Breedertfs Story Index

Out Now: Dam Breakers

Hello everyone! I'm extremely excited (and, quite frankly, more than a bit nervous) to announce that I finished my fantasy romance novel Dam Breakers!

For the very TLDR-version: It is available here! Be sure to read the disclaimer below, though.

First of all, thank you! Everyone who reads my stories or likes them shows me that there is at least some interest in my mediocre writing. And even though the novel is not exactly like my stories here (more to that later), it gives me hope that you and other people might like it.

Now, for the actual novel!

Dam Breakers is the tale of Jared, a rather normal modern day college student, and Aleron, an apprentice mage living in a secluded tower with his teacher. One fateful day, they meet and are drawn into a maelstrom of magic, change and love - and dark secrets threatening to destroy everything they loved.

With over 120000 words, this is not only my longest story yet, but also my most carefully crafted one. I will attach an image of my Obsidian graph for the story at the end of the post.

Disclaimer:

As I have mentioned, it is a bit different from the stories I usually post here. First and foremost, it's a lot tamer. This novel isn't meant as a porn piece, but as an intriguing fantasy and romance tale. While there is love, desire and sex, of course, it's way more sparse and less explicit than, for example Closer Than Flesh.

It also features transformation themes, and the concept of change is one of the main focus points of the book, but, again, don't expect 500 pages full of transforming bodies because of it :)

And, finally, for a multitude of reasons, it does not contain AI generated images. I wouldn't be able to generate any that do the story justice, anyway.

Now that you know what not to expect, here are some things you MAY expect:

Transformation. Both in the sense of bodily changes but intriguing character development as well.

Gay Love. This is a story about two men from different worlds falling in love with each other, and their stony road to being together.

Magic. It's a fantasy story, and a truly enchanting one at that, with a fresh concept of magic and change.

Story. Last, but certainly not least, it's a good and interesting read, at least according to my opinion. Since I might be a bit biased here, let me tell you that my beta readers agree.

If you still want to read it (and I hope you do!), then you can grab your copy here:

If you are not in the US, you can just replace the .com with, for example, .co.uk to go to your local Amazon marketplace

I have not forgotten, of course, that I promised a special condition for you folks at Tumblr. Since Amazon makes it a bit difficult to actually implement that, I plan to offer a time limited discount or giveaway in a few weeks. I'll announce the exact time here on my blog beforehand.

If you really want to support me, it would mean a lot to me if you could leave a review on Amazon. That influences the algorithm a lot and helps the book get visibility, which is incredibly important . So, please, if you like the book, leave a review.

Teaser / Preview (mild spoilers)

And here is a short look into the book, from chapter 4. It contains some mild spoilers, but nothing too important. I also added an AI image, which is not in the book (see above).

[...]

Even though the weather was unstable, Jared enjoyed the journey through the vibrant spring land. It was a closeness to nature he had never experienced. Even back home with his parents, in rural Texas, the land had seemed different. Back there, the wilderness had been tamed decades if not centuries ago. There was no wonder, no adventure. Here, there were hills and forests, rivers and bogs, and who knew what else. It was as if Jared was seeing the world for the first time. Not to mention the smell. Jared could not remember a time when he had smelled the spring air like this.

In addition to the landscape, Jared's traveling companion also played a big part. Aleron was an intelligent and witty conversationalist, and Jared learned a lot about his new friend. They spoke of everything under the sun, and Jared told stories of his home, of modern inventions and the differences between this world and his. Even though Aleron was fascinated by his tales, he was also clearly skeptical about some of them, especially when it came to the more complex topics. That was only fair, though, as Jared himself had a hard time believing the fantastic stories of this world, even after having experienced some with his own eyes. Dragons, for example. It didn't matter how often Aleron recited what little information he had about those magnificent beasts, something in Jared resisted fully believing in them. He hoped that he would be able to see one of them for real - although Aleron repeatedly stressed how dangerous they were - in order to be able to fully believe in them.

While Aleron's world was certainly magical, it wasn't all like in the Lord of the Rings. There were, for example, no other humanoid races, as Jared learned. No elves, dwarves or orcs, at least to Aleron's knowledge, which, to be fair, mainly included the Kingdom of Myrthien. Although the Whispering Woods were not technically a part of Myrthien, and were generally considered wilderness, it was clear that they were no part of another nation either. The closest neighboring country to the Whispering Woods would either be the Golden Isles beyond the coast south of Eldoria or the Verdant Lands to the west. According to Aleron, the Verdant Lands couldn't really be considered a nation, too. It was more of a loose confederation of tribal communities, living in the characteristic dense forests of that region.

As Helena had promised, Luminara wasn't difficult to find. The capital of Myrthien was well known and if there was a sign post somewhere, it was sure to point to Luminara.

There was no shortage of smaller and bigger settlements, and about every third or fourth night they were able to sleep in beds. During the other nights, they made camp a bit off the road in order not to attract too much attention. It was one of those nights, about two weeks after they had left Eldoria, that Jared woke up in the middle of the night. Aleron, who was sleeping next to him, was moving in his sleep and occasionally made a sound, which had caused Flicker to gain a bit of distance to the sleeping man.

It was clear to Jared that his friend was dreaming, and he briefly considered waking him up from his nightmare. However, judging by the sounds, Jared began to suspect that Aleron was not having a nightmare but quite the opposite, although the dream seemed to be just as intense.

Quietly, he left the tent, careful not to wake the sleeping mage. Outside, he was greeted by the stars and a clear sky with an almost full moon. The campfire was almost dead, just a few embers and ashes were left. It was a quiet, peaceful night, and Jared decided to go to the nearby lake to drink. Aleron had never once shown a single sign of sexuality before, except for demonstrating a certain uneasiness around nudity and related topics. He never had commented on any woman - or man - in a suggestive way, so Jared had been half- convinced that this whole topic didn't have any relevance to the mage at all.

Of course, for his own reasons, Jared had avoided the subject as well, so, perhaps Aleron thought the same about him. Jared didn't mind that. As magical as this world was, he had yet to encounter a single sign of same-sex attraction. Perhaps this wasn't a thing here, biologically, or perhaps it was socially frowned upon, like in his world's medieval ages - or rural Texas, present day. In any case, there was absolutely no reason to bring that topic up, so he didn't. Not bringing up his sexuality was a sport he was very experienced in for 9 years straight now, after all.

As Jared neared the lake, he was feeling weird and tingly all over. It was not entirely unpleasant, but it stirred a vague memory in Jared. He had felt this feeling once before, but he couldn't quite recall when.

When he bent down to scoop some water into his hand, he stopped before his fingers touched the surface of the lake. The moon was bright, and Jared could see his reflection in the mirror-smooth water quite well. The only problem was that it was not him who was looking back at him.

Of course, there was a strong resemblance, but the details weren't right. His face looked somewhat stronger, his jawline a bit squarer. His hair a bit lighter and styled like the day he first stepped out of the mirror. On his chin, there was a short well-groomed beard even though he had shaved just last morning. It wasn't just his face, though. As he looked down on himself, he looked fitter than he should, as if he was visiting a gym regularly. In fact, the definition of muscle on his torso increased further, just as he was watching. Suddenly, the wonder was replaced by fear. He had felt that way before, and now he remembered when. It had been during his first visit to Aleron's world, when his body was 'destabilizing' as Aleron had put it. Given, the feeling had been stronger then, but it was definitely the same. And now, his body was changing again, and he was weeks of travel from the magic mirror.

Half-panicking, he sprinted back to the tent, not caring about being quiet anymore. Perhaps Aleron knew what to do! He ducked into the entrance and called out to the mage.

"Aleron, wake up!"

Almost immediately, the apprentice jolted awake. "Jared? What is wrong?"

"I... don't know, it's me. Look at me!"

After a few words of encouragement, Flicker began burning brighter, allowing them to see in the tent as well. Aleron looked at the half-naked Jared critically for a few moments before asking: "Okay... what am I looking for?"

"Can't you see? I'm..." However, as Jared looked down on himself, everything was fine again. He was looking at his plain old self, just as he should look like. The tingling feeling was gone, too.

"Oh." Jared felt incredibly stupid all of a sudden. "I... must have been imagining things."

[...]

If you liked the teaser, be sure to give the whole thing a read :)

Let me close with another whole-hearted Thank You for your continued interest!

Stay awesome!

And here, as promised, a peek at the creative complexity of the story:

Beach Bod

Rusty’s favourite thing about being home was the beach. Well, maybe not the beach itself - but certainly what was on the beach. And that was, as it usually is for horndog college students, the copious amount of shirtless boys.

Rusty’s parents had invited him to spend the weekend down at the family beach house - a proposal he’d eagerly agreed to. His first semester of college hadn’t gone exactly as planned. In fact, Rusty had already accumulated a list of crimes committed against his freshman year: his roommate was a homophobe, he’d somehow lost weight, and his grades were plummeting faster than his metabolism. He needed a break - and a weekend spent in the unadulterated, midyear sunshine might be just what he needed to get back up on his feet. 

So there he was, waddling up the driveway in his flip flops with fluorescent zinc already smeared on his slightly crooked nose, and a spritely grin plastered on his equally as crooked jaw. With a beach towel flung over his slim shoulders, Rusty was looking forward to a one-man, 48 hour paradise; a weekend spent on the sugar-sand beach just a short distance from his bedroom, soaking up the mid-summer coastal sunshine and sizing up the bountiful amounts of hunky blond beef that would no doubt be lining the shoreline, glittering like seashells. As the old saying goes: if you hold a conch shell to your ear, you can almost hear the sound of a surfer dude moaning, “Fuck me harder, bro!”

Rusty nudged open the door to the house and called out for his parents. His soft voice echoed through the open floor plan, bouncing between pockets of coastal furniture. 

No response. Huh. 

He checked the living room, the kitchen, called up the stairs. Still no response. He figured they’d already beat him to the beach - which meant he was all alone, horny and heat-fuelled. Perfect. Rusty whipped off his shirt, shimmied into his board shorts and reached for a beer.

He dropped his bags by the door and made his way over to the veranda, which seemed to be beckoning his name with every warm breeze that blew in through the open sliding doors. The hardwood deck was stark with heat, and the sun beat down on him as he shaded his face to get a good look at the view. It was a prime vista of the beach, and the water was as glittery as the sand it lapped at. He couldn’t see his parents… But he did see a whole lot of something else. Men. Lots and lots of shirtless men. 

Rusty’s itinerary was pretty standard: stare at the crevice between the big bouncing pec’s of some adonis in a speedo; admire the way sweat and saltwater, a concoction he’d dubbed beach-boy-brew, dripped down a surfer boy’s cum gutters; and ogle at the sand dollar sized nipples of a bronze boy-toy too big for his own good. Oh, and if he could be crushed between the thick, rolling thighs of a strawberry-blond titan with the strength of the ocean, that would be pretty rad, too. Just the simple pleasures of any good summer getaway, really. And on a hot weekend like this one, Rusty was certain he’d have no problem ticking them off his lascivious list. 

He could see a few groups of collegiate hotties already partying on the sand, tanning and drinking and looking generally sexy. A football flew threw the air, the smell of testosterone wafted up the sand. He felt his grip on the veranda railing weaken as one of them began drunkenly gyrating his bubble butt against the air as an unimpressed group of girls walked by.

Rusty could see it now: the entire coastline would soon become a sprawling panorama of empty heads and beefy muscle, just aching to bend over and get eye-fucked. For a jock, the heat tended to act as an aphrodisiac: a stupefying, steamy somnolent that washed away any desire to put clothes on and instead amplified an innate, irresistible desire to show off. No well-bred stud could resist the urge to strut bulge-first down the runway of a busy beach. Every buff blondie within a ten mile radius would stuff his bubble butt into a speedo, lumber into his dad’s open-roofed jeep, and cruise down to the ocean - one paw on the steering wheel, the other on his crotch. Revving his engine. The heat would feel too good on his golden skin not to, flaunting his premium goods and soaking up the rays. Photosynthesising, preening, growing. Of course, he’d make a pitstop along the way to pick up his platoon of linebacker buddies, packing the backseat with brawn, their off-season quads fighting for room on the hot leather seats. Deltoid to deltoid, like canned sardines. Huge, hulking, steroidal sardines. They’d turn up the radio, tunes pumping, pecs bouncing to the trap style beat. Cockily flexing their biceps for a group of girls in a passing convertible, waggling their overly long, thick tongues at the flustered beach bunnies, miming vulgarities. Eager to impress. Rusty didn’t blame them. Having an uncontrollable libido and shoulders twice as broad as your waist when you’re young and dumb and impossibly full of cum would turn anyone into an exhibitionist — and anyone close enough into a hopeless and drooling voyeur.

Rusty had spent many summers sat by the water, ogling and drooling until the sun was low in the sky and the sea of blond hunks had receded with the tide, sand sticking to their tanned bubble butts as they staggered back up the coastline to hit the bars and get even drunker. Turns out, 19 inch biceps and a cleft chin work just as well as a fake ID. All it took was an absent-minded flex, a slow lick of the lips, or a strategic, innocent bend-over, and the doors to every bar and club on the boulevard flew wide open. If only one of them had extended a hand and asked Rusty to join them - or pulled down his speedo, popped his pecs and ordered Rusty to fuck him. Either would’ve sufficed. 

But hey, maybe this time one of them would. With Rusty’s lanky physique and unimpressive features, it was pretty unlikely - still, a dork could dream. Surrounded by steroidal blondies, Rusty had always felt like a washed-up stalk of seaweed. When all his hometown peers were prodigal bodybuilders with movie star jawlines, it was difficult not to feel inadequate. You couldn’t walk down the boardwalk without some bronzed-out bro giving you a boner. They swaggered to and fro, their bulging shoulders too big for their pretty little heads, no care in the world. His dad always seemed to have a permanent twinge of disappointment etched into the corners of his face, his dreams of having a football hero for a son dismantled by the tech major Rusty had become. He’d often dreamed of what seeing the world from over six feet tall felt like. He’d often dreamed of his father throwing him a football, and catching it with an arm bigger than most peoples heads. 

A large sea swell broke over the sand, and Rusty watched as the golden frat bros lumbered down to the water (their bodies too big, too clumsy and too inebriated for it to qualify as running, though he guessed that was what they were trying to do) and dived in after it, covering their muscles in sparkling sea foam and rubbing it into their abs like soap on a washboard. Rusty glided a hand over his own pasty torso, lightly dusted with hair and sunken inwards. He took a long swig of beer.

Rusty turned back to the living room, the sound of the waves dimming. He saw something flapping in the breeze on the coffee table. He hadn’t noticed it on the way in, but somebody had left a note.

“Dear Rusty… Sunscreen’s in the garage. We’re trying out a new brand. Give it a go. You’ll like it. - Dad”

Huh. Alright then. Rusty couldn’t conceive of a sunscreen special enough to elicit its own foreboding note, but his dads writing always came off a little ominous. Truncated sentences. No personality. Scary. 

Rusty followed the big mans orders, flicked on the light in the garage, and was greeted by a familiar sight. It was filled with his father’s workout machines, rows of dumbbells and weights lining the walls. Before he’d moved away for college, his dad was always trying to coax him into the home gym with fancy new equipment. He must’ve kept buying them - the place looked like a certified fitness centre. Rusty figured he’d put the sunscreen by the weights in a final attempt to get his pip-squeak son interested in working out. How very subtle. It was sat on one of the weightlifting benches, and he weaved his way through the machines towards it. 

The bottle had almost no labelling - it didn’t even have a brand name. Rusty pressed down on the nozzle, and a big glob of the stuff shot into his hands, creamy and white. It was surprisingly warm, and the texture vaguely gelatinous. It smelt good, too. Like musk and sweat. His horndog brain waltzed into the room with an intrusive, albeit sexy thought: it was a lot like holding a handful of cum. 

Rusty applied a liberal amount of the sunscreen to his whole body, diligently smearing the zinc infused jizz into every pore - noting with lip-biting surprise how good, and oddly erotic, it felt on his pale body. It was kind of turning him on. In fact, there was a strange and pleasurable buzz emanating from his skin everywhere he applied it to.

Rusty reached for his cock, lubing it up with sunscreen, only half aware of what he was doing. Aw, fuck. He barely stifled a moan. Not because of his achingly horny brain, or even his needy, stiffening cock. The buzz had evolved. There was a strange, static warmth in his hands that was quickly blooming into a crackle of fireworks, shooting up his scrawny digits with hot pleasure. Fuck, what was in that stuff? It felt like his fingers were on fire. Had his dad mixed up the sunscreen with some sort of weird sex lube? Did he want his son to blow a load all over his workout equipment? Rusty’s cock was rapidly engorging with heat - and, weirdly, it kind of felt like his fingers were too. 

He felt a sudden pop in his knuckles, and Rusty opened his eyes just in time to see his index finger shoot out in length and explode with size, a quicksilver rush of pleasure accompanying the birth of the dildo-sized digit. He stared at it, slack-jawed. An involuntarily groan escaped his lips as his middle finger followed suit and lurched longer, shooting out in length and then thickening up with meat like a pier-side hotdog. Holy shit. Rusty stumbled back in shock as the next finger joined in, and then the next, the bones cracking longer and the muscle thickening. He shook his hands, trying to shake off the extra beef, but each of his fingers gleefully continued to fire off, exploding with size like red hot sticks of dynamite, bursting outwards and swelling thicker. Both his hands began to bulge bigger in unison, pulsating outwards, palms stretching wider as his knuckles cracked to make room for more growth. Rusty watched as the pale skin on his hands shimmered like the sparkle of a breaking wave before deepening to a golden tan and suctioning down onto two thickly veined, hulking fists. 

Rusty quivered, slowly bringing the gargantuan mitts up to his face. They were still twitching with growth, buzzing and inching slightly longer. Holy shit. Somebody had attached a bodybuilder’s hands to his lanky wrists. 

Rusty tentatively wriggled his fingers, testing their new size, watching the meaty soldiers bend to his will. He almost started drooling. Fuck. These babies belonged around a football, or a dumbbell, or a throat, or a cock. He’d absolutely dwarf all of them. The thought of making any of those things look small in a single grip was almost enough to make his hips start bucking, but the transformation of his hands from wimpy to stud-sized had completely robbed Rusty of all motor control, and all he could do was marvel at their utter maleness and try not to freak out. He imagined he looked like a total weirdo, waving around these huge, cartoonishly out-of-proportion hands on an otherwise puny body. Shit - what was he supposed to do about the rest of his scrawny self?

Wait a minute. Rusty whipped his head around to where the bottle of sunscreen sat on the benchpress. Its innocent packaging stared back. Shit. It was the sunscreen. For just a moment, Rusty wondered how his dad had gotten his hands on some kind of growth-inducing miracle cream. But then, a much more pressing thought entered his head. The hole at the tip of the nozzle seemed to wink at Rusty as he realised he’d just smeared the creamy substance all over his entire body. Oh, fuck. 

Rusty threw his head back and moaned up at the ceiling as he was hit by a wave of oceanic bliss. Currents of tingly pleasure coursed through his arms as they suddenly shot out and extended several feet to the ground, hanging off his shoulders like pool noodles. Rusty whined in pleasure - he could feel his knuckles grazing the floor. He wriggled his thick new fingers, moaning as they continued to bulge even larger on the cool concrete, now big enough to jerk off a giant. His left leg trembled with energy, then rapidly elongated, sending him straight towards the ceiling as he grunted and moaned in combined shock, confusion and pleasure. He wobbled this way and that, his disproportionate body caught in a riptide of ecstasy, before his right leg detonated and lengthened down to match its neighbour, allowing him to surf the wave of euphoria with just a bit more balance. Rusty arched his back and moaned, and with several pops his torso began stretching longer, as well as his neck. His tongue lolled out in glee as he felt himself rising upwards, being stretched taller than puberty ever allowed, inching closer and closer towards the garage ceiling. It was as if he was being pulled at both ends by some invisible, horny force, eager to turn him into a freaky wet dream. 

Rusty grinned down at himself, his neck spasming and inching up even longer. It lurched upwards like one of those inflatable palm trees - he wondered for a moment if it wouldn’t stop, and he’d end up shooting through the roof like a cartoon character - but his body only remained disproportionate for a moment, as his other limbs stretched down accordingly and evened him out.

A ripping sound alerted Rusty to the state of his ginormous feet, which were in futile competition with his flip flops, barely holding back against a pair of widening soles that had sneakily accelerated with growth and doubled in size while he wasn’t looking. A little left behind, he wriggled his toes as they popped out longer, bulging in a race to keep up with the rest of him. Rusty couldn’t help but laugh as the asynchronous growth suddenly coalesced and crescendoed with power, both feet swelling to the conferred stud-status of his hands, and finally destroying his shoes like the mythic Hercules outgrowing his willow-leaf sandals. 

Fuck, this was getting good. His body had clocked in at a cool six-foot-four, tall and tanned, and the high felt far from over. A heady rush had slowly filled his brain, a steady stream of gaseous, dumbing pleasure — and the sunscreen had only just decided to turn it up a notch and rev its tingly magic.

Rusty felt a cascade of tingles rush through his left arm, and he groaned as his bicep pumped itself full of muscle, swelling instantly to the size of a beach ball. He flexed his arm and watched the muscle ball up, thick and hot — and then watched as it grew even thicker and hotter. A puff of blond armpit hair exploded out from under it, which tickled a little but mostly sent a shock of sex down his spine, while the brawny peak above it continued to rise like the swell of a tidal wave. Rusty threw it up behind his head like an amateur model, almost hitting himself in the eye with his bicep as it suddenly inflated so big it connected with his ear, which only spurred the growing boy on as he began flexing like a stripper on a birthday card, revelling in the feeling of his arm growing so thick and huge it pushed into the side of his head. The sheer weight of it caused Rusty to wobble to the left, and, wishing his body would even itself out, with a sharp pop and a grunt, his right arm dutifully exploded with brawn, quickly growing to match the size of its beefed-out brother. Rusty whimpered as the growth rushed down from his shoulder and into his hand, another poof of golden armpit hair bursting out from under it. The size of his right arm seemed to overshoot its target, and his fingers popped out bigger at the end so as to remain perfectly in-proportion. Fuck, he had a pair of king crab arms! 

Rusty grunted, a sudden tectonic shift sounding in his shoulders. Oh, shit. He was pulled in two directions at once as his shoulders rapidly broadened, deltoids rushing away from his neck with anatomical abandon and widening his silhouette into an imposing mountain range of male breadth. His deltoids rounded out into armoured caps of muscle, and beneath them Rusty felt his arms lift up and fan out as his traps unfurled like wings, whimpers of pleasure echoing off the walls as the muscle stacked itself up in undulating rhythms. The pressure of the growth forced his hands onto his hips, and he thrust his lats out into a wide flex as muscle bloomed across his back, cracking and shifting into an impossibly broad V shape. He lout out a huff, feeling twenty pounds heavier and horny as a bitch as the tingles sparked on his skin like he was a walking beam of light. He flexed his guns as his shoulders stretched further outwards, boom, boom, unable to process the sensation of hitting a double bicep and feeling cannons of muscle jump to attention.

A gurgling groan caught in Rusty’s throat as it swelled from base to tip into a thick trunk, the tingles cascading down from his collar and into his chest. He felt his nipples harden, like a warning sign, and then a surge of energy enter into his tits. He looked down at them with a scared whimper as they lurched out a whole inch, and then another, and then another, pulling his whole body forwards with them. Another heave of muscle and his feet were covered by their burgeoning mass, the force of their growth momentarily closing the deepening crevice between them as they pushed against each other, striations trembling like surf over a reef. His nipples tingled like lit fuses, and he hoisted his meaty hands up in a desperate attempt to rub and squeeze the growth out, his eyes widening as they shot out bigger in-between his fingertips and bloomed into dark, fat caps, sensitive and raw, nipples you could suck on. The muscle shelf beneath continued to inflate like two water balloons connected to a tap, pumping bigger with each bounce as he wobbled clumsily. He had a despicably big rack. The kind of chest a dick would disappear in-between. He groped and groped the twin slabs of meat, feeling the pressure build, like someone had suddenly turned the tap onto high. It was too late to brace for impact as they suddenly exploded in a final oomph of size with such force that it knocked his head back like a sucker punch and sent him careening backwards onto the weight lifting bench, falling onto it with a thud. He laid there, face up, his chest heaving up and down, a pair of huge, enviable muscle tits.

Rusty stared up at the empty weight rack, his back cracking wider on the warm leather, beefy pecs obscuring the lower half of his vision. God, he was so top-heavy, his gorilla arms hanging off the bench and onto the floor, thick and heavy. He lifted his head up as best he could, feeling a steady stream of tingles rush down his torso, and wriggled as each of his abs popped into existence, a perfect 6 pack blooming across his midsection. He fingered them with his meaty digits while cum gutters swooped through his waist and tributaries of veins reached up from his groin to meet them.

Rusty writhed with pleasure, and out of his slim, cinched waist burst a pair of big, titanic thighs that ripped out the bottom of his board shorts and swelled huge with muscle, first in rippling grooves that carved a roadmap of teenage surfing into his bodies history, before quickly ballooning outwards into legs composed purely of thickness and size. He felt them inflate and spill out over the bench - man-spreading would now be compulsory - and used the extra strength to hoist his upper body up and into a sitting position, straddling the bench with his now behemoth thighs. It wouldn’t be possible to walk without these tanned, off-season, columns rubbing together - they were the kind of legs that spread out and dominated any surface they blessed their hairless, heat-filled mass with. He chuckled dumbly at the thought of swallowing any space he tried to fit himself into, so thick he’d been rendered human cargo.

A shockwave thrust his ass out behind him as he felt his cheeks inflate to the size of beachballs, sending a loud rip straight down the back of his board shorts. A long slither of his juicy, growing butt crack pressed into the tear, his glutes swelling huge and round, threatening to bust his shorts open completely. Rusty panted, riding the weight lifting bench like a dick, gripping the leather with his hands, arm muscles bulging in full relief. The boy’s butt was obscene, expanding out behind him into two tanned spheres of category 5, tropical muscle as he gyrated against the warm leather. He whipped his head around his beefy shoulders to watch the bouncing cheeks expand into a high shelf, a permanent jockstrap installing itself into his musculature. With a surge of tingles, Rusty leaned forward, gritted his teeth, stuck his ass out behind him and groaned in relief as it shot out through the back of his pants, exploding the fabric into strips of polyester confetti and swelling in naked celebration. Warm air instantly hit his hole, and he trembled as a bolt of tingles ran straight down his taint and lightened the flesh to a boyish, peachy pink. He gripped his muscled cheeks and pulled them apart to reveal a tight jock hole, tingling with desire. Fuck. 

Rusty thrust his hips forwards with the oceanic power of his muscled ass as he felt his balls churn and swell beneath him, tightening the remains of his board shorts around them with their expanding size. They pumped up into tennis balls, which in turn fed the sea cucumber he could feel his dick becoming. The fabric instantly gave up the fight as his sweaty, monster cock burst free from its confines and landed with a hefty smack on the warm leather, continuing to grow thicker and longer, unabated by swimwear meant for wimps. A waft of his manhood travelled up to his nostrils, and Rusty saw sparks. Shit, his cock even smelt big.

Rusty wriggled his nose as the delicious musk seemed to fill it up to the brim with tingles. It felt like he’d shoved a firework sparkler up his nose. He took a deep breath in, and then —

Achoo!

The bones in rusty’s nose instantly reshaped. The bridge cracked broader and the tip snapped perfectly straight. Rusty felt it twitch, and went cross-eyed watching it suddenly bulge bigger, growing huge and almost phallic on his otherwise unchanged face. He reached his sausage fingers up to touch it, and then, like a shockwave, the changes rippled out from his big nose and into the rest of his features. 

His whole head grew to match, lips popping bigger and forehead widening. He grimaced as his jaw broadened into a chiseled square, two angles jutting out from beneath his ears which simultaneously popped bigger. He grabbed his chin as it pushed forwards and expanded, moving his fingers apart as it turned into an ocean cliff of male geometry. Rusty licked his lips as they plumped up, feeling all the extra realestate of a big, beautiful mouth, while his cheeks became cut but ruddy and plump, a cherubic innocence that betrayed his otherwise lewd proportions. When he flashed a smile, his teeth shone brilliantly white and perfectly straight. His features had quickly masculinised into a mosaic of surfer boy good looks. Fuck, he was hot. 

A single blond hair dropped into Rusty’s vision, followed by a wave of golden fringe that cascaded down onto his forehead. He ran his hands through what he could tell was a beautiful mane of beach-bleached hair, and as he did, any darkness that remained turned to streaks of blond lightning with the brush of his huge fingers. He couldn’t tell, but his eyes had washed over into a sparkling blue. He was a total blondie. A maritime warrior, built for the ocean.

Rusty panted. Having grown a new face and body in a matter of minutes, he should have been exhausted. But he wasn’t. His pants were sexual, not sleepy. They dripped with erotic and kinetic energy he’d never felt before. He wanted to rip a can of beer open with his bare fingers and then shove them up some frat boys hole. And then shove them up his own. 

Rusty clambered up from the bench, feeling stacks of muscle follow him. His hair bounced in perfectly placed streaks. He looked down at his new body, at the heaving pecs that glimmered with pearlescent shine. He looked like he’d come straight from the ocean. Oh, god. He was gorgeous. The sunscreen had oiled him like a machine. Rusty, more like busty, he thought with a grin, bouncing his heavy pecs. He’d been turned into a  certified hunk. He spun his behemoth body around, craning his neck back to get a good look at the twin bowling balls that jutted out from behind him. He couldn’t stop touching himself. His hands were grabbing and groping at every new bulge, pawing at his edges, gripping… 

… the bottle of sunscreen. Without even realising it, he’d picked up the creamy formula and was holding it in his paws. It looked much smaller than before. As he stared at it, something flashed in his cerulean eyes. 

It smelt good. It felt good. He almost wondered what it tasted like. 

Before he could even consider the consequences - as if his new body had decided for him - Rusty lifted the bottle to his plump lips and chugged it down like a drunk frat boy fellating a keg. With his big wet mouth wrapped around the bottle, its transformative contents sliding down his throat, a smidgen of panic knocked at the door of Rusty’s brain and asked him, in a feeble voice, if he had any idea just what the fuck he was doing. Rusty slammed the door in its face and tore the knob off, crushing it in his gargantuan grip. This was going to fucking rock. 

He sucked the bottle dry - no, sucked the bottle off - groaning deeply, and the moment the white, creamy fluid hit his stomach, a neon-pink wildfire of rapture raged through Rusty’s nervous system like a lustful armageddon. Every neurotic emotion he’d ever felt in his entire life was filed away, replaced by a pyrotechnic explosion of rewired neurones, their microscopic dendrons flexing and growing like biceps, pumping dopamine like a set of weights. It was filling his bloodstream, his balls, his brain. Rusty was ablaze. 

He tore the bottle from his fat lips with a pop and ripped out a belch, his eyes rolling back into his head as he began to uncontrollably moan. Rusty’s entire body convulsed with pleasure, excess sunscreen dripping out of his mouth and down his chin like a satisfied slut after a good blowjob. He fell to his hands and knees, his body jerking in every direction. Rusty felt his back spontaneously arch and his gargantuan bubble butt stick straight up into the air behind him, being forced to gyrate in a please-fuck-me twerk. It was like he’d been possessed and made to act like the worlds biggest golden retriever, begging for a treat. He was drooling saliva, sunscreen and pre-cum onto the floor, his brain flooded with backed-up pleasure and pressure, a leaky faucet that was about to explode.

It went straight to his groin. Rusty involuntarily started bucking his hips as he felt his already sizeable balls tingle like mad, then swell and drop, quickly growing into a pair of huge, pendulous bull nuts. He looked down to find he was now sporting a pair of big fucking man balls, atlantean pearls, and actually felt them begin to churn with new and improved jock seed. The sensation was incredible. It began to drip from the tip of his purebred cock, creamy and concentrated. It was almost too much. Rusty quivered in hot delirium as an overwhelming sensation hit him at both ends, and too much became not enough, as the overgrown beefcake felt his throat widening and his asshole tightening. His balls swung beneath him as his throat stretched bigger and his hole constricted tighter, both ergonomically redesigning themselves to deliver maximum pleasure to beach-boy sized cock. One meaty hand stuck itself around his bulging neck as it thickened and grew, his gag reflex disappearing, while the other desperately groped at his fat, eminently pound-able ass cheeks, the gilded entrance to a tight hole that was getting tighter. 

His bellowing moans grew deeper with each vocalisation of his blossoming hunkhood, roaring in undulating ecstasy, a testosterone-drenched baritone booming out of his once-shrimpy throat. His adams apple swelled with unabashed ambition as the sunscreen coated his throat until his voice was as deep and powerful as the ocean, shaking the garage walls. 

Almost involuntarily, like a new jock-slut instinct hitting his thick skull, Rusty plunged a sex toy sized finger into his ass, gasping as the walls of his hole constricted around it and pulsed with pleasure. A long, deep, drawling groan oozed out of his lips as he realised he’d just coated his insides with the growth-inducing sunscreen, and he felt his finger begin to bulge bigger inside of himself, filling his virgin hole with its increasing size.

Aw, fuck. The impossibly sweet sensation caused Rusty’s tongue, which was coated in sunscreen and tingling like a motherfucker, to shoot out of his mouth like an unfurling party horn - surprise! - and the newborn hunk almost went cross-eyed watching it slap down past his superhero chin, thick and meaty and much longer than he remembered. Shit. He was huge.

Rusty suddenly felt a deep and strong tug at the end of himself, and immediately became aware of the porn star cock throbbing with hot need between his horse-heavy legs. With all his mental processes, Rusty seized it between his oversized hands, roared with lust, and began jerking himself off. He shoved his finger deep inside himself at the same time, quickly sinking into an expert rhythm of jackhammer speed - in and out, up and down - totally unaware through the heavenly stupor that he was now ambidextrous. 

Oceanic pressure flooded his system - his cock felt harder than obsidian as globs of warm magma pre-cum began to bubble and overflow from the tip. His finger was the size of a dick, fucking his prostate better than most dicks ever could. Rusty bellowed deeply as the pressure peaked and his cock couldn’t take it any more, vibrating with pleasure as the damn exploded and an eruption of jizz rocketed out of him. 

Load after load jettisoned out of his demigod, blond cock, covering his dad’s gym with his hot cream. It fired off like the nozzle on a bottle of sunscreen, arching in thick spurts of sex. He painted the room white, the smell of cum and man strong enough to put a beard on a boys face just by inhaling it. 

Rusty lay there, panting. His hands absentmindedly fondled his balls, his voice a low, unfamiliar growl. There was the sound of metal, and then the feeling of sunlight moving over his gargantuan form. He shaded his face with a thick forearm, and looked to see the garage door sliding slowly upwards. The silhouette of a man was being unveiled as it rose, and before it reached the man’s neck, Rusty could tell it was the shape of his father. He was holding a football.

Behind him, the beach sparkled with sun. A warm breeze blew in, and Rusty blew his load all over again.

Taller and stronger

--- Originally posted by unknown before 2018-08-29 ---

Anonymous asked: Can you help me become a much stronger and taller person? I'm really weak with my muscles and I want to be better

Stronger? Taller? Sure I can.

You see, first, we have to change your mentality a bit. Sure, your muscles might not be too strong right now, but we have to be careful with using words that hold such strong negative connotations. Like: "weak"

If you want a stronger, more built body, your mind has to be just as strong.

So I'm going to boost your confidence a bit, plus add in some extra knowledge about how to properly diet and exercise to maintain your new body. Consider it your lucky day as my first customer on the World Wide Web. I can't always be this generous.

Now, I'm going to need you to close your eyes and imagine with me:

Your height is by far the easiest thing to change. Let's shoot you to, hmm, just under 6 feet. Picture your legs stretching oh so slowly. Feel the tissues and fibers of your muscles pulling up and away from the ground.

See? That wasn't too bad. I doubt you felt a thing.

Now, your strength.

I want you to picture your ideal physique. How strong do you want to be? How big do you want to look? Feel the heat beneath your skin as your imagination begins to grow, and, in turn, so do those muscles.

Your arms and legs begin to swell far greater than your wildest dreams. Your chest and shoulders expand outwards, creating an intimidating and admirable silhouette.

Hmm, some callouses on those hands huh? Nice touch. I mean, it makes sense with how jacked you look. You're looking great.

And I'm going to have to stop you there, before you get a little carried away with yourself.

I've never let someone change themselves, so, I gotta learn how far I can push those limits. But, like I said, it's your lucky day as my first online customer.

I hope you enjoy your new bod - I know I definitely do. Take care of it, cause I don't offer any returns or touch-ups without a tremendous cost, and trust me, no one wants to see what that is.

Hi, i was hoping my Touristics trip would take me to Greece?

Well of course we can arrange a journey to Greece, we even have multiple packages to book. Looking at you I think you would it would be good for you to book our Mt. Olympus package. Climb the mountain of gods if you like or drive to the coast, it’s only about 5 minutes by car. But that would be up to you. Oh you would like to climb the mountain first. We can arrange that. 

As you leave my shop, you find yourself on an uncommon street. It isn’t the same you entered the shop through, but you aren’t bothered at all, it feels just right to be here. You wander around and finally a man speaks to you. He is cute, a twink and reveals to have a soft almost feminine voice as he speaks to you: “I have searched for you, you are the tourist the man at Terrence & Ford told me about, aren’t you?” You confirm this and the man leads you down a few roads and then you are able to see your destination, Mt. Olympus.

The little man shows to possess a whole lot of endurance as you climb the mighty peak. Just as he struggles with a particularly high stone you notice his butt, it’s really big from what you see through his pants, and it looks really round and firm. “But wasn’t I supposed to be straight.”, you think as you scratch your head, only the noticing how big your biceps are. You look at them in awe, totally entranced by he twitching of the mighty flexed peaks and the criss-crossing veins running along them. 

Carefully you approach the still struggling mountaineer, grab his ass and help him shove him further up allowing him to climb the rock. Then you reach out and pull yourself up in one fluent motion, earning awestruck gazes from your companion. “Man, it must be nice being this tall.”, he squeaked looking up at your chiseled bearded face.

“Fuck I can’ take it anymore.”, you exclaim in a powerful baritone and pull the man upwards, planting a sensual kiss on his lips, as you rip his pants away, as well as yours. About 10 minutes later you find yourself behind a corner, rapidly jackhammering your new godly cock deep into your companion’s big ass. Another 30 minutes and more than a few loads later you descend down the mountain again.

Though you didn’t reach the peak fully, you still gotta show the mortals on the beach what a true Olympian looks like.

What the Athletic Department Needs

Bringing back Coach Sorenson as requested

Tony Reardon anxiously paced back and forth inside of the coach’s office. It was strangely large and well-decorated, looking similar to something he expected from a therapist. One large loveseat, a coffee table, and a chair with an extra wide cushion were the only items in the room. There were also multiple pictures of championship victories, a few caps and balls hanging as mementos, an array of cabinets, and large windows overlooking the university. He wished literally anyone was here with him. His girlfriend, his advisor, even his mother! But he was completely alone, unprepared to face what he assumed was going to be the coach’s wrath.

As a lead writer for the university’s newspaper, Tony should’ve known better than to expose the article. He’d been in the business for almost four years now through high school and into college, so he could admit it was rather idiotic of him to let his segment leak. He had written an editorial about the recent declines in the university’s academic departments and its odd correlations with the climbing numbers in athletic enrollment. Somehow, while the average grades had been plummeting, the football, soccer, basketball, baseball, and hockey records had been exploding, with a new star player added to each team every week. Not only that, but the swimming team had expanded for the first time in 20 years, and there were now four golf teams instead of two. Somehow, all these events had to be connected with the academic slump, and that’s what Tony’s article was going to explore.

For the next month’s publication, he began researching the link between the fall of academia and the rise of physical activities. The chase had led him through a plethora of unexplained student disappearances, skyrocketing mid-semester registrations, and a barely-quantifiable amount of seemingly illegal activity. The most prominent example had been the creation of some cologne called “Heir,” a seemingly simple concoction invented by the new Assistant Football Coach Mark Richardson. Ever since the beginning of the rises and declines, there had been a huge amount of the chemical shipped to the university almost every day. Tony knew that this cologne had to be the answer he was looking for, but before he had a chance to investigate further, his article had been exposed to the faculty, including the head of the Athletic Department: Coach Sorenson.

And this was why Tony was cowering slightly as he waited for the coach to enter. What would he do to Tony, or with Tony? He had definitely gotten himself in way too deep, but there was no way he could escape now. Tony took a long breath and tried desperately to cool himself down. There was no way the coach would be able to harm him in any way. Tony was only a sophomore, not even 20. He was going to be fine, and he just had to keep telling himself that. He just had to get through this and then he’d be on his way.

Suddenly, the door from behind him opened. Tony quickly stood at full attention, almost as rigid as a soldier.

“Stand down,” Coach Sorenson chuckled. “Please, take a seat.”

Tony followed his instructions, nervously twitching as sat down on the white couch across from the coach’s massive chair. His eyes quivered as the giant of a man strolled past him. Tony assumed the coach had to be almost 6’5 (at least a foot taller than him) and even though he looked to be in his forties, he had to be in better shape than any other man above 25. Bulging biceps and triceps, juicy quads, and thick calves were all exposed as they strained the light blue compression shirt and tight, white mesh shorts. Not only that, but the two massive white Nike sneakers did nothing to hide the giant feet as they stomped their way around the other side of the table. Tony also unhappily noticed a massive cock swinging back and forth between the coach’s legs like a pendulum trying to break out.

As the coach sat down, Tony looked over his own body in dread. He’d dressed a little more professional for the situation as he was talking with the head of the Athletic Department. His plaid button-up was fairly flat, showcasing his lack of anything in his torso region. His khakis gave a similar performance as they loosely held onto his legs. His briefs hid any existence of his dick, which was currently sitting at about 3 inches soft. Barely tapping his small shoes quickly against the tile floor, Tony sunk a little further into the loveseat. His butt barely covered half a cushion as he brought his legs together, hoping to stop the shaking.

“To get right to business,” Coach Sorenson’s deep, melodic voice began. “We both know why you’re here in my office.”

“I’m so sorry!” Tony exclaimed, his tenor voice sounding wimpy and childish. “I had no intention of harming the Athletic Department’s reputation in any way at all. I swear, the article is just an editorial–opinions, not fact.”

“I understand.” Coach Sorenson leaned back into his chair and crossed his meaty arms. He pushed his legs out until they were far apart, the man-spreading showcasing who was in charge in the room. He seemed to be dwelling over a thought in his head.

“I promise, it will never be published if that is what you’d like.” Tony gulped at his own proposal, upset at what he was sacrificing.

“No, no,” Coach Sorenson started. “The article can still be salvaged.”

“Salvaged?” Tony questioned hesitantly.

“Well of course,” Coach Sorenson chuckled again, only this time it was a little more menacing. “But if you want to get this thing published, you’ll want both sides of the story.”

Tony pondered the idea for a moment. “What does that entail?”

“I know you’re a smart boy, Tony.” The emphasis on “boy” made it seem more like an insult. “I’ve seen your transcripts. Quite impressive really.”

“Thank you?” Tony was lost, not finding the point.

“You should know that the greatest editorials present sources from both sides. If you want to publish this article, you’re going to have someone in the Athletic Department. I would be willing to fill that responsibility.”

The two sat there in silence for a moment; Coach Sorenson waiting for Tony to take the bait.

“Alright,” Tony agreed. “Are there certain questions you’d like me to ask?”

“Well, first, I have a strange request for you.” The coach’s tone suddenly shifted from authoritative to friendly. “My son made a comment the other day about my body odor, and I’ve been quite self-conscious about it since.”

“I can’t smell anything,” Tony replied honestly, hoping to move forward quickly.

“I just want to make sure.” Coach Sorenson pushed his muscular body out of the chair, the giant frame once again showcasing its massive form as it ascended upwards. The coach then made his way over to the loveseat, taking a seat right next to the very uncomfortable Tony. Compared to the coach, the sophomore now looked even smaller than before.

“Can you smell me when I’m sitting right next to you?”

Tony, now even more intimidated then he had been the entire time, took a theatrical sniff before sputtering out a meek, “N-n-no.”

“Alright,” Coach Sorenson shifted over, getting close enough that his gigantic arms and legs were rubbing up against the beanstalks Tony called limbs. “How about now?”

“S-s-still n-nothing!” Tony squeaked. The coach smirked and casually raised his arms behind his head, stretching out his compression shirt and allowing tufts of wet armpit hair to spill out. Now Tony began to smell something pungent, repulsive, and… addicting. His eyes began to water from the stench as he gradually lost focus.

“Really?” Coach Sorenson insisted, slowly leaning one of his pits into Tony’s face. “Are you sure I don’t smell?”

With logic disappearing quickly, Tony decided this had to be a test. All he had to do was show his obedience to the coach and he would get to publish the article. Without a doubt in his idea, he confidently moved his nose right into a damp forest, the stench almost hitting him immediately. Although he now knew his answer, Tony didn’t stop sniffing. For some reason, he kept going. He had had three words to describe the flavor of the coach’s body odor before, but now the only one that came to mind was-

“Addicting, isn’t it?” The coach cooed, wrapping an arm around Tony and pushing his head in further. “Mark really made sure to make his cologne captivating, that way you’d have no chance of escaping.”

Tony should’ve been panicking; he should’ve been screaming and trying to escape. But he couldn’t, and not because he was being physically held down. He could slip out in seconds if he wanted too, but that was the problem: he didn’t want too.

“After I discovered your little essay, I had to assure your disappearance would be quick and much more hidden than the other students.”

Tony was too captivated in the tangles of pit hair to hear or understand what was going on.

“Although Heir probably would’ve worked, I decided it would be best to be extra cautious. Mark had informed me a few weeks ago that he had made a new detergent for his uncle, the CEO of TenHaken Industries. Apparently it was a success, as its main purpose was to give the employees a few extra decades.”

Tony, who was still feverishly sniffing, began to feel pulsing tingles race across his limbs. He twitched violently but continued to dedicate his attention to the pits at hand.

“So, in hopes that Tony Reardon would vanish from the university while also becoming an advocate for the Athletic Department,” Coach Sorenson smirked proudly. “I decided to mix Heir with Maturitatem, the aging scent that Mark made for his uncle.”

The coach pulled a small, empty cologne bottle out of his pocket. It had two labels on it: one that had been originally attached and one that had been taped on. Tony wasn’t able to see either, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was smell the coach’s greasy jungles of pit hair.

Lost in bliss, Tony didn’t notice how the tingling from before had now spread to every part of his body. With every passing second, it seemed to be expanding, pushing outwards as if it was begging for release. In its attempts to escape, the energy pulled at Tony’s mass like taffy, stretching out his limbs and torso as they were pulled further apart. Satisfied with how the process had begun, Coach Sorenson had to readjust his arm to make sure the larger Tony could fit under it. Once the stretching had stopped, the lanky boy now stood at 6’4, just under the coach. He now had to crouch a little with his feet planted firmly on the floor so he could keep inhaling the intoxicating scent.

Now that he was of proper height, the tingling began to focus on certain areas of improvement. The first were the arms, which immediately bloated outwards as mass began to develop. Thick, juicy muscles pushed outwards to create firm biceps, triceps, and forearms. Veins snaked their way downwards to process more flow of testosterone and other hormones. Tony’s hands, which were previously delicate enough to make a typewriter silent, ballooned out as extra flesh made each of his fingers into calloused sausages. They were now only meant to throw, grip, and squeeze.

The tingling then moved across the shoulders and into Tony’s torso. Straight, strong shoulder blades popped out as his chest began to inflate with each huff. Two sturdy pecs pushed against his shirt fiercely, causing the buttons to eventually fly off in random directions. After the pectorals had arrived, they were followed by a magnificent eight-pack that was sure to impress crowds. A hard, defined core helped Tony’s stature become more masculine, giving him a stronger alpha presence to compare to the coach’s.

With the torso improved, the tingling split into two. The first colony swam south, spreading across Tony’s extended legs. The twitching began much more as the Coach eagerly watched the khakis strain at the seams before ripping. As they slipped away–along with his briefs–two sets of gloriously crafted trunks were revealed. Beefy quads were taking in their first light just like the sculpted calves below. A pair of succulent buttocks had also appeared below, hoisting Tony up a little further into Coach Sorenson’s armpit. The sheer size of Tony’s legs forced him to subconsciously push them apart to allow room for his below-average pouch. Although Tony wasn’t a true man yet, his newly-permanent manspread said otherwise.

The tingling also made sure to target Tony’s feet, giving off a similar feeling as if they had fallen asleep. The two soles began to slowly pulse outwards, gaining mass and girth with each increasing centimeter. It wasn’t long before Tony’s shoes were simply destroyed, losing their shape as they were torn into multiple pieces. Coach Sorenson watched on proudly as he swiftly pushed the remains of all the destroyed clothing underneath the coffee table. With surprise, he noticed that Tony was still wearing socks. They had once been knee-high, but now rested right at the ankle, just barely managing to cover the Size 16 feet.

The second group of tingles had now moved upwards, quickly bringing along a flurry of changes as it zipped by. Tony’s neck grew outwards to support larger, broadening vocal chords, which now provided a grumbling bass voice similar in timbre to the coach’s. Tony’s head lengthened out to give him a wider, more prominent chin, allowing for a sharper jaw in return. His ears perked out a little more, along with giving him a bigger nose, wider lips, and piercing brown eyes to replace his shimmering blue ones. His hair also tidied itself up, pulling back up and flopping over as it now had a modern, but natural lift to it.

“Yeah, you’re looking real good,” Coach Sorenson murmured, shoving Tony a little deeper into his pit. “Now, let’s see the namesake of Heir…”

The tingling returned to its roaring presence across Tony’s body once more, except this time it felt more like itching. Sprouts of hair follicles began to explode forth from Tony’s skin, blooming all across his legs, chest, and pubes. Hefty tufts swirled around each other on Tony’s forearms and thighs, while dense forests now covered his calves, chest, and the tops of his feet. Tony’s upper arms were pushed out just slightly to make room for the emerging jungles of pit hair, which now filled in a space Tony had no idea existed before. His face also gained a rather gracious smattering of hair, as he now adorned an extended goatee that could grow back in less than 24 hours. A strong odor began to erupt out of Tony’s body too, a masculine funk coming from his pits and feet that demanded authority.

“…and of Maturitatem.”

Coach Sorenson hadn’t exactly known how much of the detergent to add, but he had assumed a few drops was enough when he had mixed it into the cologne. By the looks of it, he had put in the perfect amount, as the effects were rather minor but definitely noticeable. Tightening of muscles all across Tony’s body came first, followed by the tiniest of wrinkles and weathered skin. Tony’s hairline fell noticeably back, and his once full head of hair lost its youthful thickness. His marvelous eight pack thrusted forward into a powerful muscle gut, almost identical to the coach’s. Finally, Tony’s body hair became a little denser and coarser, adding a few more playful curls across his limbs.

“You’re looking much better,” Coach Sorenson commented as he slowly brought Tony out of his armpit. Tony was startled and bewildered, the smell of the coach’s pits still potent in his nose.

“Now, let’s get you changed into, well, something.” The coach quickly maneuvered his lumbering body across the room to a cabinet, opening it to pull out a set of clothes.

“I always have a few spare shirts and shorts,” Coach Sorenson began as he plodded back over to Tony. “And looking at you, I’d say we’re pretty close to the same size now.”

As Tony was still in a daze, the coach had to help him put on the clothes. First, he carefully placed a tight, gray compression shirt over Tony’s chest, struggling a little at the pecs but eventually making it over. Then, he proceeded to shimmy a pair of blue compression shorts up Tony’s bare lower body, not bothering to grab him any sort of underwear. The coach knew he would rather be commando in the end anyway. Coach Sorenson also grabbed a black baseball hat that had been hanging on the wall and placed it on Tony’s head, making sure to twist it. Although Tony now looked to be around 30, he could still rock a backwards cap.

“Alright,” Coach grunted as he collapsed back into the loveseat beside Tony, the two barely fitting now. “There’s just one more thing we have to do.”

“One… more thing?” Tony’s sonorous voice seemed lifeless. His head had just begun to clear up, but at such a tedious rate that even the simplest of thoughts were difficult to comprehend.

“Yes, I’m surprised you didn’t know that this process had two steps.” Coach Sorenson grinned, glistening in the warmth of his own arrogance.

“First, there’s the cologne, which you’ve already experienced.” The coach brought up one of his feet onto the coffee table. Tony nodded in response, still unable to think straight.

“And then,” Coach Sorenson yanked off one of his sneakers. “there’s the sole of the shoe. It’s specially designed to help you mentally process the transformation.”

“Wait… what?”

“Yeah,” the coach replied, nonchalantly shoving the sneaker into Tony’s face. “When I read your article, which wasn’t half bad might I add, I was surprised to find that you had missed a whole component of our project.”

Tony, who had finally started to make it out of the haze, was sucked right back in as he passionately inhaled the coach’s foot funk.

“But, it doesn’t matter anymore.” Coach Sorenson demeaningly patted Tony’s back. “In a few minutes, you’ll barely be able to read an article, let alone write one. You’ll be just what the Athletic Department needs.”

To the coach’s delight, Tony had now grabbed the gargantuan shoe and was holding it to his own nose. His frantic sniffing was quickly replacing his personalities, values, and morals; shifting them out with thoughts crafted for a team player. Years of academic clubs, races, and scholarships fell away into the abyss, only to be replaced with numerous sport outings of various kinds. His saxophone lessons had changed to baseball practices, his writing seminars had switched into working out in the gym, and his tutoring sessions had flipped from him being the tutor into him being the tutored.

An extra ten years were also added onto his mental plate, giving Tony a whole new history. For years after (somehow) graduating from the university with a Sports Education degree, he had worked as a personal trainer at a local gym, climbing the ranks until he had become the assistant manager. That’s when Coach had dropped by to check on him, with his true intent to offer him an assistant coaching position back at the university. Tony had agreed to an interview not only because it would put his degree to good use, but he’d also get to work with Coach again, and under him. Tony suddenly recalled all the late nights he spent with Coach, lots of one-on-one brojobs, handjobs, and of course, offering his hole whenever Coach needed it. And if Tony got to train his own team, he’d have a group of young boys at his sexual disposal. Just thinking about it made his cock spring to life.

Speaking of his cock, all the information that was being replaced had to move somewhere else, with the only available option being Tony’s balls. With all of his former intellect and memories now stored there, the once previously grape-sized testicles had now bloated into two ample tennis balls. In response to the new volume, Tony’s sack began to ferment the material, slowly dissolving it down and reconstructing into pure jock seed. As the new production began, testosterone dispersed throughout Tony’s pouch, affecting his dick instantly. It was already hard at 5 inches, but it hastily expanded forward into his shorts, becoming as thick as a beer can as it now stood at 9.5 inches.

As everything that made up Tony was now accumulated in Tony’s balls, Coach Sorenson knew it was time for the final step. He gently grabbed the man’s giant cock, gave a good, long squeeze, and let go. Tony in turn took a deep, heavy inhale of the coach’s shoe before exhaling slowly, allowing for a giant wet spot to appear on the front of his shorts. The coach then leisurely made his way back to his own chair, taking a seat and getting into position. Now given more space, the new man hiked up both of his legs arrogantly on the coffee table, spreading them as far apart as possible to take up as much space on the loveseat as he could. Although he knew Coach Sorenson would always be superior, he wanted to make it clear that he could be an alpha too.

“Thank you for coming in today, Tony. I’m glad we could get you here on such short notice.”

“Of course, bro,” Tony responded. “I’d do anything for you, Coach.”

“Good to know,” Coach Sorenson winked before continuing. “Because I know you’re not that bright, we can skip past the logistics and get right to the basics.”

“That’s sick! Thanks, Coach.” Tony gave a dull guffaw.

“Now, Tony,” Coach accentuated the name, chewing on it intently. “Tony isn’t a name that demands respect, authority, and masculinity, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Coach.”

“To be a coach, you know how important it is to give the right impression. You need to be an example to these boys, someone they can look up too.”

“Yeah, Coach.”

“I know you want my advice.  I am a good mentor.”

“Yes, Coach, you are a good mentor.”

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as Anthony Renz.” The change inside Anthony’s head was instant

“Yes Coach,” he replied proudly.

“Try it on me.”

“Hello, my name is Anthony Renz.” Any existence of the name Tony Reardon ceased to exist as Anthony Renz came into place.

“Very good, Anthony.” Hearing Coach say it, as though it always had been, made Anthony cum just a little more inside his shorts.

“One other thing,” Coach Sorenson added.

“Yeah bro?”

“Are you missing anything?”

Anthony thought it was an odd question, but he decided to respond to it truthfully.

“I’m missing nothing when I’m with my Coach!”

“Perfect,” Coach Sorenson replied. “Welcome to the team. Before you head out, let’s talk pay.”

Coach Sorenson proudly looked over his new Assistant Baseball Coach, happy that he’d gotten rid of a nuisance and filled a seat on his board. No one would come looking for Tony Reardon, but if they did, Coach Sorenson would know just what to do with them. Maybe Assistant Coach Renz would have some coworkers in the near future.

Identity Death

--- Originally posted on 2024-04-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

As directed by @mrrharper

“Endless war will end our world!” Alan shouted.

“Stop funding our military!”

Alan was amongst the hundreds of protestors at the courthouse fighting against the proposed budgetary reforms. Schools, roads, transportation, parks, environmental protections agencies–they were all on the line. Through the presented bill, thousands of institutions would be shut down as billions of dollars would be rerouted towards a single entity: the military.

“The military corrupts! Stop the brainwashing!” Alan spat. He had organized this event under his alias, a popular political blogger on multiple social media outlets. Although his voice was loud and aggravated, Alan's physical appearance was anything but. He wore a baby blue tee and white-washed skinny jeans. 5’7 with bleached hair. All he needed was a rainbow somewhere to perfect his twink look. But he was not here to make that kind of statement. He was at the protest to make another form, something that could gain traction. Peering across the crowd, Alan saw his chance. 

A few of Alan’s fellow protestors were bombarding one of the towering guards with jeers. They scrutinized him, although it appeared none of their words got through the soldier’s heavy artillery padding. In fact, the solider stood proud in his position, dominantly poised with his chest puffed up in pride. Alan approached the guard slowly, noticing he remained perfectly still as the protestors continued to insult him. Without thinking twice, Alan approached and made his move. 

“How about you show us what they’re really funding, dickhead?”

Alan threw a fist at the soldier, putting all his strength behind the movement. Due to the crowds, the soldier did not recognize the motion until it was too late. Alan’s knuckle dove right into the much taller man’s neck, ricocheting into the muscular, masked chin. Instantly, there was a cheer from the crowd at the successful blow, but it was quickly hushed.

“You pathetic cocksucker,” the soldier growled. In a flurry, the once peaceful statue became a merciless brute, swinging down and dragging Alan out of the crowd. Before he knew it, Alan found himself handcuffed with the soldier escorting him off into the enemy’s territory.

“You can’t do this! This is illegal!” Alan cried out. 

“Shut your whiny mouth.” As soon as they were out of public sight, the soldier slapped Alan hard across the face. The warmth of blood soon filled his cheeks where the bruise began to bloom. Alan made sure not to react, but he could not hide the worry in his voice.

“Where are you taking me?”

“The barracks, you fairy prick.”

The soldier brought Alan to a building not too far from the protest lines. He guided them down numerous hallways, Alan losing track before they even made it halfway there. There were checkpoints, various nods, and some curt conversations with other soldiers, but nobody questioned about Alan or the situation. Eventually, Alan was tossed into a small makeshift bedroom, only holding a cot and a pile of unwashed clothes.

“Get undressed,” the soldier demanded.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Alan was met with another forceful assault, this time a punch to his gut.

“Cause I’m First Sergeant, maggot, which means out of the two of us, I’m in charge.”

Alan scoffed. “Is that your name: ‘First Sergeant’?”

“First Sergeant QF24,” the soldier gruffly shot back.

“That’s not a name either,” Alan replied. 

“Been in service so long I don’t need a civilian name.”

Alan wanted to jump on this, make a point about how this was evidence of the dangers of the military, but First Sergeant continued.

“While my identity is real, I assume the one you were about to give me is not. What do you go by, something like that 'AlanActivist' snot?”

Alan blushed, believing that his pseudonym had been cool and unique.

“It’s about time you considered that maybe it is not the military that enforces this ‘identity death’ you all are so worried about, but your own belief system.”

“You can’t be serious,” Alan snarked, surprised at the soldier’s intelligent argument. First Sergeant was however humorless, once again pointing to the pile of discarded clothes.

“Get dressed, degenerate.”

The soldier placed one of his giant, gloved hands behind the twink’s back and pushed him towards the pile. It appeared to Alan as a giant heap of army green and camouflage. Slowly but hesitantly, he began to strip himself of his clothing, hoping to avoid any further hazing. Once down to his underwear, he silently pleaded that he would not have to drop anything else.

“Soldiers go commando, sissy.”

First Sergeant quickly appeared behind Alan before ripping his underwear clean off, exposing the twink’s bare bottom and small package to the world. Alan quickly covered himself up with one hand before leaning down towards the pile. He grimaced, his fear no longer overriding the powerful musk seeping from the military cloth. First Sergeant chuckled at his disgust from behind.

“Aren’t homos supposed to like that kind of thing?” he asked, before grabbing the back of Alan’s head. “Go on, get a better whiff of it!” Amused, First Sergeant plunged Alan’s head into the musky pile of clothes. Alan’s oxygen supply was cut off, forcing him to inhale the overpowering masculine fumes.

“You idiots never consider that being in the military is hard work. It’s not all fun and guns.” First Sergeant smothered Alan’s head further. “‘Bout time you realize what it’s like, standing on the front line all day, hot and sweaty and random strangers berating you for protecting their country, their freedom.”

The military body odor seeped into Alan’s system, numbing his body and clouding his mind. By the time he was pulled away, the naked twink struggled to form a coherent thought.

“Much better,” First Sergeant noted the lopsided smile on the twink’s face. “Now, fit yourself into some tactical gear.”

Without questioning it, Alan followed the soldier’s command. He did not know every single piece of equipment that went into the common soldier’s uniform, nor did he understand the procedure to follow, but somehow Alan managed to get the attire onto his body.

Combat pants, military-grade socks, gore tex boots. Camouflage button-up, hardshell jacket, belt with holster and magazine pouches. Shooting gloves, army print hat, face mask. It took a minute longer for Alan to place every minor piece of tactical protection onto himself, but finally his smaller frame was completely covered, dwarfed by the oversized gear.

“Looking like a real soldier there,” First Sergeant mocked. “Now let’s actually make you one.”

Already covered in the musky clothing, Alan’s intellectual ability had been dulled considerably. But when First Sergeant approached, clutching Alan’s head once more before shoving it into his wet armpit, his brain completely halted. Coming straight from the source, the soldier’s stench wafted past all Alan’s barriers, taking control immediately. Its first instruction was to keep sniffing, its second was to conform.

With a chuckle, First Sergeant watched as Alan’s body began to expand underneath his hold. The shrimpy twink grew inside of the tactical gear, filling it out properly in every direction. Muscular arms filled the sleeves of the jacket, meaty hands stuffing the crevices of the gloves. The vest became as padded on the back as it was in the front, juicy pectorals and rigid abdominals forcefully pushing against the fabric. 

Thicker thighs padded the pants, bloated feet crowded the massive boots. Two muscular buttocks crammed the seat of Alan’s pants. A lantern jaw and cleft chin became prominent underneath the face mask. Buzz cut hidden by the cap, deeper voice waiting to confirm with “Sir, yes sir!” First Sergeant even noticed the prominent padding his new soldier was developing beneath the belt. When he ultimately removed Alan from his hold, the man before him now stood at the same domineering height.

“Good, now just stand still for one moment.”

Even if he wanted to, Alan could not move. The musk was still lingering in his mind, holding him steady as First Sergeant deposited an obnoxious military headset onto Alan’s head. He then plugged the headset into a walkie-talkie before tuning it to an empty channel. A robotic voice began looping into Alan’s ears, along with a few simple tones to open up the receptive pathways in his brain.

“Ready to get back out there?” First Sergeant asked, knowing his fellow soldier could not hear him. With a smirk, he escorted the dumbfounded subordinate out of the room, pacing slowly as Alan absorbed the propaganda. It was simple phrases, nothing too complicated but through repetition effective on the psyche. “Military good,” “pacifism bad”. “Nationalism good,” “multiculturalism bad.” “Masculinity good,” “progressivism bad.” The messages were rudimentary, but deliberate.

Once they stepped back into the open, fresh air, Alan’s consciousness resurfaced. He tried to fight back against the rampant messaging, doing his best to tune out the audios as the First Sergeant led him back to the front line. Alan was being attacked on all fronts: his morals, his identity, his sexuality. Every time he turned away to defend one trait, it was like he lost another. He felt himself dwindling, chipping away.

Before long, the two stood directly in front of the courthouse, mere feet away from their first encounter. First Sergeant loaded the new soldier up, arming the man with a weapon and other items necessary in case of an emergency.

“Let’s see if you’re done cooking yet.” First Sergeant looked directly into his subordinate’s eyes, pleased with their reflective quality. He then removed the headphones.

“Name and rank, soldier?” he saluted. The other man fell into place, mirroring his actions.

“Private Aaron Steel, MH36 sir!”

First Sergeant smiled. The name change was a good sign of transition, but complete removal would have been preffered.

“Ready for the task, soldier? Will you be loyal and obedient to the greatest nation? Follow every instruction in the name of tradition?”

The soldier nodded his head quickly, “Affirmative, sir.”

“Alright then.” First Sergeant replaced the headphones back onto the private’s head, knowing a little more time would do the trick. “Dismissed. Get back to work, private.”

“Sir yes sir!”

First Sergeant strolled back to his command at the front line. The new private monitored the crowd, absorbing his commands as he scanned for any disturbances.

One Fad Fits All: Cowboy Up

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

"Oh God, take a look at this shit," Cody said to me as he took a pair of black leather boots off the shelf and tossed them at me.

"I know right, who would wear this!" I said back.

Cody and I often went to the mall after school. We were just two good-for-nothings at home, and most of the time the skate park was overrun by much more hardcore punks then us. So we'd head over to the mall and talk shit with each other. Today, we walked into a store that sold a variety of men's clothing. We were wearing your basic high school freshman dark hoodies, loose-fit jeans, and skater shoes. Cody brushed hair away from his eyes because his bangs always got in the way. He picked up a big shiny belt buckle and held it in front of his crotch. I laughed out loud.

"This shit is so gay," he said. "I know, right?" I answered.

"Can I help you find anything?" said a young girl's voice. It startled us both.

"Nah, just screwin' around," I answered.

"All right," she said. "How about you try these on instead?" She handed me and Cody each a pair of blue jeans.

"No, we better go," I said.

"C'mon dude! It'll be funny," whispered Cody. I followed him and the girl back to the dressing rooms. We glanced at each other and Cody grabbed his crotch, suggesting something dirty about the girl helping us. I smiled back, trying not to laugh.

"Here you go," she said, pointing towards two adjacent rooms. When she left, Cody and I both busted out laughing.

"Dude, you have to try it on. I gotta see this," he said. "No, man. This is stupid," I said as I took off my shoes and dropped my pants. I pulled the bright blue denim over my skinny high-school legs. They were clearly too big for me. I look around the room and saw that the girl had left a big leather belt, so I used it to hold my jeans up.

"Oh, shit," I heard from the stall next to me. Suddenly, the room started to feel really warm and I could feel myself starting to sweat.

"You boys almost ready," I heard the girl say on the other side of the door.

"Yes, ma'am," Cody said in a polite Texas drawl -- but I only assumed he was joking. "Well, that's good," here I brought these for you. She slid a pair of leather boots under the door. I picked one of them up. It smelled like fresh hay and cow shit, like they had been worn for years. I reached to put them on but noticed that my jeans were no longer loose. Instead, they felt tightly fitted. I slipped into the boots and stood up. I felt inches taller but was still sweating like a pig.

"Hey, Cody, you all right over there? Sort of hot, ain't it?" I opened the door of the stall and saw Cody standing by the three-way mirror, but he looked completely different. He was a rugged six-foot-tall cowboy. His jeans were faded and worn. He put his hands in his pockets and I noticed how the belt buckle accentuated his bulging crotch. He had taken off his shirt and I could see smooth lean muscles on his upper body glistening with sweat.

"Howdy, stranger," he said when he noticed me. "Oh, shut up, Cody," I said. "What's going on. This isn't funny anymore." He walked over to me and pulled up my t-shirt. "You've changed too," he said. "What?" I pulled off my shirt and stepped in front of the mirror. Just like Cody, my skinny teenage body had matured. My pale flabby arms were tan and taught with muscles. My pecs flexed a little as I moved and my abs were rock-hard. My upper body was shaved smooth, but the skin was tan, tough and leathery, like I had worked outside bareback for months.

"Where's your buckle," Cody said. He knelt down and fastened the big silver buckle he had found in the store earlier. I could feel my cock stir and press against my jeans.

"You guys look great!" We both looked up and saw the girl walk in with two cowboy hats -- one black and one white. She walked over and put the white one on my head and the black one on Cody. We said nothing, but as she walked away, I tipped my hat, winked, and said, "Thank you, ma'am" in the same droll voice as Cody used earlier.

I turned to look at myself in the mirror again, amazed at this transformation, but then saw Cody walk up behind me and nibble my ear playfully.

"What was that for?" I asked in protest. But when I looked into his steely blue eyes and saw his five-o-clock shadow and his rugged body, I moved in for a kiss. Within seconds, we were up against the mirror, making out with an infinite series of reflections of ourselves. Our sweaty shirtless bodies pressed against each other. Everything that we were before that kiss was wiped from our memory and when we walked out of the mall later, I could resist putting my hand on Cody's ass as he held a shopping bag full of worn denim, chaps, flannel, chewing tobacco, jean jackets, and leather boots.

Booty Text

--- Originally posted on 2019-03-11 by dumb-and-jocked ---

Text Message Sent 10:36 PM

David: Hey! Sorry to text you so late, but thanks for the present!

Matt: No probs bro. It’s for helping me study math

David: Well, if you ever need help in the future I’ll be there

Matt: ya can help me rite now by trying it on and send pics

David: ?

Matt: trust me bro, I got you the best cologne out there, and the socks have scented soles

David: uh ok?

Text Message Sent 10:39 PM

David: the socks are definitely to big, but they look nice

Matt: they’re the perfect size, you’ll see, how bout cologne?

David: dude, you didn’t tell me how powerful it was

Matt: but ya love it rite bro?

David: yeah but it’s a little hard to concentrate

Matt: spray som more and smell, it helps

David: ok, one sec

Text Message Sent 10:41 PM

David: woah dude, u were right

Matt: ikr bro, u always should listen to me

David: I think I’m seein things, my body’s looking big

Matt: it’s not lookin big bro, I bet it’s swole

David: yeah, swole, ur right

Matt: yup bro, smell the socks and txt back

Text Message Sent 10:44 PM

David: bro, I’ve been smelling the air and socks and I think I’m losing it

Matt: wdym

David: my whole bodies expanded, it looks I went through puberty again

Matt: what?

David: I took of all my clothes except my compression shorts and like my body’s all buff now and my hands look like mitts and bro my abs are poppin

Matt: what else?

David: I got these huge pecs and super defined calves, I also have hair sprouting out everywhere

Matt: is that all?

David: almost, it seems like my feet have expanded too, once I’m done smelling all out my socks back on and see

Matt: listen to me david, just like usual

David: of course

Matt: spray more cologne and keep smelling the socks, check back in bro

David: sure thing bro

Text Message Sent 10:49 PM

David: hey bro

Matt: how you feelin?

David: foggier than before, and other things have changed

Matt: like?

David: my hair and head get longer and now I got this sick beard and my Adam’s apple grew so big and now I got this deep voice

Matt: and?

David: bro, I have hair and huge musk everywhere like my abs and legs are super hairy and my pits are forests that are so RANK I can barely smell the cologne don’t me get started on the pubes

Matt: what about the pubes?

David: the more I smell my pits with the cologne, the hairier my crotch gets, and my dick and balls are both expanding

Matt: how much?

David: bro, my pouch is huge

Matt: nice

David: oh my butt just got bigger too it’s like 2 bubbles

Matt: perfect

David: you gay or something bro?

Matt: you’ll soon be

David: ?

Matt: just keep sniffing bro, especially the socks, check back in once ur redy

David: bro I think ur crazy?

Matt: everything I say is right, isn’t it David?

David: oh, uh yeah

Matt: then just sniff

David: ok bro

Text Message Sent 10:55 PM

David: bro

Matt: yeah?

David: I just remembered how hot it was

Matt: you blasted that jock cock to the thought of ur self, didn’t you?

David: yeah, cum all over the walls

Matt: well, that big dick does blast testosterone, how long is it again?

David: bro, how did you forget it’s 8 inches

Matt: I don’t know, can I ask ya something

David: always bro, and if you wanna bang it’s always yes

Matt: yeah, but different question, are you missing anything?

David: one sec bro...

David: nah, im missing nothing when im with my bro

Matt: that’s correct! babe send me a pic of ur self I wanna see what my present looks like

David: of course bro

David: now u know why I nutted

Matt: of course ya meathead

David: the cologne smells great and the socks fit perfectly, howd you know?

Matt: ive been to town on those feet, they’re my best bros, so when I found a pair of size 14 socks I knew they were a steal

David: well thx again

Matt: of course bro

David: so you coming over to beat my meathead?

Matt: yeah of course, i wanna eat those cheeks too, i like you as my booty call

David: wouldn’t this be a booty text?

Matt: wow, I thot I was the smarter one

David: yeah you are, I haven’t passed remedial math for two year now

Matt: I was just joking dummy, I gotta call mark and then I’ll be there

David: oh and after we swallow loads help me with math, I hate that crap bro

Matt: of course bro of course

Totally Normal

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-08 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Welcome back to Totally Normal, the online show where we narrow down the one thing that makes us all meet that standard!”

The host then hit a button on his laptop, releasing an audio for an uproarious round of applause. With his entire audience streaming in live, he had to make due with tracks. He didn’t mind it though; he could always predict what his viewers were thinking. It was like they shared the same mind.

“My name’s DJ, and before you ask, yes I have a side gig in music.” A laugh track obnoxiously inserted itself. “I don’t dabble in the typical jazz; I remix these men back to the tunes they oughta be singing.”

Another fake round of applause. The host smirked before continuing forward with the rules.

“The point of the game is simple: Figure out that one thing that makes someone totally normal. Through a series of questions, I’m going to chisel away at our contestants until we get to the base. For every wrong answer, a vibration will be sent out to their device until they head back on the right track. We want to find out that one thing that solidifies them as an average joe, but we don't exactly know what that thing is."

The host then took a scripted pause. "Well, *I *know what that thing is.”

Another laugh track entered before the host silenced his imaginary audience. “So, let’s get down to it. We have our men here, but ARE THEY NORMAL?”

The last three words were all enunciated with the typical gameshow pazazz. The host even had an accompanying audio that made it seem like there was an audience chanting it with him.

On cue, the livestream booted up a panel of the three contestants. The first was a shy young man, who by his age looked to be in college but by his height possibly younger. The second was the typical corporate homosexual, the breed who was already happily married and wore tight, designer clothing. And last but not least, the third looked just a little older than the first with an office that displayed the inner workings of a minor start-up.

“Help me welcome our first contestant, coming from the cool waves of Cali, here comes Cody!”

Corey opened his mouth to kindly correct the host, but was immediately silenced by the massive track of applause. A small and nervous 20-year-old, Corey was an academically-fine student at a state school. He worked as an IT intern, helping others work through their issues in a manner where he didn’t have to fully engage. Yet he knew he would probably have to work through this introvert problem if he ever truly wanted to make a loyal boyfriend from the crop of surfers across the street.

“Up next is our cowboy-tootin’, bullet-firin’ family man, Norman!”

Nolan made a face of disgust, but he too didn’t stand a chance against the fake cheers. He’d settled down with his husband just about 10 years ago in the suburbs. Working for a Fortune 500 company, he had everything a man of his caliber could want. Great company, great style, great pets instead of real children. Nolan loved his little metropolitan life.

“And finally, the privileged heir to the corporate throne, it’s Asher!”

Aaron rolled his eyes as the artificial eruption burst through his speakers. He assumed that this narcissistic jock host had gotten all of the contestants names wrong. Aaron had built his own business up from the ground, an independent hard-worker with no one tying him down. It wasn’t that Aaron didn’t want a boyfriend, he just needed to focus on himself. That’s why he was keeping it casual, hooking up with boys a little younger and less responsible. He absentmindedly pawed at his crotch a little as the douchebag DJ started the game.

“Now,” the host cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Let’s start off with some easy questions, just to make sure those devices are working after all. Cody, you’re looking comfortable out on that beach!”

Corey looked around the library he was sitting in confusedly, neither comfortable nor on a beach.

“I think you’re mistaking me for the surfers across the street,” Corey tried to joke, but his feeble demeanor spoiled the comeback.

“Men…you all ought to be where all the other guys of your kind are at.”

All three of them put on bewildered faces.

“Cody, what’s holding you back from embracing that Cali life?” the host asked.

“I…I mean there’s the obvious fact that they aren’t keen on ga-”

BZZT

“Ah!” Corey ripped his hand away, the "vibration" more of a literal sting.

“Cody, what’s holding you back?” the host asked again.

“Dude,” Corey uncharacteristically responded. “I don’t know if they will accept me, man.”

“Bro, what’s there NOT to accept?” the host chuckled. “You fit right in!”

Corey looked over his short frame, his pale skin, his shrimpy figure. He appeared better fit for the library than the bea-

BZZT

“You’re right DJ! I'm a gnarly guy like them brahs! They’ll totally accept me!”

Corey looked over his tall frame, his tanned skin, his toned figure. He appeared better fit for the beach than the library–that’s why he was on the beach after all!

“Alright alright,” the host nodded with approval. “Now Norman, let’s talk about your life in the countryside.”

‪‘Country side’?” Nolan interjected. “Do you consider Houston-”

BZZT

Nolan flung his hand back, “HOWARDWICK the countryside? You bet! Population 402, the two being me and my husband.”

“And what massive land you got behind you, I’m assuming you and your male fling built that together.”

“My what?” Nolan peered behind him, noticing his garden he’d built with his hus-

BZZT

-the ranch he’d built with his hustle. Well, not technically–this land had been managed through the traditional good ole ways of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. He’d just been fixing it up here and there.

Nolan stretched his thickening fingers, hoping to desensitize them from the pain. “W…What in tarnation is goin' on ‘ere?”

The host continued on, mocking the Southern accent he’d implanted onto the second contestant. “A place fittin' for a cowpoke like y’all’s self! Ain’t no city folk allowed; you don’t want nothin’ queer intrudin' your property, right?”

Queer?!” Nolan spat back. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’-“

BZZT

“Darn tootin’ straight! Ain’t nothin’ strange gonna be happenin’ on this ‘ere land.”

With the second contestant’s location rightfully reoriented, the host moved onto the third.

“And onto our Ivy League, let’s discuss ascension…I mean, ‘climbing the corporate ladder’.”

Aaron shot the host a dirty look through the screen. “You don’t think I worked hard to earn this position?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t do it all yourself.”

Aaron held his breath. He was a decently attractive man with his slim figure and responsible will, and even his anger made him appear wiser than his years. But Aaron's best feature was his independence, and he wasn’t going to let anyone taint his name over that.

“What, do you think my current boyfri-”

BZZT

“-my dating his-”

BZZT

“-my friends with benefits were involved?”

Aaron’s fingers tingled with energy. His body tingled with fury.

“Well,” the host snickered. “If by benefits, you mean…”

“What’s all this!” Aaron flipped. “This is simply…p…preposterous!”

“What are you talking about?” the host egged on. “It's simply normal for a man with your caliber to have such an ‘inheritance’.”

The other two contestants watched on with intrigue.

“I…I may have a b…benefactor,” Aaron suddenly revealed, as if something had just been placed upon his chest. But he was still independent, right? “But that has nothing to do with it!”

“Benefactor? Do you mean your DADDY?”

The fake audience suddenly burst into a chorus of shocked “Ooooohhhh”s. Aaron’s usual calm nature was flatlining, being replaced by a more quickly-agitated behavior.

“We may be really closely acquainted!” Aaron backpedaled. “But it’s nothing of that kind of sort!”

The other two contestants smirked as the growingly-pompous bastard was taken down a peg.

“Sounds pretty queer to me, man,” Corey interjected confidently, scratching at his defining abs.

“Yeah, Ah reckon that fellas a little less normal than us folks,” Nolan added, adjusting the large hat that had secured itself upon his head.

“SHUT UP SWINE!” Aaron spat, his face gaining back a little of his baby fat as he absorbed more child-like aggression. “I'm perfectly normal!”

The two men laughed alongside an obnoxious laughter track.

“He’s right folks, we men are on the right side of history.” The host knew he needed to move on, the show only had so much time of course, but he was having fun. “Surely that father-figure is just some kind of…relative?”

“Just a relative, brah?” Corey asked as his trim cut bloomed out into luscious blond waves.

“Seems closer than that, partner.” Nolan quipped as a graying stubble crawled upon his widening jaw.

“A….A relative?” Aaron stammered, a higher youthful pitch lightening his tenor as this benefactor became clearer in his head. “He’s…he’s someone who I f-“

BZZT

“Father! He’s my father: Asher Osvald the Third!” Aaron screamed, his blond locks gelling up into a refined style that didn’t match his own personality. “And you all better remember it when you see our company in the headlines!”

Both Corey and Nolan took their respectful back-offs, but the host could only smirk with pride. After a moment of self-congratulation, he noticed some slight hesitation from the first candidate.

“Dude…” Corey started. “Can’t you just see he’s messin’ with us, man? Don’t you guys feel kinda strange-“

“Aren’t you supposed to chill, dude?” The host immediately cut him off.

Corey’s mouth went flat, his chin taking the opportunity to curve out a little further. “How can I chill with-“

BZZT

“Without the support from my brosettes across the screen, duuuuude!”

The host watched on with glee as the female portion of the livestream burst into a flurry. Lots of hearts and kisses and even some eggplant emojis were flooding the chat. And the comments were getting suggestive too. One chick wanted to know why he was wearing a dorky button-up, and she was soon exposed to his lean bod and treasure trail. Another suggested he should flex for the camera, and Corey was happy to oblige, each of his muscles pumping larger as he did so.

“Now, Cody,” the host coyly asked. “I’m sure the fans would like to know what you do for work.”

“I uh…I work with coding.”

“You are studying IT?” the host replied, incredulous. “Sounds complicated man.”

Corey beamed at the compliment, an excited fever entering his voice. “Yeah, but I sort of have a gift for-“

BZZT

“IT...like as in ‘it’ man...not ‘eye-tee’ or whatever.”

“But it has something to do with a code, right?”

“Well…yeah man…” Corey’s lifeless vocal fry responded. “But it's not that nerdy crap…something more…uhhh…”

The host graciously provided the answer, “Manly?”

“Yeah man….’it’ is the uh…bro-code brah.” Corey fiddled with the cross necklace that had materialized around his neck, trying to structure his thoughts. Corey felt like his head was spinning in a light vertigo, but not out of stress. Rather, a pleasurable confusion. Cali dudes don’t think that much right? They just go with the flow, so why shouldn’t he man? Wasn’t that what was normal?

While Corey processed his internal dilemma, the host reconnected with the second contestant, noticing he too was becoming a little self-aware.

“Hey Norman, you’re really rocking that fit.”

Nolan was honestly surprised at the comment. He knew he looked good in his tight, patterned three-piece, but he didn’t think the ultra-straight host would notice that too.

“Those shoes must be great for the ranch.”

Nolan laughed. “These ole’ things? They’re Prada from last season-“

BZZT

“Uhh…Ah mean these boots are from that one brand-”

BZZT

“Ah’ve had these kickers for years, fella!”

The host observed quietly as the rest of the second contestant’s clothes altered. The suit jacket and vest disappeared completely. The pants grew out into a straight pair of jeans that had been worn continuously for many seasons. The shirt rolled it sleeves and loosened some buttons, darkening to a dusty black that was meant for hauling hay rather than implying gay. But as the outfit masculinized, there was one item that stubbornly fought back, unlike the man who wore it.

“And that belt, how long have you had that?”

Nolan evaluated the expensive snake leather. “Oh yeah, this ‘ere was a gift-“

BZZT

“What in TARNATION was that for?!” Nolan yelled, the vibration noticeably more painful than the previous blasts. The material of his belt quickly grew cheaper, a massive longhorn buckle blooming forth above his blooming pouch.

“S…Sorry y’all,” Nolan collected himself. “Ah don’t know what’s gotten ovah me, or why Ah’m speakin’ so-“

“Enough apologies,” the host gagged. “You are a man, are you not?”

“Yessiree, but that doesn’t mean we men ain’t got to be sens-”

BZZT

“Ah reckon yer right there, partner!” Nolan puffed out his chest, carrying his emerging muscle gut with him. “We men oughta be tough! The MAN of the household.”

The host snickered, his eyes meandering around the second contestant’s body as additional muscle and bulk was piled onto his frame. “And men like you ought to have a body like that, don’t they?”

The cowboy huffed, his torso heavy with Southern pride. Nolan had worked his muscular frame up over all these long years, from sunrise to sundown. At 6’4, his big hearty body was always devouring meat to stretch out everything from his big strong biceps to his huge Size 15 clompers!

With the first and second contestants almost there, it was time for the host to catch his third man up to speed. He had already advanced mighty far, his skin having cleared up a bit and a few arrogant gold trophies having appeared in the office background, but the host had some additional notches yet to secure before the final round.

“Now Asher, let’s get real here.” The host put on his classic douchebag smile for the audience. “Any ladies tickling that fancy lately?”

“What?” Aaron scoffed. “Are you dense? I'm into g-”

BZZT

“Girls…no…wait what?” Aaron felt strange. Why did the host ask if he liked…girls? And why was the thought of girls suddenly something he…liked?

“Listen ere’, partner,” Nolan suddenly interjected. “Yer talkin’ 'bout women like they’re nothin’!”

The host, displeased, fought back. “Aren’t you married to one, partner?”

Nolan couldn’t believe the disrespect. “Me? Married to a woman? Yeah right-”

BZZT

“-Ah am! Ah’ve been married to my lovely wife for darn straight twenty years! Ain’t nothing QUEER happenin' on this ‘ere normal ranch. I got youngins to raise after all!”

As Nolan became bombarded by memories of his new flock of children, the satisfied host switched back to his third contestant.

“Look, I think we should respect women.” Aaron tried his best to sound mature, now finding it extremely difficult to maintain. “In fact, I think we should respect all others appropriately-“

BZZT

“And by appropriately, I am referring to overlooking these swines of colleagues who cannot afford a top notch education adjacent to my own.”

The host queued up a laugh track for his next one-liner. “They weren’t kidding when they said someone with your prestige had everything handed down to you, including bad manners.”

Aaron felt his anger rising once again, it easily filling his shortening body as he squared out to an average 5’9.

“Well excuseeee me! I am my own person with-“

BZZT

“My father is a reputable man who would wish to-”

BZZT

“DADDY!”

Aaron stomped his foot, bewildered at this idiocracy. Why was he continuously interrupted? Why was he not given the required recognition? He was captain of the country club’s golf team, rowing team, youth league, and the youngest member on the executive board for Christ’s sake! He studied at an Ivy League! He was everything!

As Aaron tried to understand why none of these other men appreciated the absolute honors of his merit–which he refused to ever admit weren’t even his own–a small alarm went off from the host’s computer.

“Like what was that, mannnn?” Corey’s face furrowed into an all-too-natural look of dumbfoundment.

“Yeah,” Nolan reared. “What's y'all gonna do next?”

“I demand to know it this instant!” The host was surprised at the third contestant jumping in, but he assumed it was just his way of trying to maintain his (nonexisting) position on top. “Or else I’ll tell my father about this-!”

An insane uproar of artificial laughter echoed throughout their ears, startling and silencing them.

“Alright folks, you know what that sound means!” the host grinned. “It’s almost time to wrap up our show, and because our contestants still haven’t figured out what makes them 'Totally Normal', we’re going to have to speed things up!”

“But can’t there only be one winner?” Aaron whined.

“Technically, no,” the host responded honestly. “All of you can be winners if you find out what makes you totally normal.”

For the first time since the game had started, all three of the contestants fell silent.

“I mean, let’s look at our surfer stud Cody,” the host started. “You are almost there, but you gotta loosen that one thing that’s still pent-up, man.”

“Brah…” Corey complained. “What else is there?”

As if by some subconscious command from the host, Corey began dumbly palming himself, a light drool dripping from the edge of his lips. The constant cycle of tits and feminine bits in his mind bombarding all over thoughts.

“A totally gnarly surfer focuses on working out, banging chicks, and chillin’ dude.”

Corey guffawed with a stupid relaxed expression, casually groping as the host moved on.

“And Norman, you’ve worked hard for your position in life, haven’t you?”

The Texan father nodded in cold agreement.

“So what would pride a totally traditional cowboy more than his ranch, his woman, and his legacy?”

Nolan groaned as he instantly unbuckled the massive lock hiding his mighty steed. Huffing loudly, the Southern Baptist’s lil’ pony was wrangled into a full-fledged stallion, the kind that was built to produce offspring. And the kind that got worked up over anything that could threaten the generational uniformity his family, religion, and nation he swore to protect.

“And you, Asher,” the host swiped over to the final contestant. “What’s stopping you from becoming the total Harvard bastard?”

Asher’s face went red and his cock went hard.

“I’m talking complete corruption, pure privilege, Daddy’s little-”

The host was suddenly cut off by a loud holler, the exclaim like the crashing waves of the ocean. Immediately, the comment section blew up as the host, players, and audience watched the surfer jock release a blast of his sea salt spray.

But before the host could congratulate the first winner, the southern father turned around the corner. With one hand whipping his meat and the other held tightly onto his hat, it was only mere moments until the inevitable:

“YEEHAW!”

Once again, the audience burst into merriment over the propagating blast. It was then that Aaron’s anger truly took the best of him. He couldn’t be beaten by two no-names! He was the top of his class, an heir to a Fortune 500 company, and a totally normal man for Christ’s sake! Gripping his pecker and shining it furiously, Aaron accepted his heterosexual rage and vowed that he would win and please his…please his…!

“F…FAAAAATHERR!”

A loud, pretentious yell echoed out of the Harvard student, an endless splurge of funds dumping out of his mighty account. It was just one of the many things his heritage’s estate had granted him.

The host didn’t try to hide his devious sneer as the viewers erupted once more. He’d loved his job because everyone won every time. And now, seeing all the new stereotypical straights he’d created, the host couldn’t help but feel his own massive sausage chub. But he laughed the feeling off, knowing beating off over these other men wouldn’t have been “totally normal.”

“And it looks like with just a minute left on the clock, all three of our contestants will be going home as winners today!” The host then added his artificial rounds of applause. “So, did you three ever figure out what makes you ‘Totally Normal’?”

“Isn’t it obvious, brah?” Cody replied, the typical airhead more sure of himself now than when he had dropped out of high school. “It’s that we’re straight, mannnn…”

“He’s right, partner!” Norman added, his fatherly conviction always strong and steady. “Ain’t none of us are them faggots. If Ah do say so myself, we are all what the mighty Lord named men.”

“Well, if that is what common plebians such as yourself are called, then you shall address me as ‘I-V’,” Asher Osvald IV’s voice was doused in entitlement and a lack of understanding for anyone but himself. A pair of offscreen hands adjusted his tie just to prove his privilege. “After all, I do attend Harvard. I guess you could say I was destined for greatness since birth.”

“Yes, Asher, everyone here knows you are a prick.” The host immediately followed up his quip with a laugh track. “But that’s all we have for today’s show. Signing off, this is Host DJ!”

“Hang ten and surfs up, dudes!”

“The biggest rodeo’s the family and kids y’all!”

“I’m probably way richer than you vagrants, so don’t bother.”

“And don’t forget to ask yourself,” the host winked before adding in the final audio. “ARE YOU NORMAL?”