, the world started to spin.

When everything settled, I found myself standing in front of my boss’s desk, but something wasn’t right. I felt... different. My thick-rimmed glasses were gone, replaced by a pair of Oakley shades. My tailored suit had vanished, replaced by a tight-fitting Under Armour tank top that showed off my muscular physique. And worst of all, my mind felt... cloudy.

I looked down at my hands and saw that they were no longer delicate and nimble, but rough and calloused. My once-intelligent thoughts were replaced by a constant haze of arousal. I felt my heavy cock straining against the fabric of my skimpy gym shorts, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum.

And then my boss spoke, his voice dripping with authority. “You’re my new assistant now, jock. Your name is Chad, and you’re here to serve me in every way. Your job is to make sure I’m always satisfied, both professionally and... privately.”

I tried to protest, my old self fighting against the changes, but all that came out was a dumb grunt. My boss smirked and leaned back in his chair, lazily stroking his bulge through his pants. “Now, Chad, show me what you’re good at. Get on your knees and worship my cock.”

I felt an almost magnetic pull towards my boss’s crotch, my clouded mind unable to resist. I dropped to my knees in front of him and greedily pulled down his pants, exposing his thick, throbbing member. The smell of his musk washed over me, intoxicating my senses. I eagerly took him into my mouth, sucking and slurping like a mindless sex doll.

My boss moaned in pleasure, using the Chronivac to enhance my servitude. He increased my oral skills, making me an expert in deepthroating and ball worship. He also made me more sexually aggressive, turning me into a relentless fuck machine that was always on the prowl for cock.

"How much longer is this gonna take?" Ethan shifted, pretending to look interested. He had an exam coming up and a hundred places he’d rather be, but the man across from him only grew more animated by the second.

"So we came up with our slogan, 'Be PrEPared.'" The man practically beamed. "The boys in marketing really outdid themselves, don't you think?"

"Yeah..." Ethan caught his mind wandering and forced a smile. "I'm happy to be involved. I think population health is undervalued."

"Preach, babe." The man snapped his fingers.

Ethan grinned internally. The guy was eating out of his hand, and Ethan knew it wasn't just his answers. From the tone to blatantly checking him out, this guy fit every gay stereotype Ethan knew. What could he say? The gays loved him.

"But enough about me," the man laughed, leaning forward. "Tell me about you, hun. Why join our campaign?"

Ethan’s smile widened. He could tell the truth: he didn't give a shit about population health. He wanted a cushy specialty, and residency directors liked well-rounded resumes.

"Well, I think this is a great opportunity to support..." Ethan trailed off as the man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "...support marginalized groups. Happy to help de-stigmatize this stuff."

The man stared, then broke into a grin. "Oh my God, you're adorable."

Ethan let out an awkward chuckle. "That's a first." When the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory, he leaned in. "Look, I'd be good at this. Promise you won't regret bringing me on board."

The man tapped a finger against his chin. "Hmmm..." Really? Had this guy even looked at his résumé? This wasn't exactly a difficult decision, "Who would you prescribe PrEP to?" He finally asked.

"Uh…" Ethan wasn't expecting that. "Guys who sleep around, I guess." He paused, catching himself. "You know what I mean. Gay guys. Men who have sex with men."

"And would you use PrEP?"

"Uh, no." The answer shot out too quickly. The man’s eyebrow climbed, "I mean, I'm not the target demographic," Ethan corrected with a nervous laugh. "Nothing against it, but I'm not looking for sex with other men."

The man studied him for a beat, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, Ethan, I think we're gonna get along just fine."

"So that's a yes?"

"Oh, babe. That's absolutely a yes."

The tension left Ethan's shoulders. Perfect. One more line for the application. "Awesome. I appreciate the opportunity."

"We're excited to have you." The man reached beneath his desk and pulled out a small BePRePared tote bag. "Take this, hun."

"What's in it?"

"Everything you'll need for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

The man's grin somehow widened. "Don't you worry. We'll be in touch."

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

"That took longer than I thought." Ethan returned to his apartment, tossed the BePRePared tote bag onto the couch, and sat at his desk to study, "Fuck, I'm behind."

He stared at his digital flashcards, trying to prepare his best for his upcoming exam. But the text blurred. He blinked and stared at the card.

"What the hell?" He knew the answer to this, or at least he did yesterday. A suffocating brain fog rolled over him, as a dull ache started behind his eyes. His mind went completely blank, "Am I getting sick?"

Shoving himself away from the desk, he ran his hands through his hair. His neat trim felt dense, curling thickly between his fingers. He paused and ran his hand through his hair again, slower this time.

"How...?" Suddenly, the room tilted and sweat broke out across Ethan’s forehead, his joints throbbed, "Shit..." He couldn't afford to get sick, not when he had his first gig with BePrEPared tomorrow. The thought made him stop, "What am I thinking? Must be the fever... fucking with my head... Need water..."

He stumbled toward the kitchen and reached for a glass, barely noticing the fabric of his sleeve straining against his growing bicep. He quickly chugged his water, and froze when he wiped his chin. There was thick, rough stubble there. As if he hadn't shaved in a week.

"Fevers can... cause... hallucinations." He reasoned, although his thoughts were coming slower now, "Need... sleep..."

The room spun and his temperature spiked as he stumbled over towards the couch. He weakly pulled his scrub top off and threw it aside, his palms brushing through the thick, dark mat of body hair sprouting across his chest. But he barely recognized any of this, as his vision blurred and body grew weaker. He grabbed the tote bag on the couch and dropped it to the ground, the contents spilling out.

"What the fuck is this?" Ethan muttered, his voice dropping an octave, settling deeper. He felt a surge of irritation. This was a joke. They couldn't be serious. He was a medical student, for God's sake, not a...

Yet, as he stared at the blue speedo, his mind drifted to thinking about the happy, muscular campaign ambassadors he remembered seeing on the website. No exams. No residency stress. Just having fun and being noticed.

"Must be nice..." He fell onto the couch, and wiped sweat away from his forehead, "Fuck..." He smiled weakly, "I bet I’d look good in that Speedo." he thought.

He blinked, horrified by his own thought. Where had that come from? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but the movement only triggered a vicious wave of nausea.

"This isn't… a normal virus," he muttered. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, "Something's... wrong... with me..."

Ethan's hands drifted across his torso, tangling in the growing, dense dark body hair that was spreading now across his stomach. Beneath the coarse mat, his pectorals had swollen into heavy, solid shelves of muscle, hard and burning to the touch. He squeezed his own chest, a delirious, breathless laugh escaping him as his thumb traced over a newly sensitive, hyper-reactive nipple. He pinched it, and a sharp, slutty jolt of pure pleasure shot straight to his groin.

"Fuck," Ethan groaned, "Fuck... fuck... fuck..."

The room was spinning now and he was starting to see things that he knew shouldn't be there. He saw Joshua, sitting and smirking in the corner of the room.

"You're... not here." He slurred, "Leave me... alone..."

He closed his eyes tightly, and the hallucination of Joshua blurred and shifted. He was suddenly surrounded by nameless men crowding over the couch. He could feel them. Their heavy, rugged palms gripping his broadened shoulders, rough fingers digging greedily into his newly full, heavy ass, squeezing his thickening muscles. With a grunt, he flipped onto his stomach, and arched his ass.

"Ah... fuck..." Ethan groaned, drool leaking from his mouth. He whimpered as he felt something press against his exposed hole, "Pl...Please..."

His hand slithered past the tight elastic of his boxers, wrapping around a cock that was longer, thicker, and harder than it had ever been. He began to pump it in a frantic, heavy rhythm, his muscular thighs flexing with every stroke. He didn't care about the exam. He didn't care about residency. He just wanted to be a dumb, hot object. He wanted to be used.

“Would you use PrEP, babe?” Joshua’s voice echoed in his head.

"Wh-why... would... I?" Ethan moaned, "I'm... not... Oh... fuck..." He gagged suddenly as he felt the heavy pressure of a thick cock pushing deep into his throat, stretching his jaw and cutting off his breath, while another massive, rigid shaft slammed brutally up his ass, "Th... this isn't... real..." He thought, even as his jaw ached.

Every thrust of the thick, veiny shaft plugging his throat made his eyes water as he gagged. Simultaneously, he felt his ass being stretched wider as the skin-on-skin pounding drove his lower body forward, burying his face deeper into the cushions with each wet, heavy slap.

“What’s the doctor word for... not breathing?” he tried to ask himself, “Can't... think of it. Mind... fuzzy. So heavy.”

The ambient hum of his laptop fan and the quiet of the night vanished, completely replaced by a deep, thumping electronic base that vibrated directly through the cushions beneath his chest. His brain couldn't quite process the switch. Even the clinical definitions of auditory hallucinations felt too distant, too complicated to grasp.

“Music?” Ethan thought, his cognitive processing slowing to a crawl. “Music... nice... feels good...”

Even the scent of the room was suddenly different. A thick, heavy cloud of cologne, raw male sweat, and latex filled his lungs with every desperate, choking gasp.

“Smells... good,” the simple thought drifted lazily through his mind, “Warm. Thick. Smells like... men. Sex."

He let out a choked gasp as the cock went deeper down his throat. Panicking with what little logical faculty he had left, Ethan whipped his hands upward, fully intending to push away whatever hallucination was blocking his airway and clamping his jaw open.

“Get it out... need to study... am a doctor...”

But instead of empty air, his palms connected firmly with hot, sweaty flesh. The solid, moving hips of a man rhythmically thrusting down his throat.

“No... Wha...? Not a dream? Real. Big. So big. In my mouth. Up my ass.”

He reached out desperately, trying to find leverage, but instead his thicker palms and fingers clamped directly around two pulsing, rigid cocks. His broadened shoulders flexed automatically as his palms wrapped tight, his fingers squeezing the thick shafts as he began to stroke them in a frantic, heavy rhythm. His body knew exactly what to do, even if his brain could no longer define it.

“Stroke them... make them feel good,” his dumbed-down thoughts hummed, completely content to abandon his studies. “Good boy. Do what they want. Just a hot object.”

The thumping music grew louder, accompanied by the rapid, rhythmic click-whir of a professional camera shutter and deep, masculine groans of approval close to his ears.

"Look at him take it," a deep, gravelly voice chuckled right above him. "The new guy's an absolute natural."

Flash. Flash.

An intense, blinding glare of white-hot light penetrated right through his closed eyelids. The searing heat radiating against his skin wasn't a fever spike anymore; it was the burning warmth of professional studio lighting hanging directly overhead.

Ethan’s eyes snapped open.

He wasn't in his apartment. No, he was pinned face-down on a leather sofa in the center of a roaring photography studio. He could see his reflection in a mirror. Bulkier, hairier... sexier... sporting a toy stethoscope over his hair-covered chest and a tiny blue Speedo that was completely soaked through.

"Oh my gawd..." He thought, eyes watering.

A tall, rugged model stood over him, holding Ethan's face up by a tight fist in his thick, curly hair as he slid deep into Ethan’s throat. Behind him, a massive, tatted model was burying himself ruthlessly into Ethan’s expanded, aching glutes, slamming his hips forward with a heavy, wet slap. To his left and right, two more models leaned over the couch, grinning down at him as Ethan’s large, rough hands rapidly pumped them.

"Fuck... where'd you find this guy?"

Ethan's eyes were wide now, but the panic he expected to feel never came. His mind was too beautifully empty, too saturated with testosterone and pleasure. Board scores, residency applications, the endless stress of his old life...

“I’m the PrEP boy,” his thoughts drifted, “Dumb... hot... please... use me.”

"Keep going, hun, you're doing amazing," Joshua called out over the music, gesturing to the lens. "So, let's hear it for the campaign! Would you use PrEP?"

The thick cock down his throat pulled out with a wet pop, a line of drool running down his heavy, stubbled chin. He looked straight into the camera lens, his mind completely wiped of medical terminology. None of that mattered anymore. He was a BePRePared model. He was beautiful, he was being used, and he loved it.

"Y-Yes..." Ethan gasped out, his voice a deep, thoroughly broken baritone. His hips gave a desperate, simple twitch against the man behind him. "Yes... God, yes..."

The photographer grinned, clicking the shutter rapidly. "Perfect! That's the money shot!"

With a final, shattering surge of friction, the man behind him buried himself to the hilt, releasing deep inside him. Simultaneously, the model in front of him painted Ethan's face and thick, hairy chest, while the two men in his hands blew their loads over his fingers. And Ethan's own massive, leaking cock throbbed and fired a heavy stream into his tight, blue speedo.

"So good..." He moaned, falling back onto the couch and looking up at the other models with a dumb, happy grin, "More…?" he slurred, a thick bead of drool tracking down his chin and mixing with the man's seed. "More… please… use me more…"

"Don't you worry." Joshua patted him on the shoulder, while the other models chuckled, "You're our star now, Ethan. We've got plenty of work lined up for you." He nodded over at the photographer.

"Next shoot is in twenty minutes, boys," the photographer called out, adjusting his lens with a grin. "Clean him up just enough to do it all over again."

"Since you think you are better than me, let's make a bet out of it." Tom suggested with a smirk.

"Oh ok, I am game." Blake paused. "What's the bet?"

"Losers become the winner's socks for a few hours." Tom opened up his TF Pro Max app to show Tom that it was possible. "Unless you want to admit that I am better than you." He added.

"Prepare to have your own app turned against you," Blake set up the game system and loaded the game. "I will beat you regardless."

"Prove it." Tom said as he was selecting his character to fight with. "Talk is cheap."

Blake selected the Undertaker. When he saw Tom select Rey Mysterio, he laughed. "This is going to be super easy. Prepare to be my socks."

Tom just looked at him with a smirk on his face. He felt he didn't need to respond since his playing would do all the talking for him.

Blake was in shock that he was losing to his roommate several seconds later. He was beating the Undertaker with Rey Mysterio. Try as he might, he could not keep his character down for the three count. When he hit the finisher of the 619, it was a done deal. He could not kick out of the pin. Tom had beaten him with an underdog character.

"See, I told you." Tom pointed his phone camera at Blake and hit the flash option before Blake could protest or request another round. He watched as his roommate was reduced to a pair of white socks. He picked them up off the couch. They felt good in his hand.

Blake felt powerless in Tom's hands. He couldn't move or speak. 'At least it's only for a few hours, I can handle that.' He thought to himself.

"Now the feet test." Tom smirked as he put on his new pair of socks. He wiggled his toes in them. "Wow, you feel great on my feet." He decided he would go for a walk to break in his new socks. He walked to his room and grabbed his most comfortable pair of sneakers. He sniffed one and found it extremely toxic with his foot odor. He put them on without a second thought.

Blake thought being walked on was bad enough, but it got worse when he found himself trapped in Tom's sneakers with no escape from the foul foot odor left behind by the owner's feet. "I changed my mind, changed me back. This is torture." He mentally pleaded, but saw that Tom would not hear him one bit. He was just a pair of socks now. There was no way to voice his discomfort on his roommate's feet.

Tom got back to their place an hour and twenty minutes later. His feet were sweaty from the long walk, but never felt better. His socks brought on a level of comfort he had never felt in socks before. He began to wonder how much level of comfort his socks could really provide. He remembered it was only to be a few hours, but he hoped that Tom would not mind borrowing him for a little while longer.

Blake was in misery as he felt plastered to his owner's sweaty feet. He could taste all that foot sweat as though the whole feet were in his mouth. The musky odor of the feet combined with the sneakers felt like a stinky prison. He was relieved when Tom finally peeled him off his sweaty feet but was disappointed when Tom didn't change him back. He was tossed over the chair in his bedroom and left there. Tom didn't even speak to him. Blake began to wonder when Tom would keep his word and change him back to normal.

The next morning, Tom got up, washed and got ready to go to the gym. He grabbed his socks and put them on his feet. He put on his favorite gym sneakers. They were just as foul as the ones he wore yesterday. He didn't mind it since it wasn't his problem. His socks would have to endure the smell just like yesterday. He then went to the gym to do his normal workout.

"Not fair! It's been longer than a few hours. Change me back!" Blake pleaded to no avail. He found himself in another stinky prison, but he knew it would get worse. He knew it was time for Tom to go to the gym. It would be another sweaty time on his owner's feet. He mentally dreaded it.

Blake was right to dread it as Tom continued to work out at the gym. His owner's feet began to sweat, causing him to cling to his feet. He began to stink like the musky sweat all over his owner's feet. It began to saturate his sock bodies. He wanted it all to end and be back to normal, but he was a Tom's mercy until he was changed back. He was powerless to do anything about his situation. He hated it. This bet was only to be for a few hours, not last into the next day. He was a person, not a pair of socks.

The weeks went by as Blake was forced to be worn on Tom's feet day in and day out. Tom would only pick him to wear each and every day. He didn't even bother to wash him one bit. He reeked of the foul stench of his owner's feet. Tom never spoke one word to him, but treated him like common socks. He would go about his day, walking on him to no end. His only relief was when Tom took him off when he went to bed and to shower. Once his owner was up in the morning, he would be worn back on his owner's feet all over again. He grew to hate gym time so much.

Three weeks later, Tom noticed how quiet the place was. It was then he realized that Blake was still on his feet. He had gotten so attached to his new socks, he had not changed them back yet. He had been wearing them literally every day. They were a really comfortable pair of socks. He still has the revert data in his phone and may use it one day if he ever decides to do so. Until then, as long as his socks weren't complaining, why should he ever change them back. He laughed at that thought as he scrolled on his tablet. 'Silly me, socks can't complain, they simply are socks.'