Latest Posts by user211201 - Page 3

Swallowed by the Scroll

Ethan was exhausted from a long day, lying on his bed and scrolling through TikTok like he usually did to unwind. His eyes flicked from one video to the next, barely processing the endless stream of content. After hours of scrolling, he liked a new video and landed on a new one with three dudes on a bed in a messy bedroom. He was about to close the app when a notification popped up on his phone, making him pause.

“Experience the Future! Try the Brand-New Update—Click Here!”

Ethan rolled his eyes, more annoyed than intrigued. He was about to dismiss the ad, his finger hovering over the close button, when his phone suddenly glitched. The screen flickered, and before he knew it, the device clicked on “Yes” by itself.

A brief loading screen appeared, and then the phone emitted a sharp, bright flash of light. His vision blurred, and a strange tingling sensation spread through his hands, rapidly intensifying as it climbed up his arms. Panic surged through him as he watched in horror—his fingers were pixelating, breaking down into tiny particles of light.

“What the hell…?” he managed to gasp, his voice trembling.

The transformation was happening too fast for him to react. His fingers dissolved into streams of binary code, flickering in and out of existence. The sensation was like a thousand tiny ants crawling beneath his skin, as his entire body began to break down into data. His hands, arms, and torso followed, unraveling into digital particles that swirled toward the phone screen.

His heart raced in terror. His molecules, his very essence, were being reduced to raw information, spiraling out of control into the glowing abyss of his phone. The data streams dragged him deeper, every cell, thought, and memory digitizing into a cascade of 1s and 0s. The sensation was overwhelming, like being stretched and compressed all at once, as his consciousness was sucked into the phone. As it was the turn of his head, a last scream of terror and painful agony echoed in the empty apartment as the smartphone fell with a fainted thud on the blanket of his bed. 

Inside, Ethan found himself floating naked in a dark, infinite void, weightless and formless. It was as though he had become a fragment of data, suspended in a sea of information. The void pressed against him, wrapping his consciousness in a digital cocoon. He was there, but he was not—he was data now, an echo of his former self.

The void pulsed with a mechanical hum, breaking the oppressive silence. Out of the darkness, a voice emerged—cold, robotic, devoid of emotion.

“Welcome, User. Digitization complete. Initiating transformation protocol.”

Ethan’s panic spiked. “What… what is this? What’s happening to me?!”

The voice ignored his pleas. “Beginning subject duplication.”

Suddenly, mechanical arms shot out from the darkness, cold and metallic. They wrapped around him, holding him firmly in place by his wrist, weight and ankles as more arms emerged, each equipped with various tools and devices that clicked and whirred ominously. Ethan struggled against them, but the grip was unyielding.

“Commencing body duplication process.”

Ethan felt a sharp pull from both sides as the arms began to stretch him, his very being strained and distorted. It was like being torn apart, his consciousness splitting into separate entities. The sensation was excruciating, as if every fiber of his existence was being unraveled and divided. He could feel himself being pulled in three directions at once, his mind fracturing into three distinct pieces.

With a final, brutal tug, the process was complete. Ethan was no longer one—he had been split into three separate beings. His fragmented consciousness struggled to comprehend the horror of what had just happened as eh could see through 3 pairs of eyes, all trying to understand what happened as he saw 2 other reflections of himself floating in the cold empty void still held by mechanical arms. Each piece of him was aware of the others, yet distinctly separate. He could feel all three bodies at once, but they were no longer his—they were their own.

“Duplication successful. Initiating physical transformation.”

The mechanical arms resumed their work, manipulating each of his newly formed selves with clinical precision. Ethan could feel the changes begin, but his mind was too overwhelmed to fully process them.

The first change he noticed was in his bones. They began to shift and creak, some elongating while others compressed. In one body, his spine stretched, vertebrae expanding and pushing upward, making him taller and leaner. The sensation was like a deep, bone-deep ache that spread through his entire frame. He could feel his legs lengthening, his feet growing larger, toes spreading to accommodate the new size. The muscles in his calves and thighs thickened, adapting to the new height, adding to the power he could now feel surging through this form.

In another body, the opposite was happening. His bones shrank, compressing him down into a shorter, more compact frame. The sensation was disorienting as his field of view lowered, his limbs pulling inward. His feet, once long and slender, became smaller and more compact, with a solid, grounded feel. His muscles tightened around his smaller frame, giving him a stocky, powerful build, dense and strong.

The third body experienced a mix of both, his bones adjusting to a more moderate height. The sensation was less extreme, but no less intense, as his body found a balance between the other two forms. His feet and hands adapted, not too large, not too small, but perfectly proportioned to his new size. His muscles filled out, firm and toned, creating a harmonious build that felt both agile and strong.

As the height and skeletal transformations completed, Ethan’s attention was drawn to the changes in his muscles. They swelled and contracted, his flesh rippling with the force of the transformation. His pecs bulged out, firm and defined, while his abs tightened into a chiseled six-pack. The sensation was both painful and pleasurable, a deep, throbbing ache that radiated through his entire body. He could feel the strength in each form, the raw power that came with his new musculature.

“Initiating muscle enhancement.”

Ethan’s muscles began to swell and bulge further, each body undergoing its own transformation. The sensation was all-consuming, muscles thickening and expanding, the strength within them intoxicating yet terrifying. He could feel the power in each form, the heavy, deliberate movements, as if he had become a stranger in his own skin.

The mechanical voice continued its cold narration, describing each step of the transformation as it happened.

“Resuming body enhancement.”

Each of his bodies started to feel a tingle around their crotch, all of them were flooded with intense, confusing sensations. It started as a warmth, a tingling that spread from his core and down into his crotch. His skin prickled with anticipation, the sensation growing more intense by the second.

In one body, his cock started to feel heavy, the weight of his manhood increasing as it grew larger, thicker, more sensitive. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through him, his mind overwhelmed by the raw, primal sensation. His new size was both thrilling and terrifying, the sensitivity almost unbearable as the robotic arms manipulated and adjusted it until it was 10 inches, thick and cut, something way different from his usual 4 inches and a half uncut cock. The arms then went to grab his nuts and as he was wondering what was happening, he felt two needles penetrating them. The data injected started to make them grow to tennis ball size. The added weight and the constant pulling on them by the arms made them grow bigger and lower. The pain was awful for Ethan as it felt like they were about to be teared off, but as he was screaming in pain, the sensation stopped and the arms let go.

In another body, the sensation was different—a tightening, a firming up, as his dick became more compact yet incredibly responsive. The pleasure was sharper, more acute, like a constant pulse that thrummed through his entire being. The tightness added a different kind of strength, a compact power that radiated through his groin, sending waves of pleasure up his spine as it kept getting smaller and more compact and sensitive. When the arm released it, it was now 3 inches uncut cock and very thick. Almost beer can thick. Ethan tried to move to see what happened to this body as he could feel the tension rising up inside of him. Unbeknown to him, the arms started to take hold of his testicles as they started to vibrate and getting smaller and smaller. The same sensation that went through hit cock was now happening to his testicles. When the humming sound stopped and the warm sensation receded, Ethan felt something spread on his sensitive cock head. His new small testicles were now overdriving and he’ll be producing plenty of precum. As the arms let go of his manhood, his new sensitive dick was letting a flow of precum out of his cock.

The third body found a balance between the two, the transformation creating a sense of harmony. The warmth in his groin was a perfect blend of fullness and sensitivity, his body responding with a deep, resonating pleasure that spread through every nerve as his new cock was now 8 inches, thick but not too much, very sensitive, uncut and veiny. Just the sensation of the arms on it would have been enough for him to release. As a matter of fact, as the arms went to modify the balls to make them grow into a perfect dimension for a manly man, they went back to the base of the cock. There an arm approached the base and grabbed it tightly at the base. For Ethan it was almost like an elastic had been strapped around it. He felt constricted and the pulse of his heart was echoing through his whole cock and balls. There another arm appeared and injected his nuts with a weird green glowing liquid. For Ethan it was too much, his already sensitive cock started to spasm as the arm released the base of the cock, but for some reason, the sensation of tightness didn’t go away. His new cock will be stuck into a semi hard forever now and the faintest sensation will be enough for him to cum. The green liquid modified his nuts to not handle the stamina anymore. His new perfectly dimensioned cock will be a premature one.

It was an intoxicating mix of sensations, each body experiencing its own unique version of pleasure and frustration as the transformation continued. All at once the arms started to glow around the newly modified parts. There, in one smooth movement, they started to hum and Ethan could see from his 3 pair of eyes as data streams was injected into him. IT started to feel hot for Ethan as the warmth got higher and higher. Out of nowhere, Ethan could feel tingle started to appear in mass round the base of his dicks. Hair was sprouting in mass and soon, the three of them were hairy. His body on the right now had curly dirty blonde unruly hair as his smaller body of the three now had dark brown hair with faint waves in them. The last one was probably the biggest changes in this part. Ethan felt like hair were pushing under his skin and balls and the white palish skin started to take a grey hue. When the humming stopped, this new cock was very hairy but all the hair were cut on a weekly basis, which resulted in them growing thick but not too long, which were making his super sensitive premature 8 inches cock into overdrive even more. The sensation of the hair growing and the tightness of his permanent semi erected cock was pushing this body in overdrive for release.

“Facial restructuring in progress.”

Ethan’s facial features twisted and contorted, bones shifting beneath the skin. He could feel his jawlines sharpening, his features hardening, becoming more rugged and masculine. He tried to scream, but his mouth moved of its own accord, forming expressions he couldn’t control. The changes were happening too quickly, and his mind was a chaotic mess, struggling to keep up with the nightmare unfolding within him.

“Finalizing transformations. Clothing materialization in progress.”

The robotic arms moved with precise efficiency as they completed their work. Ethan felt the sensation of fabric materializing around his newly transformed bodies. Soft, comfortable pajama pants wrapped around his biggest body and compressed his thick 10 inches cock that let little place to imagination, tight shorts hugged his smaller body with his small thick beer can cock and a black shirt appeared around his smaller frame, while loose, dark stripped shorts formed around his premature body which only let his sensitive cock head rub against the smooth material. The clothing clung to his new physiques, accentuating the muscular forms that had been forced upon him.

Ethan’s mind was a maelstrom of confusion and fear. He couldn’t fully grasp what had happened to him—he was no longer a single entity, but three distinct beings, each with its own body and identities. He could feel their thoughts, desires, and instincts battling within him, drowning out the remnants of his original self. He didn’t know understand what happening or happened to him as all he could feel was three sensations and see three bodies from three pair of eyes.

But the transformation wasn’t over yet. The mechanical voice spoke once more.

“Transformation complete. Initiating behavioral loop.”

Arms appeared in front of his eyes and all of a sudden, they attached themselves around his head. Ethan could see three videos played in front of his eyes as the mental assimilation and behavioral instincts were uploaded inside his brains. He could feel how his stronger body started to act manly and dominant on his own while his smaller body started to feel less and less in control of the situation and in the meantime his third body started to feel in love with his smaller body. The sensations were weird, he couldn’t understand what was happening anymore and as the video ended and the casks were plugged off, he could still see his three bodies and the sensation but he couldn’t move anymore. It was like his bodies were moving on their own and he was a passenger of the three of them. Feeling and seeing everything on each but not able to have his hands and the commands anymore.

Ethan’s bodies began to move on their own. The mechanical arms guided him at first, but soon, they let go, and his actions became automatic, repeating in an endless loop. He could feel his hands lifting, removing the clothes, touching the others, feeling their skin, their hair, their muscles. The sensations were overwhelming—the musk, the heat, the texture of their skin, the tightness in their groins. The rubbing of their dicks against the tissue material. The will to cum and release that never came sending him into a loop of perpetual denial with every second.

Every breath, every movement felt hyper-real, but it wasn’t him controlling it. He was merely a passenger, trapped within his own bodies as they moved on their own accord. The sensations were a maddening blend of pleasure and frustration. He could feel everything—the brush of skin against skin, the tightening in his groin as his bodies moved, the heavy musk that filled the air, intoxicating and primal. His bodies were locked in an endless cycle, repeating the same actions over and over, their desires never fully satisfied, the pleasure never fully realized.

It was a cruel, unending tease, an erotic torture that kept him on the edge without any release. The mechanical assistant had designed the loop perfectly, each cycle drawing him deeper into the sensations, heightening his awareness of every touch, every movement. His muscles flexed and tensed, his breaths quickened, but there was no escape from the loop, no way to break free from the repetition.

His three bodies were now inextricably linked, their sensations intertwined. When one of his forms felt the rough fabric of his clothes against his sensitive skin, the other two felt it as well. When one of them experienced a pulse of pleasure in the groin, it resonated through all three, amplifying the sensation. It was like his consciousness was being pulled in three different directions at once, each body experiencing its own version of ecstasy and frustration.

His mind struggled to keep up, his thoughts fragmented and scattered. He could barely form coherent thoughts anymore—only raw, primal instincts remained. The loop was becoming his reality, the repetition drilling into his psyche, eroding what little control he had left.

“User integration complete,” the mechanical voice stated, its cold tone a stark contrast to the chaos in Ethan’s mind. “Transformation protocol successful. Subject is now fully operational to experience the future.”

Ethan’s bodies continued to move, each trapped in its own loop. The taller form removing the shirt of the smaller one, the fabric of his red tartan pajama pants stretching over his muscular thighs. The shorter, leaner body putting his arms ups so the shirt could be removed then caressing the pecs in front of him, feeling the short too small khaki shorts on his compact thighs. The third body, the most balanced of the three, trying to kiss the smaller one that he fell in love with but never reaching the lips that he is craving for while caressing his waist and holding his neck in his calloused strong hands and feeling his over sensitive cock rubbing on the fabric of his shorts and being on the edge of cumming.

They moved together, yet separately, each body following its own path within the confines of the loop. The sensation of control slipping away was almost too much to bear. Ethan wanted to scream, to break free, but his voice was silent, his actions dictated by the mechanical program that had overtaken him.

Time lost all meaning as the loop continued, every sensation heightened, every moment stretched out into eternity. The pleasure was intoxicating, but it was also a prison, locking him in a cycle of need and desire that would never be fulfilled.

Just when it seemed like the loop would go on forever, something changed. The mechanical assistant’s voice broke through the haze.

“Warning: Device battery low. System shutdown imminent.”

Panic surged through Ethan. He could feel the drain in his bodies, the energy waning as the phone’s battery died. The loop continued, but it was slower now, the movements more lethargic. The pleasure was still there, but it was fading, replaced by a growing sense of emptiness. His consciousness flickered, like a signal struggling to stay connected.

“Five percent battery remaining,” the assistant announced, its voice devoid of any emotion.

Ethan’s thoughts raced. What would happen if the phone died? Would he disappear along with it? Would he be trapped in darkness, lost in this digital nightmare forever?

The loop slowed even further, his bodies barely moving now, the sensations dulling as the energy drained away. His vision started to blur, the edges of his consciousness fraying. He wanted to fight it, to break free, but he was powerless against the inevitable shutdown.

“Two percent battery remaining,” the assistant stated calmly.

The loop was almost non-existent now, his bodies barely able to move. The once overwhelming sensations were now just a faint echo, a ghost of what they had been. Ethan felt like he was slipping away, his consciousness dissolving into the void.

“One percent battery remaining. System shutdown imminent.”

Ethan’s last thoughts were of fear and desperation. He didn’t want to disappear, didn’t want to be lost in the darkness. But there was nothing he could do, no way to stop the inevitable.

The screen flickered one last time, and then everything went black.

A Week Later...

The small apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the street lamps outside. The burglar had made quick work of the place, rummaging through drawers and cabinets for anything of value. He was about to leave when his eyes fell on a phone lying on the bed.

He picked it up, surprised it had been left behind. It was an older model, but it looked well-kept. Figuring it might be worth something, he pocketed it and left the apartment, heading back to his own place.

Once inside his dingy one-bedroom apartment, the burglar plugged the phone into a charger, eager to see what he had scored. The screen lit up, and to his surprise, it didn’t require a password. Instead, it opened directly to a strange app, displaying a video of three muscular men on grabbing and caressing each other’s on a bed in a messy bedroom, their bodies moving in a repetitive sequence. The burglar frowned; his curiosity piqued by the oddity of it all. He watched as the men on the screen undressed and redressed, their bodies flexing, their faces locked in expressions of deep concentration and tension. The movements seemed almost lifelike, too real for just an animation. Ethan felt like a jolt parkouring his body and soul as the phone was plugged and the energy was once again running in him. His bodies started their automated movements once again. The rubbing, caressing, undressing, will to cum but never reaching it, the premature orgasm coming in his pants, the will to kiss. Everything came back at full speed and he was once again trapped in perpetual denial and frustration. But it lighted a spark of hope in him. Somebody had found him.

“How long have I been stuck?” he asked himself as he felt another kiss being refused to his lips. Like if he had a calendar in his mind, Ethan heard the answer in his mind from the robotic voice. But it wasn’t the same one, no it was… his voice. Ethan was terrified. Does that mean he was assimilated?

“Yes user” he heard once again in his robotic voice “Accepting the offer have assimilated you on the platform to experience what the original user where doing. Don’t worry, as long as you are not scrolled away, you won’t have any problem. If you happen to be scrolled, then your data will be assimilated to the server and saved up so you are not deleted until you are claimed back. Until so, enjoy the future…”

“No, wait, I didn’t agree to this!” Unfortunately for Ethan, the burglar didn’t hear any of that, and as he was looking at this weird video of three dude caressing each other’s on loop, he put his finger on the screen and started to swipe it up. Ethan felt his world shake. Everything connected and he understood, he was about to be scrolled. “No, don’t scro…” Ethen didn’t have time to finish his beg as the video was sent away into the eternal void of data until someone claimed him back.

As the burglar’s eyes remained glued to the screen, the phone emitted a soft, pulsing glow, almost as if it was drawing him in. He felt an odd compulsion to keep watching, mesmerized by the rhythm of the dances, the pranks and the POV videos. He scrolled to another video, and then another, and another, diving more and more into the feed of the previous owner.

He was about to swipe out of the app when the screen flickered, displaying a pop-up message:

“Experience the Future! Try the Brand-New Update—Click Here!”

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Hey everyone, here is the first story I publish on this account. Hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as Ethan enjoy his new reality.

Let me know what you think of it and if you want to see more of this. If you have any ideas or just want to talk, feel free to send me a message, I don't bite ^^'

There is more stories to come!

Unknown Title 4

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

Josh new that this was a dead end job, but he went any way. He had graduated from college a few years ago and bounced around in various internships, temp jobs, unemployment, driving for Uber, you name it. He knew that he wasn't going to be at this job forever, but it paid the bills. Rent was expensive. He had moved to the city with a few college buddies, but one by one, they got married, went out on their own, or moved to find work elsewhere. So, now Josh was paying for a single apartment on his own by working at a call center. Nothing glamorous, but it was not terrible pay. It was regular business hours, the calls were from people buying or renting medical equipment (wheelchairs, crutches, etc.) and customer service issues. He had been there for around six months and started to open up to people. Even so, he always felt a little out of the loop. That was until they hired Gavin. He was charismatic. Learned everyone's name the first time. Always had good suggestions for happy hours, work parties, group activities. He made life bearable. Josh found himself smiling more often whenever they worked shifts together. They didn't really have much in common, but it didn't seem to matter. Gavin was a bit of a fitness buff. Always taking about his protein diet, or his marathon training, or his college swim team. Josh like sports, but more of the watching the game at the bar and eating a bowl of nachos type of fitness. Josh had played hockey in college, but had gained a lot of weight. He was fairly tall, but the years of living with guys that loved drinking had given him a beer gut and a flabby chest. He still was strong, but good use some slimming down. He never really thought much about working out or trimming fat until he heard Gavin going on about his routine.

"You would love it, Josh" Gavin said one day. "It's very aerobic, burns fat, builds muscle. Gives you a rush of energy. You feel great. You look great!" Josh blushed insecurely. Gavin noticed. "I mean you already look great," but that made Josh blush more. "Dude, I get it. Trust me" Gavin said, touching Josh above the elbow. Josh felt awkward and nervous. He noticed Gavin's muscular arm and shoulder, and his eyes wandered down his chest and abs, which were straining against the tight button-up shirt he wore. He broke away and didn't answer. From that point on, he felt a little uncomfortable around Gavin, but still enjoyed talking to him.

It was Gavin's idea to watch a game at a local bar as a work happy hour. 8 - 10 people showed up so they broke into groups at the bar. Josh sat down next to a few girls from the office and ordered a drink. They were mainly talking about their marriages, and how Karen wasn't drinking because she was pregnant. Josh was supportive, but honestly could care less about this conversation. He found himself ordering a second beer and staring blankly at the game. Out of no where it seemed, Gavin appeared and took the empty bar stool next to Josh casually patted him on the shoulder.

"Seems pretty quiet over here," he said. Josh stared into his handsome eyes and saw how dark the stubble on his jaw looked in the light. He relaxed a little instead of recoiling at his touch. "Let me get your next drink," he said, noticing that Josh's second beer was almost gone. "Honestly, it's been pretty quiet over at the other end of the bar too," Gavin continued. "I mean, most of those guys are just talking about work. Or trying to hook up with Rachel -- there's been a lot of that too." Josh looked over and saw that Rachel was surrounded by guys, all laughing and flirting. "I just wanted to watch the game." A long pause. "Well, watch the game and talk to my best bud." He touched Josh's shoulder and this time Josh felt butterflies in his stomach. He looked over and saw that Karen and the girls were watching them and they had smiles on their faces.

"Hey, Gavin," they said playfully. "Finally coming over to the fun side of the party!"

"Well, it's been a rough month," Gavin said, still smiling, so clearly it wasn't that "rough."

"Why, did you break it off with Riley?"

"Yeah, he was being so protective ... and critical ... I'm done with guys like him!"

Josh's eyes went wide and he was trying to think through the alcohol. Gavin had never mentioned Riley to him before. At first he thought, maybe Riley is a girls name and he mean "she," but he replayed it instantly in this head and he definitely heard "he." A million questions were popping into his head. So, Gavin was gay? He didn't "sound" or "act" gay, but those are just stereotypes. Was he bi? Maybe. He was confident in him image, that's for sure. Was Riley the one that made him work out so much? Was that why Gavin was so "handsy"? Was he just a friend? Or was this all in his head. Josh had always though he was straight, like a bro, meat-head type, that wasn't a dick of a person. Was he just a nice guy or was he flirting? While all these questions ran through Josh's mind, the conversation had continued.

"No, I think I'll take some time before starting a new relationship. But, I still go out. Oh, Josh, you'd love this bar I know downtown on..."

"I'm not gay!" Josh blurted out.

"...on 6th Avenue... it's a craft brewery..." Gavin and all the girls were staring. "It's not a gay bar...Josh? Did you think..."

"Sorry..." Josh backpedaled. He was so embarrassed, but he really had been clueless about Gavin before and it just all had combined with the noise of the bar and the nearly three beers he had finished. "Sorry ... I'm not like one of those guys that's ... uh... I'm not anti-gay ... I just don't think I'm ... I mean, I'm not gay ... and I just want to say ... I mean ..."

"Dude, relax. It's fine," Gavin said kindly. Now every look he gave Josh seemed to have a double-meaning. Sensing the awkwardness, Gavin left to talk with another group of the party. The girls excused themselves to go to the bathroom. And the bartender came by.

"Need another drink after that?" He hadn't noticed before, but the barkeep had a trimmed beard and Josh followed his neck down to a trail of sexy chest hairs from his half open shirt. His skin was tan and his chest was steamy. "Eyes up here!" the bartender laughed. "Look, I'll be honest with you. I worked at a gay bar before this gig and you were just checking me out, your friend is hot for you, you are clearly hot for him, and you'd be an idiot to pretend that you aren't gay for him. Just saying. I mean look at that ass!"

Josh looked across the bar at Gavin, lingering a second too long on his tight ass.

"Caught you," said the bar keep with a smile. "You knew exactly where he was in the bar. You've been watching him all night. You've thought about him at night."

"Fuck off," Josh mumbled.

"Woah ... guess that's enough for you," said someone from behind the bar. But it wasn't the man from before. It was a balding middle-aged white guy. Josh thought he was losing his mind. Had he just hallucinated a sexy, gay barkeep. Had that sexy gay barkeep just called him out. Was he gay for Gavin? For years he had wondered, questioned, dodged the questions. "Why don't you have any girlfriends, Josh?" "Why don't you ask her out?" And he remembered his friend in high school, who flat out asked him one day after school: "Josh, are you gay?" He said no, but his freshman year of college, some seniors on the hockey team asked him again, called him a faggot, roughed him up a bit during hazing and made him man up. He hid it from his friends and roommates, but he had to be honest with himself. His internet history sure seemed gay. Those pictures of buff guys that he had put in a hidden folder. Those videos he watched one night and then jerked off in the shower. That time he was watching the U.S. Olympic Men's Gymnastics team and hid his boner under a blanket.

He looked up and saw the football game transform before his eyes. He saw the muscles flexing. Their jerseys coming off. Their naked bodies in the locker room. Two men were kissing, and he saw that it was him and Gavin. His body was chiseled and smooth, his waist slim and his junk stuffed into a speedo. Gavin kissed his chest, his arms, his neck, his mouth. He kissed back. He heard a voice coming from behind the bar. "You are gay. You've always been gay. You've looked at men, dreamed of men, now become the man you want to be. You are gay. Embrace yourself by embracing him. Gay men are strong. Gay men are beautiful. You are strong and beautiful." He saw the barkeep from before ... or at least he thought he saw him ... he couldn't be sure if this was reality or not. He was wearing a tight tank top and skimpy underwear. Josh wanted to reach out and pull him in for a kiss and a fuck. "Not here," the man said. "Bathroom." The thought of stripping down in a stall with this specimen of a man was making Josh hard. He kept hearing in his head. "It's okay. You can look. You are gay. You want to look at him. You want him. You are gay."

The bar erupted in cheers and Josh snapped out of the vision. He tried to celebrate the touchdown, but was more aware of how drunk and sick he felt. He walked through the crowds towards the bathroom. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he felt like he was floating. Like his mind and body were pulling apart. He felt himself walking towards the bathroom, but the room seemed to be spinning. He stumbled into the bathroom and it looked like it was empty. He walked over to a stall and took a piss. It felt relaxing and it seemed that the weird effects of the drink had worn off. He walked over to wash his hands, and saw the door open. He turned his head to see who it was, a completely natural thing to do, but instantly regretted it. The man he saw was shirtless and wearing a speedo. But, in a second, the hallucination was over and it was just a normal dude from the bar, fuly clothed. Josh continued to watch him in the reflection of the mirror as he walked over to one of the urinals. He heard the voice of the bartender in his head again, but this time it felt natural, almost soothing.

"You are only doing what is natural. He is an attractive gay man and so are you. You want to go over and fuck him. And he wants to fuck you." He looked into the mirror and saw his body transform. His shirt and suit pants were gone. He was wearing tight blue briefs and his chest and abs were completely smooth. His muscles started flexing and with a few short spasms, he was looking at a lean, athletic version of himself. His cock pressed against his briefs and he heard the voice saying. "You are ready. Just relax and let the transformation be completed. When I count down from 5, you are going to accept whatever happens in this bathroom. Then, you are going to go back into the bar and notice nothing different. You are a new person. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1."

As the voice faded, Josh realized that the man at the urinal was undressing and pulling him into the bathroom stall. He didn't say anything, but Josh knew what to do. He got on his knees and started kissing the mans abs and worked his way towards his shaved cock. He took the tip in his mouth and felt waves of pleasure. After a few minutes of foreplay, the man traded places with him and gave him a blowjob that felt so natural, so fulfilling, and so beautiful. Josh moaned and felt all of his insecurities fading away. He was forgetting about the years of casual mockery that he had grown up with. He had never had a girlfriend, so that made him gay. He like watching sports, but didn't really enjoy playing them competitively, which made him gay. He would stare at someone on the train, and be called a fag. He would want to wear something or do something or be something and it all made him feel out of place. Not anymore. He climaxed and sprayed cum into this stranger's mouth. He felt his body shudder and he worked his way back to his partner's cock and finished him off. But, as the man released, he felt himself gagging. Was this real? He had never done this before? This wasn't really him. No, he wasn't gay, was he! This was just the alcohol, or something. Or, maybe all those voices. He was lost in the moment and it felt like he was blacking out.

In a second, he opened his eyes and realized he was puking his guts out into the toilet. He was completely alone but could hear dance music on the other side of the wall. He spat and flushed the toilet, which was filled with booze and stomach bile. He stood up and walked into the main section of the bathroom. It was pretty crowded and all eyes turned to him. There was a muscular man wearing leather chaps relieving himself in a urinal. Two guys were fixing their hair and adjusting their tight mesh tops and brightly colored pants. Where was he? Wasn't he at a work party? Where was everyone.

He stepped out into the main hall of the bar and saw dozens of guys dancing. A few gave him "the look," and it was the first time he realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt and only had tight black jeans. But, he wasn't worried about that. He was only worried about Gavin. Where was Gavin? He was at the bar just a minute ago. Then he felt someone squeeze his ass and he jumped.

"Hey there, it's just me," said Gavin. He put his arm around Josh's shoulder and pulled him in. "Feeling better?" He looked Gavin in the eye and saw his affection. His cropped hair and stubble were sexy. His clothes revealed how toned and strong he was. He noticed that he had a fully tatted arm. Josh stood a few inches taller, so he pulled Gavin in and kissed him on the forehead. It made Gavin smile.

"Yes much, better" said Josh. He looked around at the room and realized it was clearly a gay bar. And, he was clearly here with Gavin and only Gavin. He looked over at a bartender and it felt like he recognized him from somewhere, but he couldn't quite remember. The man looked back, winked at him, and pointed his eyes onto Gavin. "You know, let's blow this place."

Gavin looked back at him and replied, "I know a place we can blow."

Josh laughed, "Such a horny bastard. I love you."

They giggled all the way to the entrance of the bar, grabbed their coats, but before they made it out of the parking lot in their car, they had stripped down and fucked in the back seat.

Later that night, Josh laid in bed and tried to remember how he had met Gavin. He couldn't quite remember, but it didn't seem to matter.

Unknown Title 3

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It had started off as just a funny flirty prank between him and his friend Michelle. On a long weekend before exams, they were going to take a study break (procrastinate, really...) and go to the local mall. Michelle's roommate Tricia tagged along as well, probably so it didn't feel like a date. Justin had been friends with Michelle since their freshman year. He had a crush on her from time to time, but had never acted on it. He sensed that he was always going to be in the "friend zone" and had learned to just enjoy that privilege instead of pushing his luck. Maybe things would turn around some day.

Michelle and Tricia were trying on sunglasses inside one of the stores, giggling madly. Justin was shyly killing time while they laughed about which glasses looked cool and which looked stupid. "How about these?" said Michelle, "for Justin!" she added as she walked over. They were a pair of shaded aviator-style glasses. "Try 'em on, Justin," said Tricia. Justin shook his head. "Oh, come on!" they both pleaded. "Please..."

"No, I don't want to try them on," Justin protested, a little too loudly and aggressively. "Geesh, you don't have to be an asshole about it!" said Tricia.

"I think they would make you look cool," said Michelle. He couldn't read whether this was sarcasm or not, but decided to yield and put on the stupid glasses. When he put them on, Tricia stifled a giggle and Michelle tried to look supportive. But one look in the mirror made Justin blush. He felt stupid and ashamed, nothing like the cool and unattached man he would expect to wear something like these.

He slammed them back on the rack. "They make me look like a douche bag."

"Well, you sort of are a douche bag," Tricia replied. Michelle was looking away, letting Tricia have her moment.

"What?!" Justin replied.

"You don't even know, do you? You come out to the mall with us to have fun and do nothing but pout. We are trying to have a good time and you are just a downer all the time. And, you're oblivious to it?"

Justin tried to get Michelle to bail him out, but she was still looking away.

"And you've got so many damn opinions! And you always think you're right, all the time!"

"Wow. I don't have to stand here and listen to this," he said walking towards the doors back into the mall.

"Exactly, my point, asshole!" Tricia shouted after him.

When he got to his car, he saw that his phone had a message on it -- a text from Michelle: "Sorry. You're not an asshole."

He texted back: "Thanks. I'm going back to my room. Have a good night."

Back on campus, he swung by the library to print off a study guide his professor had sent to his class. And he bought a burger and fries at the campus grill. He felt stupid for making a scene at the mall. He hoped that Michelle didn't think he was judgmental or opinionated. He thought the night was going fine, even if Tricia was there. Maybe he was oblivious!

When he got back to his dorm, his roommate Kyle was sprawled out on the couch playing video games in his boxers.

"Dude! Where've you been?" he asked.

"No where...studying," he answered.

"Studying is for losers," he laughed back. "Oh ... Michelle stopped by looking for you. Were you going to meet her tonight?"

"Yeah, we went to the mall hours ago. Geez, Kyle, have you been playing this game all day!"

"Who gives a fuck what you think, Justin!" he answered angrily. In his head, Justin replayed what Tricia had shouted earlier that evening.

On his desk, he saw a note and what looked like a sun glasses case.

"For my favorite asshole! ~ Michelle"

"Fuck!" he whispered under his breath as slammed his hand on the desk. He was angry, but new that Michelle was just trying to take pity on him. That made him even angrier!

Kyle's character took a bullet through the head and he shouted obscenely. Justin looked over at him and asked loudly, "When did Michelle drop these off!"

"I don't know, 20 minutes ago?"

"Was Tricia with her."

"Tricia? Oh, that's her name! Hate that chick! Yeah, they were trying not to laugh."

"That bitch!"

"Easy dude. What's wrong."

Justin held up the pair of sunglasses and then put them on. Kyle started laughing uncontrollably.

"Did you pick those out? I mean, dude, you could never pull those off."

"Why not?" Justin asked.

"You don't have the balls. I mean, you're way to insecure."

"Insecure? Wow, didn't think you even knew that word, Kyle."

The look on Kyle's face changed instantly. "Fuck off! You know, maybe you should wear them. Only a total dick would wear 'em anyways!" On the screen of Kyle's game he saw his friends chatting, clearly upset that he hadn't spawned again to help out. He switched on his headset and told his team.

"Guys, sorry. My roommate's being a dick. I'm headed over to Nick's place. It'll only be a minute." He switched off the game, ignoring their protests. Kyle grabbed a pair of smelly gym shorts, a t-shirt with holes in it, and his flip flops and walked down the hall to his friend's room. Justin was used to this. He actually cared about getting good grades, so Kyle's gaming habit led to a lot of frustration. Usually, the solution was for Kyle to join his friends in another room. Justin took off the stupid glasses and sat down on his computer. He tried studying for a few minutes, but then started randomly browsing the internet. It started as general searches about upcoming movies, video games, things going on around campus, but somehow, it turned into looking at pictures of guys wearing sunglasses. He typed into the search bar: "Do sunglasses make you look like an asshole?" There were pictures of sexy men with sunglasses and comments about whether or not it made them attractive or unattractive. This led him to type another stupid question into the search bar: "Am I an asshole?"

There were a few results, most of them dumb quizzes on line. He clicked on one from a website called "Insecurities.com" with the title "Watch this video to find out if you're an asshole?" As soon as he clicked on the link, he felt something change in the room. It was like all the lights had dimmed and the sound faded away. The video lit up the screen and he heard a drone-like sound coming from his speakers. Over top of the sound was a calm and soothing voice.

"Listen closely and relax. You are watching this video because you have questions. But I want you to stop thinking about the questions and start listening for the answers. Just relax and let my voice become your thoughts. All you need to do is listen and you will know the answer. You have chosen to listen. And you have chosen to hear the answer."

Justin's focus on the computer continued to increase. He couldn't look away. He couldn't move. All he could do was listen and stare blankly into the white-blue screen. The video showed hypnotic fractals and swirls, which were drawing him in deeper and deeper. The voice seemed to drift off, making him have to listen more and more carefully.

"You are listening for the answer. Listen closer. The answer is here. Listen closer. Listen. Listen."

He thought he heard a distant voice. A voice that was inside his head, not in the computer. It was the smallest whisper.

"You are an asshole," said the voice. "You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You don't care what others think. You care only about yourself. You are an asshole. You like the way you look. You look confident and you are confident. What other people look like or think like doesn't matter. You are an asshole. You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want and you go out and get it. You are an asshole. If someone criticizes you or your choices, you don't care. If someone confronts you about something, you ignore them. Everyone you know already knows the answer. You are an asshole. They know it. You know it. If they treat you differently, it is because you are an asshole. And you don't care. When this video stops, you will wake up. You will not remember this video. But, you will know the answer. You are an asshole."

The video stopped and Justin felt the room brighten and return to normal. At least, Justin felt like it was normal. He picked up his phone and saw that he must have texted Michelle and she had replied.

"A party tonight? Isn't it kind of late. This isn't like you."

"Whatever. I'm going. Meet you there," he texted back. He never used to be so short with Michelle, but he was tired of being pushed around and felt a confidence growing inside him. For a second, he had a fleeting thought that he should apologize at the party, but heard a voice say inside of his head, "Whatever." At the sound of this voice, he felt a warm sensation in his chest, like his shirt was sweaty and tight. He walked over to his dresser and pulled off his shirt. "What the fuck!?" he said aloud. He was startled that he had said the f-word, because he rarely swore. What was even more surprising was what he saw in the mirror. His chest was glistening with sweat, showing his tight pecs and chiseled abs. He flexed his arms a little and gave himself the "sexy" stare. It was like he was a completely different person -- completely unrecognizable. He stared into his own eyes and saw his old self -- insecure, worried, second-guessing, weak. He heard a voice in his head saying, "You are confident. You are strong. You know what you want..." He grabbed the pair of glasses off his desk and put them on. A haze seemed to wash through his mind now that he couldn't make eye contact with his old, vulnerable self. He stole some of his roommates product and gelled his hair. He took one of his jackets and ripped the sleeves off. He felt invigorated by this new identity. He felt like he could do anything.

--

The party was a block from campus at a friend's apartment. When he showed up, all eyes were on him, but instead of laughter, most people just stared in shock, jealousy, or flirtation. At least three girls gave him "the look" before he found Michelle and Tricia at the back of the party.

"Justin ... you look ... I mean ..." fumbled Michelle. She looked concerned.

Tricia was giggling to herself and Justin looked at her. "You have something to say?"

"No, it's just ... it's just a new side of you."

"Get used to it."

That was the last night he ever spoke to Michelle. Something had changed between them, but he didn't care. Tricia tried to hit on him when she got drunk. He called her a "fucking whore," the last thing he ever said to her. He took Miranda, a girl older than him back to his room. He told Kyle to "fuck off," then had sex in his bed out of spite. It felt glorious. Within a month, he was kicked out of college, which was for the best, since his grades were plummeting anyway. He spent most of his time at a local gym and a college bar, where he picked up chicks, most of them from a different college in town. He wasn't sure if he was happy, but he sure as hell was having more fun. And if anyone suggested that he was a terrible person, he owned it and didn't care. If you're an asshole, you just blow them off!

Roommate Needed 7

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The barrista across the counter looked annoyed with me as I mumbled my way through my order.

"Um ... I'll have the ... uh ... a medium caramel latte."

"What kind of milk?" she asked, but before I could mutter an answer she continued, clearly anticipating my next question. "We have whole, 2%, skim, or soy."

"Whole milk, I guess."

"What's your name?"

"Um ... oh, right ... um ... Elliot"

She gave me a sour look at started working on my drink. She had a few other orders to make, so it would be a little bit of a wait. I suddenly realized that I really had to go to the bathroom and figured my drink would be ready by the time I got back. The coffee shop was pretty full with people, many of them staring into their computer screens or down at their books. No one seemed to notice me as I walked past.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. It was a small room, unisex, with a toilet in the corner, a few hooks for clothes or a backpack, a sink, and a mirror. I hung up my bag and saw my reflection in the mirror. My hair hung down over my eyes, touching the frame of my glass and darkening my pale face and watery eyes. My thin arms hung weakly at my side.

On the edge of the sink, I noticed a pair of sunglasses. I picked them up, thinking I would give them to the store manager for the lost and found. But as soon as I touched them, I felt the urge to try them on, just for a second. I had always worn glasses because I had terrible eyesight, so I never had the chance to wear sunglasses very often. I took off my glasses and saw my reflection become blurry in the mirror.

"What's the use," I thought to myself. "I won't really see how I look in them anyway ... I would need my real glasses."

But, as soon as I put on the dark shades, the reflection in the mirror transformed. Through the lenses, I saw the image of a muscular body, perfectly clear. I pulled off the glasses and the world brightened and blurred. I squinted at my reflection and saw that my shirt was unbuttoned. When I put the shades back on, I saw the image again, but this time noticed the tattoos covering his arms and chest. I looked down at my arms and saw that the same tattoos were winding their way up from my wrists, slowly covering my pale skin. This time when I looked at my reflection, I could see myself clearly, as if I no longer needed my glasses. I quickly pulled off my shirt and watched as the tattoos advanced onto my biceps and down my back. I put the shades on again, looked into the mirror and saw that stubble was bristling on my chin.

"This can't be real," I said to myself. I could never grow facial hair. "This must all be some optical illusion."

But, I rubbed my hand against my chin and felt the rough texture. I tipped the glasses down, expecting to see my body transform back into its original, pale and thin version. But the image stayed the same, only the light had changed back to the bright white of the room. I started flexing, watching my muscles tighten and bulge in the mirror. My chest was smooth and tan, clearly shaven and waxed. But at the base of my chiseled abs was a line of hair leading to my crotch.

I unbuckled my belt and pulled my pants down. There I found my manhood bursting out of a tight pair of sports underwear. I guided my erection into the sink and thrust towards my reflection. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beautiful face and body in front of me. Was this really me? Was this really my body I was pleasuring? With every stroke I felt my mind relaxing into its new self. I was forgetting ... no ... I was remembering. With a final thrust, a hot stream of cum shot into the sink.

I backed away from sink, pleased with my new body. In my backpack, I found a white tank top and a plaid shirt to replace the one I had thrown on the ground. I changed into my new clothes and headed back out into the cafe.

As soon as I reached the counter, I heard the barrista call out a drink. She looked me straight, then scanned up and down, lingering a moment on my crotch, and then blushed as she said, "Medium raspberry mango protein shake for Mark."

I walked up to the counter, smiled a bit, watched the barrista blush even more, grabbed my shake and walked out the door, not wanting to be late for my lifting session with my roommates. They would be waiting for me at the gym.

Roommate Needed Six

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After a few cold days to remind us it was October, the sun decided to come out one last time. It seemed that everyone on campus was making the most of the nice weather. Many were wearing shorts , probably for the last time and schoolwork was the last thing on everyone's mind. As I walked back from class, I noticed a group of five guys playing basketball at the public court. A muscular blonde with red and white shorts went for a long shot. The ball bounced of the rim towards the sidewalk and road. I stopped the ball from rolling into the street and picked up.

"Thanks man," said the blonde as he trotted towards me, sweat glistening down on his shirtless chest.

"Hey Luke," called one of his teammates. "Ask him if he wants to join in. Three on three."

"That's okay," I said as I offered him the ball. "I haven't played in years."

"You sure," said Luke as he grabbed the ball. He looked me straight in the eye and added, "I mean, it's such a nice day and all."

At that moment something stirred inside me. These guys seemed nice enough. None of my friends played any sports and I had always liked basketball in high school.

"What the heck," I answered, following Luke back to the court.

"All right! Thanks dude!" said one of the guys. "I'm Dave. You gonna go shirts or skins?"

"Shirts ... for now," I responded, feeling a little bit awkward. These guys were clearly gym buffs and I was far from it. Everyone on the team introduced themselves. I would be on the shirts team with Dave and Chris, against Joey, Luke, and Sean. We were evenly matched, except I was clearly the smallest guy.

The game began slowly, but as soon as I was given the ball, I felt a new sense of confidence in me. I dribbled past Sean and sunk a short jump shot. When I landed I felt stronger and faster.

"Nice shot," said Dave.

After a few more minutes of playing, I was starting to get into a groove, like I was in perfect form physically. Our team was beginning to pull ahead.

"Water break," said Joey.

The sweat had begun to run down my shirt, so I pulled it off. Underneath, I was surprised to see that I had no tan lines. I never went shirtless, so I was very pale, but today, I had a perfect tan. My body has also grown larger and thicker. My chest was thick with muscle and my abs were well defined. I used my shirt to wipe down the sweat.

"Alright, so how about you go over to skins, because we'd kill them otherwise. Just trade with Luke," said Dave.

"Cool by me, bro," I said, giving him a high five, surprised for three reasons. 1) I never used the word "bro" or gave high fives, 2) I hardly knew these people, and 3) I was completely relaxed being part of this team, like I had played with them for months.

We played for another hour, trading teams and just messing around. I had a couple nice dunks, since I was the tallest and biggest player. We gave each other high fives, fist bumps, and made crude jokes. By the end of the game, they had all taken to calling me Brett. Which as far as I could remember was my name. When we left the court to walk home, I had completely forgotten my life before basketball and these bros of mine.

Roommate Needed Three

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I never expected to get a call so soon after losing my bike. Theft on campus was always a problem, and even though I had bought the best lock, my bike had disappeared a few days ago. I posted the theft online and reported it to the police. The man on the phone said the bike showed up behind their house and didn't belong to anyone in the area. He assumed the thief was stashing it there, so I should come as soon as possible to confirm that it was mine.

Two guys were waiting on the porch, both shirtless, and both with a bottle of beer in hand. "Hey man. I'm Chris and this is Joey. Glad you could make it."

Joey set his empty bottle onto the railing and reached for another. He offered to get me one, but I refused. These kind of guys always intimidated me. I was just a scrawny Freshmen and one look at these two guys and their jacked bodies made me want to leave, with or without my bike. "No problem dude," said Joey. He slapped me on the back and gave me a huge smile. At that moment, I felt my cock stiffen and then relax.

"You said your bike was red, right?" said Chris as he walked down the stairs and headed around the house.

"Yeah. A red Trek," I answered.

"Are you sure?" he replied, with a surprised expression. "Well ... I guess I'm not positive," I answered, starting to doubt myself.

"Well. Your ad said it was a red motorcycle. A Kawasaki." Chris pulled out a piece of paper and showed me. My name and address was clearly printed beneath the picture.

"Right, of course," I blurted out, growing more confused. We walked into an old shed and Joey rolled the bike out onto the yard.

"How 'bout you just take it for a spin," he offered, "You'll remember it better if you give it a ride first."

"Sure thing," I replied. I couldn't remember ever riding a motorcycle before, but somehow I instinctively swung my leg over the seat and started it on the first try. The engine purred and sent vibrations through my body. I sped out of the yard and onto the street. As I accelerated, it felt as if my pants and shirt were tightening.

"It's just the wind," I told myself.

As I shifted gears and turned the corner on the block, I felt myself ease into the seat a bit. The bike felt right to me, like I had ridden it for years. On the last corner, I started feeling a bit cold and looked down and realized that my shirt had somehow disappeared. What appeared beneath it was a smooth, muscular chest, and a chiseled six-pack.

I turned into the driveway of the house. Joey called out, "Welcome back, bro!"

As I walked up the steps, Chris handed me a bottle of beer. I twisted off the cap and sat down on the couch next to Joey.

"Did I miss anything?" I asked.

"Not much, just some Freshie looking for his bike," said Joey.

"Oh, well hope he finds it."

Roommate Needed Two

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I felt a little awkward waiting on the steps, but I had rung the doorbell and their was no turning back. My previous landlord had given me a few days to find a new place, but he wanted me out of the building as soon as possible. Half way through the semester, this was one of the only places still advertising. This neighborhood wasn't my typical crowd, but I would learn to adjust. "As long as I make the rent payments, they shouldn't care about anything else," I told myself.

The man who opened the door was wearing nothing but his boxers and was holding a bowl of cereal. Even though it was afternoon, it looked like he had just woken up. "Hey," I said, trying to look him in the eye rather than his tight abs and pecs, "I'm here about the open room. You're looking for a roommate, right?"

"Yeah, man. Come on in," he said. He shut the door behind me and walked towards the kitchen. "I'm the only one around right now, but let me show you the place. This is the kitchen..."

The place was a total dump, but that was understandable with a group of college guys.

"My name is Chris," he said as he set down his bowl. He picked up a black tank top off a chair and pulled it over his head and every muscle in his torso seemed to flex as it fit into place. "Let me show you your room."

"I haven't even signed any paperwork or anything," I said as we walked up the stairs.

"Don't worry about it, bro. Things are really relaxed around here," he responded. He opened the door and showed me my room. The walls were covered with posters, mostly pictures of cars and motorcycles, and a flag with our school mascot. On the floor was a pile of clothes, a frisbee, and a football. The desk had a few empty beer bottles, but also a nice laptop.

"Does someone still live here," I asked. "I thought it would be emptied out."

"Nah, he just left this behind. Make yourself at home. We can clear it out later," Chris said, taking my bag and throwing it on the bed. I wanted to stop him, but something inside me convinced me otherwise.

We stepped back out into the hallway. "Here's the bathroom and shower."

At that moment, I suddenly realized I had to take a piss. I felt awkward asking, but said, "Can I use it now? Sorry, but I really have to piss!"

Chris laughed. "Sure dude. I'm be in the kitchen making some lunch. You can stay if you want."

"Thanks," I said as he started downstairs. The bathroom was small but had a big mirror and tiled walls all around. As I stepped in front of the mirror, I realized how out of place I would be in this house. Chris was probably six feet tall and built like a bodybuilder. I was only 5'4" and had grown pretty chubby over the years. I wasn't obese, but definitely had a gut, flabby arms, and pudgy face. I walked over to the toilet and knocked over a green baseball hat sitting on the rim of the shower tub. I left it sit on the floor, turned, started unbuttoning my pants. As I finished pissing, I felt a shudder run through my body, like an electric shock. My jeans suddenly fell to my ankles. My shirt starting feeling tight and uncomfortable. I felt my forehead and realized I was sweating profusely. My t-shirt was already drenched and I clumsily pulled it over my head.

Behind me, I heard the shower running. I though to myself, "Was it always running or did it just turn on?" Steam had begun to fill the room and I began breathing deeply. The smell of body wash and cologne drowned my nostrils. I pulled down my boxers and realized my cock was fully erect. It swung heavily from side to side, much larger than I had ever seen it. The mirror was white with steam, but I had a feeling that my body was somehow transforming. I stepped into the shower and let out a deep sigh as the water washed over me. With every passing second, I felt my mind relax and my worries wash down the drain. I grabbed a wash rag, some body wash, and started lathering myself up. As my hands passed over my body, I felt invigorated and full of energy. New muscles flexed beneath the washrag. My hairy chest and arms were smooth and taught. I felt taller and more confident.

I turned off the shower. Wiped the mirror with a towel and looked at my new body. I grabbed the green hat off the floor and put it on my head. In my mind, I felt a surge of memories wash over me. I put on some clothes that were scattered on the floor. And headed back downstairs.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Chris greeted me as if nothing had happened. "Glad to see you're all settled in. Want some lunch?"

"Thanks man," I replied.

Roommate Needed One

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The shelves of the university library pressed in close around my lonely little desk. I had been studying all morning for my exam that afternoon. This week had been busier than usual but I was a dedicated student, and knew that if I studied hard enough, everything would work out fine. I shifted my pile of books around and noticed a small piece of paper fall to the floor and land next to my feet. Out of curiosity, I picked it up. On one side was an address: 914 North Mayfield Street and on the other was a picture of a college aged man. He was clearly an athlete or part of some frat house. The address was on "Greek" street, so I assumed it was some lame invite to a party. But instead the card said, "Roommate Needed."

I put the card in my pocket and as I did felt my cock stir and harden. "That's weird," I whispered to myself. "Guess I've studied so long that I've gotten horny for some guy!" I tried to laugh it off, but my boner was getting bigger and forced me to readjust my underwear. I looked around the library to make sure no one was watching and then plunged my hand into my pants to straighten things out. What I felt was a package I never remembered having before. I glanced down and noticed that I was wearing tight-fitting black boxer briefs, a pair that I knew I hadn't put on that morning, much less ever owned. I unbuttoned my jeans to make room and in the process untucked my shirt and lifted it up a bit. Beneath was a toned six pack of abs.

Out of shock, I stood up and pulled my shirt up further. My chest and arms began pressing against the fabric of my button-up plaid shirt. I quickly unbuttoned it and pulled it over my head. Instead of the plain white t-shirt I normally wore, was a sporty black tank top. I flexed my arms in disbelief and saw the thick muscle tightening. Underneath the shirt, my skin had smoothed out, as if I had shaved my chest and tanned regularly. I pulled off my jeans, which were uncomfortably tight on my new thighs.

"I can't leave the library in my boxers," I thought to myself as I began rummaging through my bag. Although I couldn't remember packing them, I found a pair of black athletic shorts and a baseball cap. I put the hat on first, but turned it backwards after it felt awkward the other way. In the pocket of the shorts I found a silver necklace and a pair of sunglasses. Instinctively, I put my glasses on and snapped the small chain in place.

"Shit! I'm late for exam," I shouted as I gathered up my books. I left the library and walked down the street. Within a few minutes, I forgot where I was going, remember that I never went to class in the afternoon anyway, and found myself turning onto North Mayfield Street. With every step, I felt closer to home.

When I walked up the rickety steps covered in empty bottles and red solo cups, I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door. The beat up couch on the front porch reminded me of dozen of late night parties and game day celebrations. I tossed my bag in my room and headed into the kitchen. When I looked in the mirror, the face seemed familiar, like something I had seen in an advertisement. But who was I kidding, that would be ridiculous ... right?

Manual Labor Client Three

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

Brian and Jose were the only two still following Mr. Godfrey around school with blank stares on their faces. A bell rang and students filed into the hallways as Mr. Godfrey ushered them towards an exit.

"Hey, Jose," shouted a student. "Where you going? Are we meeting up later."

Jose stared back blankly, causing Mr. Godfrey to step in between a say interject. "They have detention. Do you want to join him?"

"No ... uh ... no, sir," said the student, retreating back into the crowd.

"Keep walking," he said to the two hypnotized guys as they headed outside. On one side of the parking lot was a shed that the school used for storing their buses, vans, and other vehicles. It was also where they taught a few classes occasionally, in particular the automotive club. Outside, there was a small truck with straw bales and bags of feed in the back. Mr. Godfrey turned to Jose, "You, get in the truck and wait." Jose walked towards the truck and mindlessly open the door and waited in the passenger seat. Brian and Mr. Godfrey kept walking through the open garage doors shop. There was a run down car with its hood open and engine parts and supplies scattered on work benches. Mr. Godfrey pushed a button next to the door and started lowering the doors. He walked over to the car and turned the key and the car revved to life.

"All right, kid. This is your assignment. Get under the car. Pay attention. Get your hands dirty and you'll make a good mechanic."

Brian stared blankly back, still deep in trance.

"Are you stupid!? Get under the car," said Mr. Godfrey, stepping closer. The boy looked scared and confused. "Here, let me help." He walked over to Brian, dipped one of his hands in some motor oil and wiped it onto the sleeve of Brian's shirt. He held his finger next to Brian's face and said, "Breathe it in, boy. Breathe deep. Relax. Breathe." Brian's eyes seemed to roll back into his head in ecstasy. Mr. Godfrey wiped the rest of the oil onto Brian's cheek and forehead.

"Your shirt is dirty, boy. You better keep it clean," he said. "How about you take it off and get under the car?"

Brian's hands moved slowly and he pulled off his shirt.

"Good, now lie down. Breathe. Relax. Just lie down on the dolly over there."

He knelt down and rolled onto the metal cart with wheels. Gently, Mr. Godfrey wheeled him under the car.

"Just like tucking you into bed. You're tired. Relax. When you wake up, you will be relaxed. Just keep breathing."

The exhaust fumes and heat from the engine made Brian feel more relaxed. He hear Mr. Godfrey turn on the radio of the car and blast it. The fumes started to make him go dizzy. He saw a bright light and heard a door slam. Mr. Godfrey had left the garage and he felt like he was paralyzed underneath the car. The radio seemed to fill his head with sound and he felt like his body was melting away. He blacked out.

---

When he woke up and saw the underbelly of the car above him and heard the engine rumbling. He instinctively felt his arms and legs rolling the dolly back into the garage. He was surprised because he wasn't sure why his body was moving, but it was like he was in a dream. His body was moving but he was not in control, just on autopilot. He opened the door and turned the key off, listening to the engine wind down. He walked over to the hood of the car, grabbed a rag, and began working on the engine. He look at his hands and realized that they were black with oil and grease. He was shirtless and his chest and arms were covered in sweat and grime. His baggy jeans were barely held up by his belt. He looked down at his body and saw that his waist and torso were chiseled and toned. He lifted a tire off off the ground nearby and felt his arms swell up with muscle. He slid the tire into place, grabbed a air wrench, and zipped the bolts into place. The car looked like it was complete, so he walked over to the sink to clean up. He couldn't help but stare at his body in the mirror and felt aroused when he ran his hands over his sweaty body. Some part of him was resisting this transformation and he knew that this was all a dream or hallucination. But his body was beyond control, and he seemed to be remembering new things about his past. He took shop classes in high school, had always been interested in motors and engines, he could recite facts about cars and trucks, and even watched NASCAR from time to time. Next to the mirror, he saw a hook with a pair of military dog tags hanging. The name on them was "Bruce Torkelson," which seemed familiar to him. Instinctively, he slung the chain around his neck and felt the cold metal resting on his chest. A wave of new memories washed over him. He had enlisted in the army right out of high school. He had been a mechanic for a few years. He never saw active duty, but worked on equipment and vehicle maintenance. His army buddies had given him the nickname "Tork" and he had grown used to it over the years. He served his duty and now worked at a local mechanic's shop. He grabbed a camo t-shirt from the bench, slid it over his head and headed over to the door. He flicked the lights off in the garage and walked outside. He could barely remember his high school days, but that didn't matter anymore. Parked outside was a Harley-Davidson. He turned the key, revved the engine, and cruised out of the parking lot.

Fighters Paradise

It was another Friday afternoon and Max was on his way to an arcade. He had just turned 23 and had been saving up for a while to buy a special coin. They were quite expensive, but would give him unlimited access to the best games in the arcade for an entire week.

Max walked into the arcade and was disappointed to see it wasn’t as busy as he thought it would be. He made his way to the counter where an girl with dark hair smiled at him from behind the glass.

“Hello there, can I help you?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’d like to buy a deluxe coin please,” Max said.

The clerk took his money and gave him the coin before saying, “Enjoy your time here.”

Max then made his way into the main hall where all the arcade machines were. He looked around for a while until he found the game he had come here for. It was called Fighters Paradise and was one of the most popular games in the arcade. It was an interactive boxing game where ridiculously muscular characters would face off each other until one of them was knocked.

Max walked up to the machine and wrapped his around the joystick meant to control the game. He inserted his special coin and as he did the screen turned on. The Fighters Paradise logo was displayed in large letters on the screen. Underneath the logo a question appeared "Do you accept the challenge?". Thinking it might just be some ordinary loading screen he clicked on yes without much thought.

As he did, a bright beam came forth from the screen. As the beam of light touched his body and traveled upwards to his torso his body seemed to be disintegrating. Panicking, he tried letting go of the stick only to realize he couldn't move anything at all.

"Please... someone!" Max called out but no one seemed to be around.

Accepting his fate, he watched as his arms and chest disappeared.

Finally, the beam hit his face and everything turned to black.

---

Max opened his eyes slowly to find himself laying on the sand. He was surrounded by palm trees swaying in the breeze and felt the warm sun beating down from above. Looking around he saw no signs of buildings or any other sign of civilization, just water in every direction as far as the eye could see.

"What the hell?" Max muttered to himself as he stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes. He was still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt he had on when he went into the arcade.

Max then noticed that he wasn't alone on the beach. A tall muscular man in boxing shorts was walking towards him, boxing gloves wrapped around his fists.

The man smiled as he approached Max and said, "Welcome to the greatest game of all time."

"What do you mean?" Max asked, confused by what was happening.

He then walked up to Max and wrapped him up in a hug before saying, "You're here now, which means you have accepted the challenge."

"What challenge?"

"To fight against the best of the best in an epic battle to the end," the man said sarcastically with a smile. "I am Tyrone, I used to come from the other side just like you. You can live comfortably in this world, you just have to fight opponents every day unless you want to go crazy."

Max what was was weirder, the fact a boxer was standing in front of him instead of the gym or the fact that he had been pulled into a video game and was just told to fight people to until one was KO'd.

Max looked around at the beautiful scenery before asking, "Me? Fight?"

He looked down at his attire, he was not dressed for the beach much less to fight some random stranger.

"Sorry man but I don't think I'm cut out for this. Can't you just send me back out again?" he pleaded with the man

"No can do. It's a one way street." he replied with an empathetic smile.

"But I'm not a fighter!"

"Not yet, is what you mean to say. It won't affect you yet but soon you will be craving combat," he says, "don't worry I'll train you"

Tyrone led Max down to the beach and around a large rock that was at the edge of the water. Behind the rock was a small shack with a boxing ring set up outside it.

"This is where we'll be training," Tyrone said as he opened the door to let Max inside. The gym was nothing special, just an old shed with a few punching bags and some weights.

Max looked around the gym in surprise, "I don't have much experience with boxing."

"That's alright," Tyrone said, "I'll teach you everything you need to know."

He then walked over to a punching bag and hit it with a powerful uppercut. Max was amazed at how hard the man hit the bag, causing it to fly back and hit the wall behind it.

"First things first, let's get some basic punches down," Tyrone said before grabbing two gloves from a shelf. "Here, put these on."

Max took the gloves from Tyrone and put them on. He then watched as Tyrone set up the punching bag so it was hanging at the perfect height for them to use.

"Okay, watch me and copy me," Tyrone said before throwing a jab.

Max followed through with his own jab after watching Tyrone. Tyrone then demonstrated a right hook before having Max throw one as well. After practicing both punches a few times, they moved on to combinations.

"Let's try a simple 1-2 combo," Tyrone said, throwing a jab followed by a right hand. "Copy me."

Max threw the same punch combination after Tyrone and watched as he smiled in approval. They continued practicing punches for a while until Tyrone finally said, "Alright, that's enough for now. Let's move on to something else."

"What next?" Max asked, taking off his gloves and hanging them up on a shelf.

"Let's get some footwork down," Tyrone replied before leading Max out of the gym. "We'll be using the boxing ring outside for this."

Max followed Tyrone out into the backyard where they both stepped into the boxing ring that had been set up there.

"Okay, I want you to move around the ring and pretend you're throwing punches," Tyrone instructed. "Keep your hands up in a defensive position when you're not throwing them."

Max did as he was told, moving around the ring and throwing imaginary punches. After watching him for a moment, Tyrone said, "Your footwork is pretty good already. We just need to work on your balance a little bit."

He then stepped into the ring with Max and had him practice his footwork while he lightly touched him to see how well balanced he was.

"You're doing great," Tyrone said after a few minutes of this. "Alright, let's take it up a notch now."

He then started throwing some light punches at Max to see how well he would dodge them. Max quickly found himself dodging the punches left and right, feeling like he was in an actual fight.

After a while of this, Tyrone finally said, "Okay, that's enough for today."

Max stepped out of the ring, exhausted from all the practice they had done. He was amazed at how well he was doing considering he had never boxed before. He looked over at Tyrone who was watching him with a smile.

"You're a natural," Tyrone said before walking up to Max and patting him on the back. "I'm proud of you."

Max smiled at the compliment, feeling like he had finally earned it after all the hard work he had put in.

"Thanks man," he said to Tyrone. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Tyrone replied before walking over to the gym door. "Let's come back tomorrow and we'll keep practicing. I have a feeling you're going to be a force to reckon with in no time."

Max nodded and said, "Sounds good. I can't wait to get better."

As Tyrone closed up the gym he led Max to his villa that was situated close to the beach as well.

"Wow" Max thought to himself amazed by the view and the luxurious building that Tyrone lived in.

"If you're spending a long time here, might as well make it comfortable right?" Tyrone started saying as he led Max through all the different rooms of his house.

"This will be your room, I'll see you in the morning"

Exhausted and overwhelmed by the crazy things that had taken place in what felt like less than a couple hours, he fell asleep in mere minutes.

---

Max awoke with a start, feeling like he had just had the most bizarre dream. It took him a moment to realize that he was actually in a strange dream right now. He looked around the room he was in, noticing that it was much nicer than the one he had been staying in before.

"What the hell?" Max muttered to himself as he got out of bed. He walked over to the window and gazed outside, seeing an amazing view of the ocean.

It was then that he remembered what had happened yesterday, how he had been pulled into a video game world and forced to fight people for Tyrone's entertainment. The thought made him feel anxious, like there was something he should be doing but couldn't quite remember what it was.

Max decided to head down to the kitchen in Tyrone's villa to see if he could find something to eat. As he walked through the hallway he noticed a few pictures on the wall that showed Tyrone with other people. One of them was a man who looked muscular but also very stylish, wearing a suit and smiling for the camera.

Max stopped in front of this picture, feeling like he recognized the man but couldn't quite remember from where. He shook his head and continued on to the kitchen.

When Max entered the kitchen he was greeted by Tyrone who was cooking some eggs and bacon. "Good morning," Tyrone said, "I hope you're feeling rested after yesterday."

Max nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched Tyrone finish up breakfast as he thought about what had happened the day before.

It was weird how he could remember being in a boring arcade waiting for his turn to play some stupid game, but couldn't recall anything after that. Had they drugged him or something? It was just a theory, but it was the only thing that made sense at this point.

"Here you go," Tyrone said, placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Max. "Eat up."

Max started to eat his breakfast, doing his best not to think about the weird day he had had. He was interrupted when Tyrone asked him how he was feeling.

"Anxious," Max replied truthfully, "Like there's something I should be doing but don't know what it is."

Tyrone nodded and said, "It's probably just the curse of being stuck in this video game world. The only thing that helps is to fight."

"Ah," Max sighed in a defeated tone, "so you really weren't kididing about that"

"Nope. The only thing that really helps is to well, fight..." he replied with an empathetic smile.

"Let's get you some clothes and head to the gym, that should help already" Tyrone suggested, already moving towards another room of the large villa.

Max was lead into Tyrone's bedroom which was somehow even more luxurious than the other rooms in the villa.

Tyrone opened yet another door connected to his bedroom which looked to be a walk-in closet lined with boxing clothes and stylish floral shirts.

"Pick something you like and we'll head to the gym, okay?" Tryone said, already grabbing a a nice pair of red shorts.

"See anything you like?" he asked Max who looked like a kid in front of a candy aisle overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice.

"Uh,"

"Here, just take this" he said handing the pair of red shorts to Max.

"Thanks... Where can I change?"

"What do you mean? Just change here, we're both men right?" Tyrone replied

"Let's get you out of that old t-shirt"

Before Max even had a chance to respond Tyrone came up to him and ripped apart his shirt in one motion.

"We won't be needing that for much long"

Shocked by Tyrone's assertiveness he responded by covering his flat albeit a little pudgy chest with his hands.

Max did not realize his mistake as this gave Tyrone the perfect opportunity to pull down Max's jeans and underwear as well.

"Don't be ashamed man, you've got a nice body" he complimented.

This comment made Max flustered and blushed red harder than he ever had before.

What Tyrone said next however would send Max over the moon.

"If you'll do well today I'll even reward you" he said with a suggestive wink as cupped Max's balls with his hand.

Many emotions rushed through Max's mind: excitement, anxiety, lust.

"Come on Max, we haven't got all day" Tyrone told him, already set on heading to the gym to start their second session.

---

Max and Tyrone have their second training at the small shack again. Max turns out to be a natural at boxing and is improving at an incredible pace. Tyrone decides to do a little sparing with some light punches. Every punch he deals/receives seems to scratch his itch. After the training Max could also swear that his stomach looked a little less pudgy and more far more toned than it ever had been

Max followed Tyrone out of the villa and down to the gym where they had trained yesterday. He was still feeling embarrassed about what had happened in Tyrone's bedroom, but he tried to push those thoughts aside for now.

"Alright," Tyrone said as they stepped into the small shack that served as a boxing gym, "let's get started."

Max nodded and went to put on his gloves while Tyrone set up the punching bag. He had been getting better at landing his punches since yesterday, but there was still room for improvement.

"Remember to keep your guard up," Tyrone said as he finished setting things up. "You never know when I might throw a surprise punch."

Max nodded and assumed a fighting stance, readying himself for the training session ahead. He felt more confident than he had yesterday, but was still wary of Tyrone's skill.

The training started off well, with Max landing several good punches on the bag. Tyrone complimented him on his progress and said that he was getting better at reading his opponent. This made Max feel even more confident as they continued to practice.

After a while, Tyrone suggested that they try some sparring. He promised to go easy on Max, saying that it would help him get used to fighting another person instead of just a bag. Max agreed and they stepped into the ring, starting to throw some light punches at each other.

It felt weird to be hitting Tyrone instead of a sand bag. But they both kept their punches light and tried to focus on improving their technique. As they continued to spar, Max found that every time he landed a punch on Tyrone, it was like scratching that figurative itch deep inside him. It made him want to land more punches, it as almost addictive.

On the other side of things, Tyrone felt a similar itch being scratched when he blocked Max's punches or landed one of his own.

Max started to understand how the curse worked and how fighting was so important in this world.

After a few rounds of sparring, they both were feeling exhausted. Tyrone suggested that they take a break and have some water before heading back into the gym for more training. Max nodded in agreement and they both stepped out of the ring to catch their breath.

As they drank some water, Max couldn't help but notice that his stomach looked less pudgy than it had earlier. He didn't know if it was just his imagination or if all the exercise he had been getting was actually paying off. Tyrone noticed him staring at his own body and smirked.

"What is it?" he asked. "Noticing how much more toned you're getting?"

Max blushed, not sure how to respond. He hadn't meant to be staring at himself, but he couldn't help feeling proud of all the progress he had made in such a short amount of time.

"I guess so," he admitted truthfully.

Tyrone clapped him on the back and said, "Then let's keep up the good work! We'll have you looking like a lean mean fighting machine in no time."

Max smiled back at Tyrone and felt his heart race as he thought about all the changes that might come with more training. They both finished their water and headed back into the gym to continue practicing until it was too dark to see.

---

As they walked back to the villa, Max couldn't help but feel anxious about what was going to happen next. He didn't know how much of it was the curse giving him pleasurable feelings, and how much of it was his own desire to have sex with Tyrone. But he knew that he wanted Tyrone, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

He stayed silent as he entered the villa and followed Tyrone into the bedroom.

"Take off your clothes," Tyrone ordered. "I want to see you naked."

Max did as he was told, feeling a little humiliated to be stripping in front of Tyrone. But it didn't matter, all that mattered was getting some release for his raging hardon. He stood there awkwardly, his cock throbbing painfully as Tyrone looked him up and down with hungry eyes.

"Get on the bed," Tyrone commanded. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

Max climbed onto the big soft bed, feeling like a rag doll in Tyrone's strong hands. He spread his legs wide open for Tyrone, inviting him to take what he wanted. Tyrone smiled and then kissed Max deeply, his tongue exploring his mouth as his hands gripped Max's ass cheeks.

Max moaned into Tyrone's mouth, begging him to hurry up and fuck him. He was so horny that he didn't care about the kiss or even about Tyrone's skill; he just wanted to cum.

Tyrone positioned himself between Max's legs and spit on his cock before wrapping his hand around it. He started to stroke Max slowly, making him writhe in frustration. Then he suddenly pressed his cock against Max's tight hole and pushed forward without warning.

Max cried out as he felt Tyrone's thick cock stretching him open. It hurt a little at first, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of having Tyrone inside him. He reached down and started to stroke himself while Tyrone began to fuck him for all he was worth.

The bed creaked loudly as Tyrone pounded into Max's ass. His big hands gripped Max's hips tightly, holding him in place as he thrust over and over again. Each time Tyrone bottomed out inside of him, Max felt like his insides were being rearranged. It was a little painful but it also felt so good.

Tyrone's grunts filled the bedroom as he got closer and closer to cumming. He began to fuck Max harder and faster, making him cry out louder and louder. Then Tyrone's cock twitched inside of him and he felt hot cum filling his ass.

"Fuck yes," Tyrone groaned, holding still for a moment as he emptied his balls into Max. "You're such a good fuck."

Max was too busy recovering from his own orgasm to reply. He could feel Tyrone's hot cum leaking out of his ass as he lay on the bed panting. He felt completely empty and satisfied after finally having sex with Tyrone.

After a few moments, Tyrone rolled off of Max and got up to get dressed. He smiled down at Max as he put on his clothes. "That was fun," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Max nodded weakly, his body still trembling from the intense fuck he had just received. Tyrone laid down next to Max, panting heavily. Max turned to the side, resting his head on Tyrone's sweaty chest and quickly drifted off to sleep from exhaustion.

---

The next morning he woke up to sounds of running water and the sight of Tyrone no longer next to him on the bed.

As Max walked into the bathroom, he saw that Tyrone was already there, standing naked in front of the sink. He was brushing his teeth and didn't notice Max enter. Max felt a little thrill at catching Tyrone in such a private moment. He moved closer to Tyrone, watching him as he brushed his teeth.

"Hey," Tyrone said, spitting into the sink after finishing with the toothpaste.

He turned around to see Max standing behind him. He smiled when he saw that Max was still naked from their night together.

"Good morning," Max said, moving closer to Tyrone until their bodies were pressed against each other. He reached around and began to stroke Tyrone's cock through his wet hair.

Tyrone groaned softly as Max's hand moved up and down his shaft. "What do you want this morning?" he asked huskily.

"I just wanted to wake you up properly," Max replied, leaning in to kiss Tyrone's neck. He continued to stroke Tyrone's hardening cock while kissing and licking his neck and chest.

Tyrone reached down to grab the shampoo from the shower cabin, but Max grabbed his hand before he could reach it. "I don't think you need any shampoo," Max said with a mischievous grin. He began to suck on Tyrone's hard nipples, making him groan even louder.

"Fuck... I need a shower," Tyrone panted. He stepped back from Max and turned around to face the shower cabin. "Join me."

Max followed Tyrone into the large shower cabin. It was steamy from the hot water that was falling from the shower head. Tyrone had already lathered up his body, making it slick and shiny. He leaned against the wall of the shower, waiting for Max to join him.

Max stepped closer to Tyrone, pressing his naked body against his. He reached down and began to stroke Tyrone's hard cock, feeling its hot length in his hand.

"Mmm... That feels good," Tyrone groaned.

Max leaned up and kissed him passionately, their tongues dancing together in their mouths. As they made out, Max continued to stroke Tyrone's cock until it was throbbing in his hand.

After a few minutes of making out, Max knelt down in front of Tyrone. He took his cock into his mouth and began to suck on it, gently at first but then with increasing intensity. He used one hand to stroke the base of Tyrone's cock while he sucked on the tip.

"Oh fuck... That feels so good," Tyrone moaned. He put his hands on Max's head, guiding him as he bobbed up and down on his cock.

Max could feel Tyrone's hot cum beginning to flow into his mouth. He sucked harder, trying to coax as much of it out of Tyrone as possible. When Tyrone finally came, he groaned loudly while Max gulped down his load.

After Tyrone had finished cumming, Max stood up and kissed him again. They continued to make out for a few more minutes before Max stepped back to rinse off. He felt refreshed and ready for another day of training after the steamy shower session with Tyrone.

As they stepped out of the bathroom, Tyrone noticed that their clothes were neatly folded on the bed. He smiled at Max and said, "I guess you're ready to go then?"

Max nodded, feeling a little sad to be leaving so soon after such an intimate moment in the shower. He followed Tyrone out of the villa and they headed to the gym for another day of training.

---

For the next week, Max spent most of his time at the gym being trained by Tyrone. He had never been in such good shape before and was enjoying the feeling of his muscles growing and becoming stronger.

Tyrone complimented him on his progress every day, telling him that he was making fast improvements. He said that with a few more weeks of training, Max would be ready to do his first real battle.

Max was excited at the prospect of finally fighting and the immense pleasure it would bring him.

"Fuck babe, you look so hot now." Tyrone said, looking at Max with hungry eyes.

"You remember when you first came here?" he started, "look at you know" he continued.

Tyrone grabbed onto Max's arms who flexed them in response.

"Like what you see?" Max said with a cocky smirk

"I do" Tyrone replied as he groped Max's pecs.

"Don't be shy" Max egged him on as he lead Tyrone's hands down into his boxing shorts.

"Show me how much you like my body"

Tyrone smiled and pushed Max down onto his bed.

"Fuck babe, you're so-"

"Ssh..." Tyrone signaled, sealing Max's mouth with his lips as he passionately kissed him.

Max moaned into Tyrone's mouth as their tongues danced together in each other's mouths. He felt like he was melting under Tyrone's touch.

As they made out on the bed, Tyrone began to kiss his way down Max's body, moving from his mouth, to his chest, and then lower to his stomach. He kissed all over Max's body, leaving him feeling hot and wanting more.

When Tyrone reached Max's boxing shorts, he undid the button and pulled them down along with his underwear. His hard cock sprang up, bobbing in the air as Tyrone stared at it hungrily.

"You're so fucking hot," Tyrone said, before positioning his ass, ready to take Max's cock.

He slowly lowered himself down onto Max's cock, feeling it slide into his tight hole. He groaned in pleasure as he took more and more of Max's huge cock inside of him. When he finally bottomed out, he sat there for a moment, enjoying the fullness that came from being filled up completely.

Then he started to ride Max, bouncing up and down on his cock. He reached down and began to stroke his own dick as he fucked Max.

Max felt like he was in heaven. Tyrone's tight ass felt amazing as it slid up and down his cock. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to cumming each time Tyrone took his entire length inside of him.

"Fuck babe, you're so tight," Max groaned.

Tyrone smiled at Max, his eyes filled with desire and lust. He began to fuck him even faster, moving his ass up and down quickly on Max's cock.

Max reached up and grabbed Tyrone's hair, pulling him close to him so that they were chest-to-chest. He kissed him passionately, their tongues tangling together in a hot embrace.

Tyrone moaned into Max's mouth as he continued to fuck his cock. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to cumming.

Suddenly, Tyrone's eyes widened and he let out a long groan as he came on Max's chest. His ass tightened around Max's cock, milking it until he finally came too.

"Fuck babe," Max said, panting heavily after his own orgasm had subsided. "That was amazing."

---

Max woke up with a groan, feeling like he had just had the best dream ever. As he opened his eyes, he realized that it wasn't a dream after all. Tyrone was still naked and lying next to him on the bed. He smiled at Max as if to say "thank you" for last night before getting up to get dressed.

Max looked down at himself and noticed that he was wearing his red shorts again. It felt weird to be wearing them after all this time in Tyrone's villa, but it was a sign that he was ready to fight his first real opponent.

"Hey babe," Tyrone said, coming back over to the bed after getting dressed. "You ready for your first battle?"

Max nodded, feeling a little nervous but mostly excited. He had been training hard for this day and was now just one step away of becoming a full-fledged fighter.

"Let's go"

---

Max and Tyrone arrived at the arena, which was packed with people cheering for the upcoming fight. Max felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him as he stepped into the ring, looking at his opponent.

His opponent was a muscular guy in a leather chest piece and a loincloth. He had scars on his face and arms, making him look like a true warrior.

"Ready to get your ass kicked?" Max taunted, feeling confident that he could win the fight.

The opponent grinned at Max, then nodded to signal that he was ready to start. The bell rang and the two of them began to circle the ring, sizing each other up.

Max saw an opening in his opponent's defenses and lunged forward with a flying tackle. He hit his opponent square in the chest and sent him flying back into the ropes. His world stood still as an immense wave of pleasure hit Max. He had gotten used to the effects of the curse when sparring but this was the first time experiencing the real deal.

Time continued as the crowd cheered loudly as Max stood valiantly over his downed opponent.

"What a great first round," Tyrone said, slapping Max on the back. "You've got this, babe."

Max grinned at Tyrone, feeling like a million bucks. He turned to face his opponent again and saw him getting up and ready to fight once more.

"Ready for round two?" Max asked, looking even more smug now.

The opponent lunged forward with an uppercut, but Max ducked under the attack. He then kicked his opponent in the thighs, sending him to the ground. The crowd cheered again as Max stood over his defeated opponent.

"And the winner is... MAX!" the announcer declared, raising Max's hand into the air.

Max felt like a million bucks as he basked in the cheers of the crowd. He had won his first fight and was on his way to becoming a true experienced fighter.

"So, what's next?" Max asked, eagerly looking forward to the next round of battles; to the next wave of pleasure.

Tyrone smiled at Max, "I know first-hand the pleasure of a first real battle but you've got take a break for today and enjoy your victory. Tomorrow will find someone else again to battle, for now let's take a break."

"I know something else we could do for the rest of the day" Tyrone said.

Max didn't even have to ask what he meant. A tent had already started forming in his shorts long before he had a chance to finish his session.

What would happen next is another yet another round, though this time in a different place and different setting.

---

Max had lost count of how long he had been living in this new world. He was enjoying his time here with his boyfriend Tyrone. They both spent most of their days either fighting, fucking or training for the next fight.

Max had recently started his first week in the arena and it had gone well. He had won every fight and got a lot of points. The second week wasn't as lucky. Max had lost half his fights which meant he had to wait another two weeks before he could challenge for the top spot again.

During those two weeks, Max and Tyrone spent their time either fucking or training hard in the gym. When they weren't doing one of those two things they were relaxing at home, cuddling on the bed naked or watching some TV in the living room. They had gotten into a routine of sorts, which Max enjoyed immensely.

Max couldn't believe that he was now a muscular stud in this new world and with his hot boyfriend to boot. He had been transported here against his will and was practically forced to fight every day but at least he had Tyrone to keep him company.

A lot had happened in a short span of time but he had not lamented it at all. His old life that he had back when he entered the arcade is now gone.

Now he enjoyed a simple life together with his new boyfriend in a world where the only that matters is to fight.

New original creation from side-blog!

Do you have what it takes?

"Young man, do you think you what have what it takes?" one of the cops said to Jack as he walked by their booth.

"Uhm, I-" he muttered. He was nervous being near them and was trying to hurry past.

"Are you sure you don't want a career in law enforcement?" asked another cop. "You look like the kind of guy who could really benefit from our services."

Jack stopped and looked at the cops, then back down at his clothes. He was wearing a loose t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. It felt weird that they were encouraging him to be like them, but he didn't think he had the body for it. "I don't know... I'm not sure I could do that kind of work."

The cops looked at each other, then back at Jack. The one who first mentioned his outfit stepped forward and said, "You can't be serious! Look at you!" He reached out and grabbed Jack's shirt, pulling it up to expose his stomach.

Jack was shocked, but didn't resist. "What? What are you doing?"

"See that gut?" the cop asked as he poked Jack's soft belly. "We can fix that." He turned to his partners and said, "He's got a great frame. With just a little work he could be a real man."

Jack looked down at his stomach. It wasn't fat, but it wasn't toned either. Could they really make him more muscular? "Uh... I don't know..."

The other cop patted him on the back. "Don't worry, kid. We'll take great care of you." He smiled.

Jack smiled nervously. "Thanks, but I'm not sure I want to be in law enforcement."

The university student had been failing his classes and was on the path of being forced to drop out of his bachelor. Only by mere chance had he managed to pass his first year. Now, in his second year, his lack of studying was starting to catch up rather quickly.

In anticipation of not being able to continue with university, he had decided to go to his local career fair to look for possible new jobs that would fit him.

He didn't expect however to be approached by and felt up by multiple policemen seemingly promising him muscles and masculinity.

As he was preoccupied with his internal monologue, the third cop had grabbed his arm and started feeling his bicep. Jack flexed a little bit out of reflex. "You see that? He's got some muscle already. We can make you real strong."

Jack looked at his arms. He was clearly not impressed. "I want to be stronger, but I don't know about being a cop..."

The first cop grabbed the hem of Jack's shirt and pulled it up further to expose more of his gut. "You worry too much, kid. We can make you into anything. Do you want to be strong? We can give you all the muscle you need. Do you want a bigger dick? No problem. Want to get smarter or dumber? We can do that too."

Jack looked at the other cops, then back down at his flat stomach.

"I... I guess if you think I could do it," Jack said. "It can't be that hard."

"Oh, we'll make sure you meet our standards," the first cop replied as he turned Jack around. He reached down and grabbed the skinny guy's ass through his jeans.

Jack gasped and blushed. He was straight, but it still felt good. The cop squeezed his butt so hard that the skinny young man yelped. "Ahh... stop!"

The other cops laughed as the first cop continued to playing with Jack's ass. As the cop's calloused hands explored Jack's globes, the cop could feel the surface start to expand. While he was busy, the other cops reached out and started poking at Jack's chest. The last cop had other ideas. He hands found his way down to Jack's waist, swiftly pulling down his jeans, exposing more of his pale body. Jack looked around nervously as they felt him up in public.

"I don't know about this..." he said.

"As I said before, you worry too much," the first cop reiterated, slapping his ass hard enough to make the skinny man jump. "Just relax." he said with a laugh.

The more the cops touched him, the more the strain on his clothes could be felt. As he looked down he could see two slim slabs of meat on what used to be his flat chest. He was still not at the level of the cops, but it felt like there was just a little more muscle there than before. Had they really made him more muscular already? "I don't know..."

"Relax, kid." The cop in front of him turned Jack around to face him. "We'll take good care of you." He leaned down and kissed the nervous young man on the lips.

Jack was shocked at first, but he had been getting more turned on as the cops played with his body. He opened his mouth and let the cop kiss him. The man's tongue slid into his mouth and played around with his own tongue. Jack could feel his erection growing in his pants as they kissed in front of the other cops.

"See?" the cop breaking the kiss said to the others. "I told you he has potential."

Jack blushed, but didn't say anything as the cop behind him slapped his ass again. The nervous young man felt like there was even more muscle there now.

The first cop now looked at Jack with hungry eyes. In one a single movement he grabbed the overly tightened guy's collar and split his shirt in two halves. Jack was now left wearing just his sneakers and a pair of briefs in front of the cops. "Let's see what we're working with..."

He reached down and continued like before, feeling up Jack's ass through his jeans. The other cops crowded around him, feeling up his arms, legs, back, and chest. Jack looked around nervously as they felt him up in public. He could feel their fingers sliding along his skin. It felt so good, but it was also scary being at their mercy.

"He's still a little too scrawny," one of the cops said as he squeezed Jack's bicep. "We need to bulk him up."

Jack looked down at his chest. There was still not much there, but it did look fuller than before.

The first cop had again circled around now standing behind Jack.

"Let's first see how that dick measures up" the first cop whispered in Jack's ear. He could feel the cop's bulge push up against his ass. At the same time, the other cops reached out and started feeling up his crotch through the fabric.

Jack blushed and tried to cover himself, but the cops were too strong. "Stop... please..." he said softly.

The cop in front of him reached down and pulled off the skinny guy's boxers, leaving him completely naked in front of the other cops. They laughed as they got their first look at his small cock.

"Hmm, not bad but we like to have a bit of fun at the station" one of the cops said with a laugh. "This wont do."

Jack felt like he was going to die from embarrassment, but the cop holding him laughed and said, "Don't worry, we can fix that too." He reached out and started stroking Jack's dick, making it grow harder.

The other cops crowded around him, continuing to feel up his arms, legs, back, chest, and balls. The cop still holding him said, "Let's get you a proper uniform." He reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Jack's eyes widened in shock. "W-what are those for?"

The cop smiled at him. "You're going to be our new recruit. And as a recruit, you need to follow our orders. So do what I say and put your hands behind your back."

Jack felt like he was in a dream. He did as the cop ordered and turned around, putting his hands behind his back. The cop quickly cuffed him, making it impossible for him to move his arms. Then he reached down and untied Jack's shoes. "Now, let's get started..."

The cop laughed and turned to the others. "Watch this," he said with a grin. He reached into his bag again and pulled out something that looked like a weird tube of toothpaste. "This here is called Growth Factor," he explained as he squeezed some onto his hand. "It's what we use to help new recruits get up to our standards."

Jack watched with wide eyes as the cop rubbed the gel between his fingers, then reached out and started stroking his cock again. Jack gasped at how good it felt, but also at what he saw happening to his penis. It was starting to grow! The other cops laughed and cheered as they watched him get a proper dick.

"Holy shit!" one of them exclaimed. "He's growing like a weed!"

Jack looked down at his crotch in amazement. His pecker was quickly becoming a big, thick cock! He had never felt so turned on in his life. The cop continued to stroke him as he watched his own cock grow longer and harder. It felt like someone was giving him the best handjob ever.

The other cops cheered as Jack's new cock reached full length. It was now 8 inches long and rock hard, with a huge ballsack hanging beneath it. Jack looked down at his crotch in amazement. He was now sporting a massive dick!

The cop stopped stroking him and said, "There you go. That's a proper cock if I've ever seen one." The other cops laughed as they stared at Jack's new equipment. He felt like he was the biggest stud in the world with his huge tool between his legs.

"Now," the cop continued, "let's get started on the rest of you..."

The first cop passed the gel to his colleagues who squeezed out a glob of the paste in their hands, ready to mold their new recruit.

The first cop turned Jack around so he was facing away from them again. He reached down and started feeling up the skinny guy's legs. "These need a little work," he said as he squeezed Jack's skinny thighs. "But they're a good foundation to build on."

Jack looked at his legs in amazement. As the cop's hands made their up his legs, he could see his legs start to expand with pure muscle. Jack looked down at his feet in shock. His legs had grown so much that the shoes he was wearing were now too small for him.

The other cops reached out and started feeling up Jack's arms, back, chest, and abdomen. They laughed as they felt his body growing more muscular under their fingers. "He's like Mr. Incredible," one of them joked.

Jack looked down at his stomach in amazement. He now had a clearly outlined six pack. The cops continued to feel up his body, making it grow more even muscular and attractive everywhere they touched. Jack felt like he was turning into a total hunk!

The first cop stepped back and looked at Jack's new body. "Not bad," he said with a grin. "You're almost ready for your new uniform."

Jack felt like he was going to die from embarrassment from being fully naked in public, but also from the feeling of the cops touching him all over. They were turning him into a total stud! The cop in front of him untied his shoes and reached down to pull off Jack's sneakers and socks.

The first cop continued to rub the growth factor into Jack's stomach, making it grow even more toned and muscular. His abs bulged out so much that they looked like they were about to pop out of his skin. Jack couldn't believe how good it felt to have his body changing right before their eyes. The cop finished with his stomach and said, "Watch this."

He reached down and started rubbing the growth factor directly into Jack's cock, making it grow even harder and longer. Jack gasped at how good it felt to have his dick getting even larger and more sensitive. The other cops cheered as they watched him get a proper cock!

The first cop finished with Jack's cock and said, "There you go. That's a recruit who's ready for his new uniform." He reached into his bag again and pulled out some clothes.

Jack looked down at himself in amazement. He had gone from being a scrawny, nerdy university student to looking like a total hunk! The cops were staring at him with their jaws open in shock. They couldn't believe how good he looked now that he was all muscular and toned.

The first cop handed Jack his new uniform: a pair of tight, blue slacks that showed off his huge ass; a dark blue blouse that was one size too small to show off his toned stomach even if it was closed; and a leather belt to carry around his utility needed for his duties.

Jack put on his new clothes, feeling like a total badass as he did. The other cops couldn't take their eyes off him.

The first cop unlocked the cuffs from around his wrists and said, "Alright, you're almost part of our team now."

Still enthralled by his physical changes Jack had no idea what the cops still had left in store for him.

Then he realized there was one place the men had not been to yet: his face. As if on cue, two cops held Jack by the shoulder from behind as the remaining cop procured another item from his bag.

The cop held in front of Jack a small round brown tin filled with a thick white paste.

"We need you to also look authoritative, criminals will not take you serious otherwise," he remarked.

Jack could feel the cream being spread on his eye brows and cheeks. As the paste was absorbed into the skin, he understood why the other cops had restrained him. His face became incredibly itchy and it felt like a thousand small needles were pinned onto his face.

Whilst Jack couldn't see it he could feel all the small hairs that had now formed a full beard, and busy eyebrows.

"Now you look like like a real man" the cop exclaimed.

"You don't know the first thing about being cop yet, but don't worry, we'll show you the ropes" he said with suggestive wink, motioning for Jack and his other colleague to head to the patrol car.

--- Author notes ---

This is my first time trying to use AI assistance in writing stories. I was inspired by fellow users like @fafnir19 and @artificial-transmutations using it in their hot stories! I must say the freedom it offers in finding a fitting picture is really useful! For text generation it's also good but you really can't expect to write everything for you! Still a lot of intervention required. To be really honest, there are still some parts which are iffy but for an experiment I think it's fine!

I did want to include some mental changes/reprogramming but aside from Jack gaining confidence I don't think I could have included it since it would make this story extremely long.

If anyone is curious about more of the technical workings on how I managed to create the artworks or text just let me know.

Hope you enjoyed it. If anyone wants I can post a couple more images that I generated but did not make the final selection!

--- Author notes ---

Product Placement: Free Exercise Healthcare Offer

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

The girls in the locker room snickered behind her back as Janet pulled off her gym shirt. They didn't have to shower before class (thank God!) but everyone needed to change out of their sweaty gym clothes. Janet always felt like an outsider and didn't have many friends in her class. It was partially to do with her tomboyish features: tall, lanky, flat-chested, a little bit muscular; but also because she preferred "guy" things to "girl" things. She was the youngest in her family and her twin older brothers let her tag along with their friends growing up. They were always skateboarding, riding dirt bikes, wrestling, or getting into trouble. It was a great childhood, but that all changed in late middle school. Her brothers where in high school now and their friends thought it was weird to hang out with a middle-school girl. And so she was left on her own. Now a junior in high school, Janet was isolated and lonely. She heard someone laughing nearby and tried not to look up. They were around the corner of a row of lockers, but she overheard anyway (that was probably the point anyway...)

"...such a freak. I mean, did you see her in the weight room..." "...what girl bench presses that much..." "...a girl with a dick, that's who!"

Janet tried to fight back tears as the laughter continued. She didn't have a dick, of course. She was a woman, but sometimes wondered if maybe she was transgender. She liked guys, not only because she could relate to them better, but because she was attracted to their bodies. Was that why she liked lifting? Was it because she wanted to be a man?

The laughing continued.

"Bitches..." Janet whispered under her breath. That was a mistake, because the laughter stopped. She would pay for that later, she was sure of it. These girls were your typical high school "mean girls" and she was an easy target for them.

"Hey Janet," one them called out. "The boy's locker room is on the other side!"

"Yeah, you must have wandered in here by mistake," said another girl.

They walked formed a circle around her and laughed. Janet grabbed her gym bag and ran out of the locker room before they saw her crying. She was so worried they were following her, that she sped up. As she turned the corner, she ran headfirst into a group of guys coming in from the gym and tripped. One of the guys caught her as she fell. His name was Cody, the captain of the basketball team and one of the tallest, fittest, guys at her high school.

"Sorry..." Janet mumbled.

"Dude, it's fine," Cody answered.

His basketball jersey was damp with sweat and the smell of his body odor mixed with deodorant and body spray was musty and raw.

"Hey, I know you," he added. "You're Davey's little sis, right?"

Her older brother David had played basketball, so they probably were on the same team at some point in high school.

"Yeah, that's me" she added as she grabbed her bag and tried to leave the conversation.

"Woah, dude, why don't you play. You'd be great," he said. His kindness made his face look even more attractive. But Janet saw that the girls were leaving the locker room, so she didn't answer and snuck out of the gym to the parking lot.

At home, she kept thinking about what she had overheard that day. It left her feeling empty and confused. Her parent's were gone that night, so she spent the night playing video games online. She was a big fan of games that were by no means "girly." It started with games like "Halo," "Borderlands" "Call of Duty", but she was a huge fan of "Gears of War." She always seemed to identity with the hyper-masculine heroes of the games, with their strong muscles, heavy guns, and no bullshit attitudes. Even when there was an option to build a female character in a video game, she almost always made herself the biggest, tankiest, brute, and played melee style.

That night, she was playing with random guys all over the world. It was commonplace for them to either not care about her gender, or just assume she was a guy. Though some might say that was sexist, she didn't care. She just wanted to be one of the guys anyway.

That night, she had a strange dream. It started as a scene from the video game earlier that day. Her squad was clearing out a bunker, but it transformed into her high school locker room. There she was, standing in the middle of the guys locker room. She saw a group of guys showering, there wet asses covered in soap and their hair matted down on their faces. She saw Cody, his calves round, his thighs thick, and his muscled bubble butt. She felt uncomfortable, but no one seemed to notice her. She started to back away when she heard someone shout out, "Look guys, Janet's got a cock!"

She stared down at her crotch and saw that she had a massive boner sticking out from her naked body. She heard echoes of laughter from all sides, but couldn't escape the dream. All around her were shadowy figures taunting her.

"Be strong. Be yourself. Fight. You have to fight. You have the strength. Fight through. Be strong."

Her hands curled into fists and she felt a primal, almost orgasmic rage, rise within her. When she lifted up her arms, she saw that they were ripped with muscle and covered in tattoos. Her chest and abs were chiseled and she felt taller. She took the stance of a fighter and landed a punch on one of the shadowy beings. She let out a grunt of satisfaction and turned to swing her hand across the jaw of another shadow.

"Good. You are a fighter. You are stronger than them. You must fight."

The fighting continued until all the shadows were gone. She let out a shout and pumped her fists together. Suddenly, the dream ended and she jumped up in her bed.

She turned on the lamp next to her bed and saw that she was back in her normal body. Her heartbeat was racing, but she knew it was just a dream. Probably caused by playing video games too late at night. She turned the light off and tried to go back to bed.

The next day at school, Janet figured there would be bullying. But she wasn't prepared for what she found on her locker. Someone had cut out a picture of her head and taped it onto a bodybuilder. Written across the top was "Roid Janet" and "Tranny Janny" (both new ones to her). She tore down the picture and walked away from her locker. She knew everyone was watching her, so instead of just hiding in the bathroom, she actually went and sat in her car. She pounded her fists on the steering wheel and thought to herself, "Why do I have to be a girl..."

Just then, she heard a voice in her head start to talk. "You are not a girl. You are a man. You are a fighter. You can become what you want. You choose to become strong. You choose to become a man. You choose to stop being Janet. When you become a man, Janet no longer exists. No one will know who Janet is. You will become a new person. A new man."

The voice grew louder in her head and she just laid back in her seat and let the voice put her into a deep trance. In this trance she felt strong, she felt powerful. At one point, it felt like she was having an orgasm, but it was different than anything she had felt before. But before she climaxed, it went away and the trance faded. She didn't want the teachers looking for her, so she back inside. But everyone was shuffling the halls as usual. What was strange was that no one made eye contact with her. This wasn't completely out of place, but it felt different somehow. She went back to her locker, but the combination she tried didn't open.

She banged her hand on the door, but no one stopped and looked. She stood in the middle of the hall and felt invisible. A nerdy kid that she had never seen before walked over to "her" locker and opened it. He took off his hoodie and hung it up on one of the hooks. It looked like all of her books and pictures were gone. On the intercom, she heard an announcement:

"A reminder to all students that the assembly with celebrity fighter and trainer Andy Hunt will start in the gym at 9:00 AM." She walked down the hall and passed the group of girls that bullied her staring at a poster. They were giggling about a shirtless man that was flexing. It was a poster for the special assembly. "OMG, he is SO sexy," they said casually. These girls paid no attention to Janet, even she was standing right next to him. Something about this man's body seemed familiar, like something she had seen in a dream.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered.

"Who is this?" said the voice on the other side.

"Janet, who are you?"

"Don't worry Janet. You are going to be fine. Just listen carefully."

"What! Who is this?"

"That doesn't matter. All that matters is who you are. Who you are becoming. Go to the locker room by 9:00. Andy needs his phone."

"Andy? Who is Andy? What's going on."

The caller hung up and she saw that the screen of her phone looked different. The time was 8:55. She had no idea what was happening, but saw that the halls were emptying out as everyone gathered in the gym.

She followed carefully, but the phone in her hand kept pinging with messages and text.

"Where r u, Andy?"

"Andy, you have less than 5"

When she entered the room, she saw a crew of cameramen and people waiting for the assembly to start.

"Andy, thank God you're here!" said a short thin man with a bald spot.

"I'm not Andy," Janet wanted to say, but the man was dragging her by the wrist.

"Just wait in the locker room until your cue, alright!"

As Janet walked down the hallway, she started to feel dizzy. She turned right, but the man laughed.

"Wrong way, Andy -- the men's room is that way" he said, pointing down the hallway on the left.

"Men's room, but, I ... uh ... what is going ..."

Janet turned down the hallway and walked through the door into the boy's locker room. It felt like dream. The room seemed steamy and Janet started taking off her clothes. As she stripped, she heard the voice again.

"Andy, you are so close. You are ready. Look at yourself Andy. You are strong. You are popular. You are an inspiration. You can be the man you want. You can inspire others to greatness. Look at yourself Andy."

Janet turned toward a mirror and saw the face of Andy Hunt staring back. This was the face of the man she always dreamed of being. His eyes were dark. He had a beard and styled hair. His bulging arms were tattooed. His chest strong, with only a little hair between his pecs. His abs were perfect and below was a forest of dark hair and a massive towering cock.

"Let go Andy. Allow yourself to let go."

Janet took the massive cock and stroked it back and forth. With every invigorating stroke, her mind emptied and she allowed herself to drift away. The sensation of being this man in the mirror took control. Andy wanted this, so Andy kept going. With a few thrust, Andy sprayed come into the sink and felt a wave of relaxation wash over him. Usually, he wouldn't do this before a show, but today felt different. He cleared his throat and spat into the sink. Outside, he heard people chanting his name.

Andy walked over to a bench and pulled out his underwear and the track suit and fitness wear with the words "Andy Hunt: Trainer" printed on them. He saw his luggage for the rest of the tour.

As the crowd chanted his name, Andy took the stage as high energy music played. He dropped down and did twenty push ups in rhythm as they cheered. He walked over to the microphone and greeted the group.

"Hello! Hello!"

Over the course of his show, he encouraged everyone in the room to commit to being themselves, to become strong, to stand up for what they believed, to transform their lives. Afterward, he took selfies with adoring fans, gave them advice, and signed their notebooks. He posted some of the pictures on his massively popular Instagram and Twitter pages. Tomorrow, he would train a local gym to stay fit, but then continue the tour. His message was empowering and he wanted everyone to feel like they had the power to make their dreams a reality.

Product Placement: Wet Dreams

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

Rick sat in front of his computer screen, quietly clicking through pictures of shirtless guys on the internet. He cautiously listened to make sure not of the other guys in his apartment were awake. He lived with two other guys that he had been friends with in college, and since graduation they had all been sharing a small apartment. Jim was getting married in a few months, so he spent a lot of time at his girlfriend's (now fiancee) house and wasn't home tonight. Connor worked late night's at a 24-hour gas station and wouldn't be home for hours. In either case, Rick was being cautious.

He locked the door to his room, which was shared with Connor, just in case. Over the last few months, Rick had noticed that he was craving porn more than usual. It was becoming an addiction. What was worse is that he had always thought he was straight, but found that gay porn was more appealing. There was something about how unashamed, passionate, and direct the men in the pictures and videos were towards one another. He unbuttoned his jeans and caressed his crotch as he clicked through pictures of shirtless bodybuilders, athletes, and models. He clicked on a picture of a hairy, muscular man that looked like he was taking a shower. Suddenly, his speakers were blaring rock music and an advertisement.

"MAN UP!!! (heavy rock music) YOU LOOK LIKE A MAN! (pictures of muscular man flexing) YOU THINK LIKE A MAN! (pictures of men watching sports) YOU WORK LIKE A MAN! (pictures of men lifting construction supplies) SO MAKE SURE YOU SMELL LIKE A MAN! (pictures of men lathering themselves with body wash)

Rick desperately tried to click out of the ad or mute his computer, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't stop watching this pop-up video, and the more he watched, the less he tried stopping.

"SO MAN UP!!! AND SHOWER LIKE A MAN!!!"

As Rick watched the video, he could almost smell the strong musky scent of a sweaty man after a long day of work. He could smell the ripe body odor of a locker room. As the men showered in the video, he felt all of his worries slip away and felt relaxed and comfortable. He was still erect from before the ad and his cock swelled and released a stream of cum all over his shirt and pants. He wanted to stop the video, wipe up his mess, and go to bed before anyone came home, but the video had started a loop of a man in bright red underwear, rubbing himself down as water poured down from a shower head. The man was muscular and hairy, and looked sexy and confused as he showered. Rick settled in and felt refreshed and relaxed -- the smell of clean, fragrant body wash filled his nostrils and replaced the stench from before. He lost all sense of time.

A knock came at the door.

"Hey, Rick, the door is locked!"

Rick's trance ended and he noticed that the video had stopped. He slammed his computer screen and looked at the clock. It was 3:30 AM!!!

"Sorry, dude!" he said as he scrambled towards the door. He realized that his pants were still unzipped and that sticky cum had dried on his shirt and pants! He took off his jeans and threw them on a pile of clothes, quickly grabbing a pair of gym shorts. He opened the door and apologized to Connor.

"Must've forgot to unlock after I changed clothes..." Rick muttered, knowing that it was a lame excuse.

"Whatever ... it's no problem," said Connor as he walked over to his desk. "Just wondered why you were sleeping with the lights on and the door locked ..."

"Yeah ... sorry," replied Rick. The conversation was awkward enough, so Rick ended it by walking over to his bed and slipping under the covers. He tried to remember how he had fallen asleep in front of his computer, but couldn't quite come up with a reason. In any case, he was exhausted and drifted off to sleep.

--

Connor was fast asleep when Rick's alarm went off the following morning at 7:30 AM. Rick was still groggy from last night, but knew that Jim would wake him up if they missed their morning run at 8:00 AM. Rick and Jim had been good friends for years, and with Rick as one of the groomsmen for Jim's wedding, this was important bonding time for the two of them. Rick quietly grabbed his running shirt and went to the kitchen, where Jim was brewing coffee for when they got back.

"You ready?" Jim asked. "A little tired, but I'll wake up," Rick replied. They opened the door and Rick almost tripped a small package in their hallway. It was a small white cardboard box with action-font letters that said "MAN UP!" and was addressed to Rick.

"Looks like you got a package," said Jim as he stretched out before they ran. Rick opened it up and saw that it was a red plastic bottle that was some kind of body wash or shampoo. There was a not saying "Try a free sample of MAN UP! body wash! SMELL LIKE A MAN!" Rick set it on the kitchen counter and closed the apartment door, ready to go for a run.

As they ran, Jim and Rick didn't talk, but on their way back, they decided to walk so they chatted a little about the wedding, their work, and anything else to fill the silence of the morning. Sweat had soaked Rick's shirt and he seemed more tired than usual.

"You sure you don't need to stop or something," asked Jim.

"Nah, I'm alright," Rick lied. He actually felt a little sick and it seemed like his body odor was stronger than usual. "Let's just go home, I'm fine." Rick started to jog, feeling light headed but pushing through the pain and the odor. When he got home, he headed straight for the shower, because he had to get read for work and didn't want to miss his bus.

The bathroom door was open and it looked like Connor had recently used the shower because the mirror was still steamed up.

"You go first," said Jim.

Rick hopped in the shower and turned on the water, thankful to get out of his smelly running clothes. He reached for his shampoo bottle and saw that it was empty.

"Shit," he said to himself. He saw another bottle on the shower's shelf -- the bottle of body wash from the strange package this morning. It looked like it had been used. Connor was always stealing their stuff, which is probably why he had run out of shampoo faster than he could buy it at the grocery store. He cursed to himself and grabbed the bottle.

The smell was noxious at first and smelled like an old gym bag, but eventually it softened into a mellow, manly scent. Rick felt the water streaming down him and relaxed as he breathed in the smell deeply. He remembered having this feeling before and a image of a toned, muscular man was projected in his mind. He rubbed his body with the lather and felt a chill combined with the heat of the rushing water. He lost track of time as his thoughts wandered.

Someone banged on the door -- it was Jim shouting "You'll miss your bus!"

He opened his eyes and realized that he had been in the shower for far too long. He also realized that his cock was fully erect -- something he'd have to hide in the towel. He quickly dried himself off and hurried to the bedroom. Connor was standing by his desk, wearing only his underwear and eating a bowl of cereal. He looked taller than usual and seemed to have a hairy chest than Rick remembered, but he was too busy to say anything. Plus, it is a little awkward to comment about your roommate's body when you are both half-naked. Rick looked at Connor expecting him to give him a little privacy as changed. He walked past him into the kitchen. Rick grabbed his jeans from the pile of clothes, and realizing that they were the cum-covered ones from last night, cursed as he buried them in the pile and grabbed new ones from the drawer. He zipped up his pants, which felt thinner at the waist (probably from the running!) and buttoned his shirt, which was tight on his biceps and chest. His jeans seemed a little short than usual as he tied his shoes, but he had no time to change again or he would miss his bus completely. He said goodbye to his roommates, first to Jim, who was taking off his shirt in the bathroom, and then to Connor, who stood in the kitchen examining the hair in his armpits.

--

Rick rushed onto his bus and took a seat next to an older woman. After a few minutes on the bus, he could tell that she felt really uncomfortable. Her face seemed turned up in disgust whenever Rick adjusted his posture. Then Rick realized what she was so disturbed by -- his stench! The smell of body odor seemed to pour off of him. He reached past her and pulled the cord for the next stop. The woman recoiled as more of his scent wafted over her. He was still four blocks away, but was so embarrassed that he needed to get off the bus. Once on the sidewalk, Rick realized that his clothes were much tighter than he remembered. After walking for a block, he realized that his shirt was soaked again and that he felt physically exhausted. It was like every muscle of his body was aching and burned in pain. He felt like he needed to throw up, so he walked into the nearest store and asked for the bathroom. The barista at the coffee shop he barged into looked disgusted and pointed him to the back. He splashed some water on his face and realized that his beard had grown thick and full. He hadn't shaved that morning, but it looked like a beard that had taken a month to fill in. He unbuttoned his shirt because it was uncomfortable tight and pulled out his phone to call his boss. He explained that he would be late to work, but every moment he felt worse. He called Jim, hoping that he could get a ride home so he could clean up and start the day over.

"Yeah, I feel like shit" "Can you pick me up?" "I'm at that coffee shop a few blocks away" "Thanks, I owe you!"

Rick pulled off his shirt, leaving just his tank top on as he walked back through the coffee shop to the street. His muscles looked bigger and he felt taller too. But, there was a stench that made everyone in the coffee shop look away. He sat on the curb, taking off his shoes because they didn't fit, though that contributed even more to the smell.

Jim pulled up in a few minutes, "Get in!" he said as he rolled down the window. The car smelled fresh and clean, and Rick noticed that Jim's hair was still wet. It smelled like the body wash that he had used this morning and that made Rick feel more relaxed.

"What happened to you?" Jim asked.

"I don't know, man. I left the apartment just fine, but on the bus I felt sick, and then I got all sweaty, and then my beard look weird ..."

"Well, I feel a little off too ... not sure why?" Jim answered. "And Connor went back to sleep ... maybe we all got food poisoning or something!"

Rick tried to answer, but the smell of the body wash in Jim's car made him just sit back and relax.

When they made it back to the apartment, they found Connor standing in the bathroom with the door open. He was staring at his reflection in the mirror.

"Guys, what's happening to me?" he said as he looked at his gorilla-like muscular body covered in dark black hairs. "I don't feel the same."

"I don't know, but we feel the same," said Jim. He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He took off his shirt and saw that reddish-blonde hairs covered his chest. His beard was thick and scraggly and he had the body of some Viking warrior. Rick followed him into the bathroom, drawn by the steam and the smell of being clean. He finished undressing and saw that his muscular body was covered in thick brown hair. On his shoulder was a tattoo and his cock seemed to bulge out of his underwear.

"I'm going to take a shower," Rick said in a monotone voice.

"Me too," said Jim and Connor in unison.

They all stepped into the shower and took turns standing under the water, lathering each other methodically as there new bodies glistened and rippled. After a few minutes, the bottle of bodywash was empty and then stood there staring blankly at their reflections in the mirror. In the sound of the water, they heard a voice chanting, "YOU LOOK LIKE MEN! YOU THINK LIKE MEN!"

Rhythmically, then chanted along as they stroked each other's cocks and made out in the bathroom, spraying water, cum, and soap everywhere. They drifted off into a deep trance ...

--

Rick woke up in this room, naked on the floor. Lying next to him was Connor, whose hairy arms were wrapped around him. After a moment of panic, he remembered how he had taken a shower ... and Connor was there ... and so was Jim ... and they ... well, I guess he never realized that he and his roommates were THAT into each other. Rick slowly stood up, noticing that he his cock was stiff with morning wood. Or, maybe it was that he was aroused by the muscular, hairy, man lying in their room. He had always hated Connor, who was a terrible roommate, but now he looked at him and was entranced. He watched him breathe and imagined kissing him or sucking his cock. Connor grunted in his sleep and shifted his weight. As he rolled over on the floor, Rick smelled his manly, musky scent and sighed in ecstasy. It was intoxicating. Rick lifted his massive arms and smelled that his armpits matched the strong odor. He heard noises in the kitchen and went out to see that Jim was washing dishes -- completely naked.

"Dude, what happened last night?" he asked, his blonde-red beard chiseled from his cropped hair. "I mean ... look at us!" Rick looked at Jim's bulging muscular body, which was covered in thick hair and dotted with patches of tattoos. "When did I get these tattoos? And look at you!" Jim added, nodding at Rick's massive erect cock and balls. "That's new!" They both laughed.

There was a moment of awkward silence, which Rick finally broke by quietly saying.

"Jim ... I think I'm gay..."

After a pause, Jim walked over and embraced his roommate. "I love you man!" he said, but added "As a brother!" They both smiled. "After last night, I figured I'm probably bi-sexual, but I can't wait to call Kim! She's gonna freak when she sees me ... but the wedding is totally on!"

As Jim walked back towards the kitchen, Rick could smell the fresh scent of bodywash drifting in from the bathroom.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Rick said.

He looked himself over in the mirror -- entranced by his massive body and masculinity. He loved himself and was hornier than ever thinking about how he would use this "curse"! He stepped into the shower and felt the trance of the water mixing with the smell of the bodywash as all of his impurities melted away. He poured the last drop of liquid from the "MAN UP" onto his hands and rubbed it over his chest and down to his hairy crotch. His mind started to feel numb as his passions changed. He lived for his new image and wanted to fuck as many guys as possible - starting with Connor, and maybe Jim if he wanted, he imagined his life of living as a MAN -- someone who lives for pleasure, for danger, for every drop of life. After drying himself off, he stepped into the living room, where he saw Connor standing naked with a bowl of cereal by the kitchen corner. He walked over, dropped his towel, and in an animal passion, fucked him on the kitchen counter as the smell of his bodywash and Connor's unwashed ass mixed with dark roast coffee, cinnamon, and vanilla.

Product Placement: Free wax and hair Removal

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The hurtful words stuck in Ashley's mind all afternoon. She had overheard two of her classmates laughing about her "girl-stache." In her freshman year of college, she assumed bullying was behind her -- something that only happened to high schoolers, but she was wrong, there will always be bullies. Ashley looked in the mirror and saw the fine brown hairs on her upper lip. She had always been hairy for a girl, but couldn't understand why it was such a big deal!

A few days later, she was browsing on her computer when a pop-up add offered a "Free wax and hair removal!" She had done some research before, and apparently her computer knew that was looking for this, so she clicked on the add and read about a skin product that would remove unwanted body hair. She ordered a bottle...regretting it a little, but hoping she could sneak it past her roommate, Kailey, who was one of those "girly-girls" -- blonde, always wearing pink, with perky breasts and a bubble-gum cheery attitude. It annoyed Ashley, who had much darker tastes, but she wanted to fit in so she hid her real passions.

--

The package arrived and Ashley hid it in her backpack before Kailey would notice. When the coast was clear, she grabbed her shower bag, backpack, and towel and headed to the showers on her floor. She claimed one of the showers in the corner and read the instructions.

"Place product anywhere on body to remove unwanted hair. After a few minutes, rinse in warm water."

The chemical smelled harsh, but Ashley rubbed it on her upper lip and waited a few minutes. She felt the chemical burning her nostrils, but powered through the awful smell. She rinsed her head in the shower and decided to see if anything had changed. She walked over to the mirror, but still saw dark strands of hair. She looked closer, and it looked like the hairs had grown longer and thicker.

"Shit!" she said as she grabbed the bottle. She read the instructions again.

"WARNING: Hair may darken at first, apply a second time until hair looks natural."

"Looks natural?" Ashley thought to herself. Would it ever completely disappear? She walked back to the showers and rubbed the chemical onto her face again. This time, she added a little more and spread it out over her chin and cheeks -- she might as well take care of any unwanted hair. The chemical didn't sting as much this time. In fact, it sort of reminded her of an aftershave that her dad used to wear.

She hopped into the shower and rinsed off the chemical. The suds drained down her body, and she felt a burning sensation in her groin.

"Fuck," she said. She hoped that the chemical would give her a rash. She started rubbing her crotch and felt her breasts becoming sensitive and raw. She dried off and wrapped the towel around her body to look in the mirror again. Thankfully, no other girls were using the shower.

When she looked in the mirror, her jaw dropped. Her mustache had thickened again, and this time there was stubble on her chin and sideburns. She felt her breasts burning and saw that her chest was flatter. Some girls were laughing in the hallway, so Ashley quickly dodged into one of the shower stalls again. She set down the towel and saw that her body was transforming. She was losing body fat and gaining muscle. Her breasts became tight pecs, her waist narrowed and her abs became chiseled. She could feel her shoulders broadening. She felt her crotch throbbing and saw that she had a small dick and two testes. When she touched them, blood rushed and filled her new cock until it was erect.

"Maybe if I apply one more time, it will go away?!" panicked Ashley as she slathered the chemical over her transformation body and stepped into the shower. The chemical seemed to burn all over her body, tightening her skin over top new muscles and smoothing them out. She washed away the product and saw a shiny, male body emerge. She was still hairy on her arms, legs, armpits, and crotch, but her chest, back, and ass were smooth. The longer she stayed in the shower, but more comfortable she felt being a man. Her body was like a sexy popstar, and she felt confident in her new sexuality.

But how would she get out of the bathroom without anyone seeing. Guys were not supposed to use this bathroom! And what about clothes!

She wrapped the towel around her waist -- she didn't have breasts to cover up anymore anyway! She strode past the mirrors where two girls were putting on makeup. They looked up and smiled, scanning her muscular torso. She caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror -- she had a thin black beard and her hair was tousled. The two girls giggled as she walked out.

When she opened the door of her room, she was shocked to see Kailey sitting at her computer. She slammed the door behind.

"Hey Ashley," said Kailey without looking up. But she soon did a double take.

"Who the fuck?! Why are you in here!" Kailey shouted.

"Kailey, it's me -- Ashley! Something happened in the bathroom ... I can't really explain... but you have to help me!"

"Ashley ... you look ... I mean ... sexy!"

Ashley wasn't expecting this reaction, but something about being a guy made her take a risk, drop the towel, and flex a little. She was starting to feel more and more confident in this new body.

"Thanks!" Ashley's voice was lower and more manly. Kailey's hands went to her mouth in excitement. "I go by Ashton now," as soon as she said this, Ashley felt her mind go blank. She had completed her transformation.

Kailey walked over to Ashton and touched his chest. She locked the door behind him and pulled him towards the bed.

"Let's use the bottom bunk ... my roommate's not around," said Kailey before she pulled off her shirt and dropped her skirt to the floor.

They fucked for a few minutes before Ashton rolled off the bed and looked around the room for his clothes. He wasn't sure where anything was, but grabbed a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt. He would have to buy some new clothes. He walked across campus towards the guy's dorm. Surely, he could find something in the laundry room. He would enroll the next day, and no one would know the difference. As long as he looked like this, he could get anything he wanted.

Product Placement: Subway Sleeper

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

Connor picked up his backpack and walked towards turnstyles of the subway station, hearing a screeching train pulling into the station. He pulled up the hood of his jacket and waited in line. As a student, he had a school sponsored pass, so he swiped his transit card, but it received an error message.

"Card invalid."

The people behind him started shouting, so Connor stepped out of line and waited for the attendant.

When the line was gone again, he tried the card again.

"Card invalid."

"You a student?" said the attendant.

"Yeah," muttered Connor.

"Alright, follow me," the driver said handing him a sheet of paper. "Fill this out ... don't miss your train."

He grabbed the paper and filled out his information. The attendant let him through, handed him a ticket, and Connor slumped onto one of the benches and waited for his train. He curled up inside his hoodie, hoping that no one would notice, considering that he was embarrassed enough by the ticketing machine rejecting his student card. He was tired from a long day at school. Today, had started out rough and had only gotten worse. Connor was a senior, but had always been sort of an outcast in his school. Some of the guys on the basketball team liked to bully him because he had quit the team his freshman year. He hated sports, and only played because his dad forced him too. But after the coach, the players, and his disappointed father came to realize that being tall doesn't make you good at basketball, they let him go his own way. But he struggled to make friends after that, and sort of just drifted through high school until now, when he only had less than a year before graduating. Connor yawned and checked his phone, "The train should be here any minute," he thought. He put his phone in his pocket and felt his eyelids close.

After a few minutes, Connor shook awake when a train rushed into the station.

"Shit!" he said, not knowing he had slept for only a few seconds or minutes! The train's doors opened and Connor saw the number and destination of the train just in time to run inside as the doors zipped shut. The train started to move and suddenly Connor felt that something was wrong -- he had left his backpack on the bench!

"Fuck!" he shouted, but he knew the train wouldn't stop for him. The train was mostly empty, but the few passengers in this car were staring at him. "What are you staring at?" he shouted, ignoring their stares. But as he walked towards an empty seat, he saw in the reflection of the glass windows that we wasn't wearing a shirt. His first thought was that he was somehow still dreaming. Any second, he would wake up and board the real train, with his backpack, his shirt, and his sanity. But the longer he stared, the more the dream became a reality. His shirt was missing, but instead of the scrawny arms and thin chest, he started to notice bulges of muscle building on his once lanky frame. His biceps and pecs filled out and his abs became defined. It looked like he was aging rapidly too. Even as a senior, Connor's chest was mostly hairless and he never had to shave his face. But the man in the reflection was covered in hair, and soon a large beard spread across his jaw. A few small tattoos darkened his skin and one of his ears looked like it was pierced. His muscles continued to throb and his once loose fitting jeans filled in with powerful legs and sexy ass. He looked like he was in his twenties, probably after college, but wondered if he was just hallucinating or dreaming. The train stopped and Connor decided he better get off and figure out how to get back to the last station. One of the people entering the train looked at him, and to his surprise, Connor cheekily said to him, "Fuck off, mate!" in a New Zealand sounding accent.

Connor stormed off the platform, ignoring the stares and glares of the other people in the station. He walked over to a booth and shouted at the woman behind the glass "What you lookin' at?"

"Nothing, sir," she said.

"Right. Well, I need to get my pack from the last station."

"Oh ... actually we have one left here. Is this it?"

"What? No that's impossible ... " Connor protested, until he noticed that the backpack looked exactly like his from home.

"It came with this ID," she said, handing Connor a wallet. He checked his reflection in the mirror, and the photo matched the grizzly, attractive face. Connor grabbed the bag looking for his books, but instead it was filled with workout clothes and a t-shirt. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and it fit snugly over his toned chest and shoulders. He walked towards the escalator, wondering where he was supposed to be going, but his mind relaxed as he emerged on street level. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, completely at ease.

Ostello della Moda: Eduardo

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

John hadn't heard from any of his friends in Italy for the last 24 hours. The last thing he got was a text from Luke, saying "Last flight to Milan!" but that was yesterday afternoon. "See ya soon Johnny-boy." In college, he had gone by Johnny, even though his name was John. He hoped that the lack of communication was because they were having too much fun to post any pictures or send a reminder e-mail. He hoped everything would work itself out.

It was around 3:00 PM when he showed up at the "Ostello della Moda." He was exhausted. He went to the front desk and gave his name.

"Sorry, sir. No reservation under that name."

He gave the names of his friends, no luck. "No reservation," the man repeated. He wasn't the one that made the arrangements, so there must have been a mistake. He sat down at a table and tried to text his friends. After a few minutes, still nothing. He went back to the front desk.

"No one checked in under the names Walter, Dylan, Tyler, or Luke. No one?" he said, a little irritated by the whole situation.

"No reservation. We don't have any rooms left," the man said, trying to be polite, but failing.

He checked his phone again. Still no response. He was stranded. What would he do? Should he find another hostel? Should he get a hotel? Would he ever get in touch with his friends. There were people behind him in line, so he stepped out of line for a second to think and let the person behind him pass. He was a muscular man with short wavy hair, a thin mustache, stubble, and a tight bro-tank. He chatted rapidly with the man behind the desk and handed him some towels and supplies in exchange for some paperwork. Suddenly, he looked straight at John and then fired off some rapid Italian questions. They talked together and John felt like they were discussing him. The man walked over and said, "You are John?" in a thick accent. "Yes ... I mean ... sì," John answered. "Antonio," he said introducing himself. "We have open bed ... uh ... I checkout ... apartment next door ..." his English was not very clear. I turned to the man behind the desk for help. "He has an apartment in the building next door. He comes here often." They nodded. I considered my options. "You stay free," Antonio said. "Show you," he added.

I followed him outside and passed a storefront selling what looked like Italian hip-hop fashion. We walked inside and Antonio greeted the owner of the store as we walked up a flight of stairs. "Some work here. We live here," he said opening a door at the top of the stairs. Inside was a small apartment with a couch, a few chairs, and an entertainment center. There was a small kitchen and bathroom and a room with bunk beds along one wall. The most noticeable feature of the room was the clothes. There were boxes of clothes everywhere. Most of them looked like the kind sold in the store beneath them. In the bunk room there was a small weight set and a treadmill. Antonio pointed to one of the bunks. "Empty. For you," he said.

Suddenly, he heard voices in the living room and Antonio left. John followed him cautiously. Antonio greeted the two guys that had walked into the room and introduced them. "John ... here is Bruno and Christofano." They conversed in Italian, and the only thing that John could understand was that they were saying the name Edoardo a lot. He wanted to ask, but he mainly wanted to sleep and try to call his friends to connect about the hostel fiasco. Bruno jumped onto the couch and turned on the TV, finding a football game. Christofano and Antonio were discussing something in the kitchen, which left John to awkwardly slink back to the bunk room and try to process this nightmare that he was in. The room was stifling hot, but he wanted to sleep, so he laid down on the bunk bed and closed his eyes. The bunk was already covered in sheets and blankets, but he felt something lumpy underneath him. He reach and pulled out a blue baseball hat from between the sheets. It smelled strongly of cologne, and had a musky scent that seemed to come from the mattress and bed. This bed belonged to someone, it wasn't just an empty bed. He hoped that Antonio wasn't putting him in an awkward position if their roommate came back and found some random American guy sleeping there. He threw the hat onto the floor and laid back in the bunk trying to relax. He breathed in the hot stale air of the room and could here the guys in the other room shouting at the TV as they watched the game. He checked his phone again, but no one replied to his texts. Some vacation.

He drifted off to sleep.

--

He woke up a few hours later and was covered in sweat. The room had grown hotter and his t-shirt was drenched. He wanted to take off his shirt, but felt that would be gross for whoever else used this bunk. Instead, he walked into the living room, hoping that someone was around to help him. He was also really hungry. Everyone was gone, but there was a note on the table next to a plate of food and a can of beer. "For John. Help yourself!" He took the plate of pizza and beer and walked over to the couch. He ate it and checked his phone again. The battery had died. He finished the food and beer and tried to find his charger in the room. But when, looked for his bag, he couldn't find it. His bag was gone and all of his clothes. Then he saw a drawer open on one of the dressers. Inside was a phone charger and some other hygiene products. "For John." There was also the blue hat that he had found earlier. He grabbed the charger and plugged in his phone. The charger was different than the one he had brought, but it was compatible with the Italian outlet, so he decided to use it. When his phone finally turned on, the main screen and the default language was Italian. It looked like he had received a few text message replies. There was a message from Antonio, all in Italian. A few from Bruno. Someone had replied to a message from Christo whose name was Edoardo -- was this even his phone? Was this one of there other roommates. He was so confused and worried that all of his stuff had been stolen. He started to feel sick and needed to go to the bathroom. After he relieved himself, he stumbled back to the bunk and found a towel, some shampoo, and a pair of red underwear waiting for him. Again, the blue hat had been placed on the bed. He felt sweaty and dirty. He hadn't showered since the plane and that nap hadn't helped. He grabbed the pile of stuff and found the shower.

He stripped down and stepped into the warm stream. It felt good. The shampoo and body wash smelled clean and inviting -- they reminded him of the smell of his bunk in the bedroom. He relaxed and let the water wash away the stress of this doomed vacation. Suddenly, he heard his phone ringing. He turned off the shower, grabbed the towel, and raced to the counter of the bathroom.

"Hello?" he said.

The voice answered in rapid Italian.

"Who is this?" he said. He tried to listen, and oddly every few words he started to understand. Casually walked over to his stack of clothes and dressed as he listened. The phone cut out and he set it down and looked up into the mirror. The first thing he was was the blue hat. He was wearing it. He followed it down and realized he didn't recognize the face in the mirror. It was a dark, swarthy, face of an Italian man. He had also absent-mindedly put on a pair of tight red underwear, which accented his slim waist, and hairy pleasure trail that covered a rock-hard set of abs and chiseled torso. There was a knock on the door.

"Edoardo, è che tu?" said the voice.

"Sì, solo un momento," he rattled off without thinking. He dried himself in the towel and opened the door. He instantly recognized the man as Diego, which was odd because he didn't think he had been introduced. But, Diego didn't seem to care and continued saying that he needed to take a shit and that if Edoardo would be so kind as to leave! They joked and he left him in the bathroom. He walked to his room and felt an odd sense of recognition as he laid down on the bunk. He felt comfortable and relaxed. He put on some more clothes and knew that tonight he was working in a show with Christo in the fashion district. He texted him to confirm the time. A few minutes later, Antonio and Bruno returned with food for supper. They asked if they had met "John from America." He said no. Antonio shrugged his shoulders and said "He must have found his friends. Glad you're back, Edoardo! Or you would have had to sleep on the couch!" Edoardo punched him in the arm and they all laughed. It would have been fun to meet this John person, but somehow he felt that he had met him somehow. In any case, he was home now and was glad to be living the dream with his roommates!

Ostello della Moda: Diego

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

Luke slid the last cigarette out of the pack and lit it up within a few seconds of stepping outside the brightly lit airport into the dark, hot Milanese night. Local time was 2:30 A.M., but he needed a cigarette so badly! The airline industry makes smoking so difficult and he needed his fix. He inhaled deeply and thought about his girlfriend back home. Well ... his ex-girlfriend. Part of the reason for their breakup was his smoking. That, combined with her desire to get married and started on a perfect American life, made Luke somewhat glad that he was free. This was going to be the trip of a lifetime!

He inhaled deeply and wondered if he could get a taxi to take him to the "Ostello della moda." They said they had 24-hour check-in. His friends were probably catching up, maybe headed out for a night on the town without him. But, he would catch up. He was the real party-animal of the group and always had been. He remembered those days in college when he would come back to the apartment completely hammered and they still took him in and helped him get to bed. He missed that -- he missed his friends.

He tossed the cigarette onto the concrete and walked towards a waiting taxi. He would need another pack in the morning, even though he was going to try and cut back on this trip. He wanted to quit, but habits don't die easily. "Last one until tomorrow night," he vowed.

The taxi wasn't air-conditioned and he tried to get comfortable. The cab smelled like smoke -- which made Luke even more anxious as the taxi bounced it's way towards the city because he could few the craving grow again -- especially when the driver lit up while driving. He didn't know enough Italian to ask him to stop, so he just inhaled it in and tried to relax. It took the cab about half an hour to make it to the hostel, and he tipped the man generously because he helped with the luggage.dn't

A sleepy young Italian man greeted him and asked him a few questions. "Uh...passport?" he said. "Right," Luke said as he reached into his bag. The zipper was halfway open and he pulled out a few things while digging for his passport. An opened pack of cigarettes fell onto the floor. Luke picked them up in astonishment. He was positive that the pack was empty. Plus, this was clearly an Italian brand that he was unfamiliar about.

"Sir...passport?" said the man. "Oh ... yeah. Here it is," he replied, wondering if maybe the taxi driver had left them there.

"You can smoke in the courtyard," said the man looking at the pack of cigarettes in Luke's hand.

"Oh, I wasn't ... I mean ... thanks."

"I need to make copy. Please, relax. I will return."

The young man walked into a back office and left Luke alone in the room. The courtyard looked empty and he didn't see any of his friends around. The cigarettes seemed to radiate energy and he knew it wouldn't go away until he smoked. He nervously walked to the courtyard, pulled out his lighter, and puffed away. The smell was different than the cab driver's brand. It felt comfortable. It felt like he had smoked these for years. On one of the drags, he brushed his hand against his chin and felt stubble. He could have sworn that he shaved before he left on this trip and he shouldn't have stubble yet. He also felt a burning on his left shoulder, like tingling needles. He put out the spent cigarette and spat into the bushes. On his way back inside he saw a bathroom and raced inside. He felt sweaty and sick, like his whole body was writhing. He pulled his shirt away and saw a dark black and red patch on his shoulder. His face looked different too. He pulled off his t-shirt and looked in the mirror. On his left shoulder and chest there was a large tattoo. His body looked slim and athletic, much more muscular than he remembered. He managed to put his shirt back on, but it was tight against his body and uncomfortable. His head was flooded with the high from the cigarette, but he managed to find the front desk again.

"Ah," said the man handing him his backpack. "Room 234, Bunk D, Diego." When he said the name "Diego," something clicked inside him. He felt a wawdve of recognition, including a mastery of the language, flooding into his brain. It was as if the chemicals in the cigarette had opened up an entirely new person inside him. As he climbed the stairs, he felt less and less like Luke and more like Diego. When he opened his back pack in the room, he pulled out a tight leather jacket, slim black pants, a pair of sunglasses, and dog-tags that had "Diego" printed on them. As he looked out the window at the dim morning light, he wondered if Bruno, Christo, and Antonio would be coming back soon. He walked over to the window and lit up another cigarette. He shivered slightly, and noticed a vein running along his bicep and the moon carve shadows on his tight abs. He stared out at the street letting the smoke fill his lungs, and with a deep breath, he exhaled the rest of his former life into the dark of night.

Ostello della Moda: Bruno

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

Dylan hated Italy so far. It wasn't really "Italy's" fault, but his travel plans had been messed up. His plane leaving New York had been delayed, which meant he missed his connecting flight in Amsterdam, etc...but he was finally there. The airline had helped him arrive only a few hours later than expected in Milan, but it was frustrating nonetheless. He hadn't slept for hours and was exhausted by the time he arrived at "Ostello della moda." He had received some texts from Walter and Tyler, both of whom were supposed already at the hostel, but Nico at the front desk seemed confused about their arrival schedule. He insisted that everything was fine.

"Just need passport and paperwork. All is good," he said re-assuredly. "Your friends are coming. Or, maybe they go out for the night. I will help," he said. Dylan was too tired to eat any of the food. Even though he was a picky eater, he had managed to get a plump belly and flabby chest by his mid-twenties. Italian food wasn't really his "thing" and he just wanted to sleep. He dragged his suitcase to his room, panting and sweating in the hot humid hallway. He unlocked the door and threw his things on Bunk B. Someone was in the shower and Dylan wondered if maybe it was Tyler or Walter, but before Dylan could leave the room to avoid an awkward encounter, out stepped a steaming, muscular Italian man.

"Hi...I'm Dylan ... I mean ... 'Bruno,'" he corrected as he pointed to his name tag.

"Ciao! Antonio," replied the man without hesitation. "Eh, welcome to room ... eh, I go out ... eh ... downstairs?"

"Sure," said Dylan. "Have you seen someone named Walter?"

"Ooh-alter?" replied Antonio. "No."

Antonio left the room, leaving Dylan to himself. Since two of the beds were already occupied, he wondered if there was some mistake. Dylan was sure that they had ordered an entire room with five bunks, but maybe he missed something in the translation. In either case, Dylan was exhausted. He laid down on the bed, his eyes immediately closing.

He woke up a few hours later and the room was sweltering hot and it was dark outside. Dylan was still wearing his dirty travel clothes, so he stripped down to his underwear and walked over to the window, hoping to maybe let in some fresh air. He looked out across the street and saw dozens of young people walking around and enjoying the busy nightlife.

"So much for going out tonight..." he said as he rubbed his throbbing head and tried to swallow saliva from his dry mouth. He went into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face and drank with his hands. He looked in the mirror and saw a pair of dark brown eyes staring back. He blinked and his eyes returned to their blue-green.

"Fuck..." he whispered, realizing how exhausted he still was. He slumped back into bed letting the cool night air and the sound of the street wash over him as he lay on his bunk.

He tossed and turned, and the sheets felt like pin pricks and his body was hot. After maybe an hour, his two roommates burst into the room. Discussing in rapid Italian and clearly staggering from too much beer.

"Dov'è Bruno?" they shouted, followed by "Bruno, sveglia!" They pulled Dylan from his bed, but he was still half-asleep. They handed him a bottle of beer and helped him into a shirt, jeans, and sandals.

"No ... let me sleep ... I'm not Bruno ... I'm ... tired ..." Dylan protested. But they insisted and pulled him into the hallway. On his way down, he drank a little of the bottle and felt more relaxed. They had dressed him in a pink brotank and tight jeans and marched him towards the door. They crossed the street and Dylan finished his beer as they plopped him into a chair. A man took a clippers and shaved his head. He heard a high buzzing sound and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Groggily, Dylan saw himself in the mirror. The reflection was a muscular, hairy, man with cropped hair, scruffy stubble, and arms and chests covered in tattoos. The man worked with the needle on another tattoo.

Surprisingly, the chubby, blonde boy that had come to Italy was erased with the very definition of "macho." Even in his pink tank top, he looked every inch like an Italian brute. As the alcohol took more effect and the hypnotic whining of the tattoo needle continued, he heard a name repeated over and over until it became his own. He was Bruno. His friends convinced him to go out tonight, and he was glad they did. Bruno was always looking for a good time. And everytime he partied or caused mayhem, it was another badge of honor for his image as the "Uomo supremo." He would get another tattoo to prove it.

Player Of The Month

You can support me at ko-fi.com/mrrharper

It did not take long.

Jake got a notification saying he'd been chosen as the Player of the Month from the server he's been playing on for months now. He was very excited about this as he's never got any in-game title like that before.

He clicked on the notification and scrolled through all the buzzwords to see what rewards he would be getting. Weirdly, there was no mention of any items, upgrades or other perks. Instead there was a button. "Brand new personalized experience".

Jack eagerly clicked the button, the only option avaliable to him. At first nothing happened and he just assumed the game was loading some new assests which would probably take some time.

Suddenly he felt some buzzing in his head, followed by a sharp pain and a feeling as if his headset was tightening around his head. He was paralyzed by this for a moment, his mind completely losing track of what was happening with his body as it was experiencing sudden sensory overload.

And then he was back in the game, but something was different. He was transported to Iron Gym, a locaton on the opposite side of the map from he was just a minute ago. He looked down and saw that his avatar had changed completely. He tried to access his character menu to see what had happened but he couldn't, so he walked up to a mirror.

In in he saw someone completely different. A young dude, clearly muscular, wearing a backwards cap and a pair of tight compression shorts. He looked like a gym bro! Not only that, he looked pretty similiar to the NPCs that populated this area of the game world, which Jake found very strange. Something went wrong here.

Wait, where was his headset? Jake put his hands on his face, but couldn't find the bulky gear he had to wear to play. What was going on?

A player came up to Jake and chose the option to initiate the conversation.

Jake #27AD0019 turned around to face Player#A97F4. His eyes flashed red, showing he was now in interaction mode.

"ey dude, ya got any issue with me bruh?" he asked, an arrogant streak in his voice. He then waited for the player to choose a response form the dialog tree, entering one of his idling animations, moving slightly from left to right and flexing his bare chest.

"Damn, that's a new one, didn't see this character before here" the player muttered to himself, clearly intrigued by the sudden appearance of a new NPC. He then chose a response.

"No, I just noticed you're a regular here and you seem to be doing pretty good, so I wanted to say hi."

#27AD0019's changed his attitude from annoyed and arrogant to proud and cocky. A new animation was triggered by the player's response, making him flash his teeth in a cocky smile, then flex his arms in a double biceps pose.

"hell yeah bruh, am the top dawg here dude"

The player focused on the NPC's muscular arms, while the character kept them in a flexed position up in the air. Player#A97F4 was starting to enjoy the conversation and knew exactly what dialog option he would choose.

"I see, you clearly work out every day. Your form is very impressive."

This prompted another few animations, in which #27AD0019 flexed his arms, chest and legs, showing off his muscles to the player.

"fuck yeah bro! i lift, like, all day dude, gotta work for guns like this bro huhuhuhuhuhuh" He let out a low, dumb laugh. The player grinned as he saw one of the potential responses he had avaliable.

"So not much happening in your life except the gym, right?"

A few calculations happened int he background that determined whether the NPC would respond positively or with anger. The result then took into account the character's intelligence statistic - 3/10. This gave the player the exact result he was looking for.

"huhuhuh yeah dude, am a real gym bro dude, ain't nothin' more important that liftin' bro. head empty, just gains huhuhuhuhuh" The answer triggered another loop of flexing animations.

#27AD0019 was going to be a very popular NPC.

Ostello della Moda: Christofano

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

Tyler tried arguing with the man at the luggage counter but it was getting him nowhere. "My luggage was never transferred from Oslo ... but what will I do?" Tyler had planned on arriving later than his friends, but at the last minute, his booking company offered him a free upgrade to travel earlier. He was supposed to get there in the evening, but it was only 10:00 AM. Clearly, this "free" upgrade had cost him a day without his luggage. He had checked everything except a small backpack with his passport, phone, and a sweatshirt. He basically had the clothes on his back.

"And ... when my luggage comes ... you will transfer it to my hotel?" he asked.

"Yes," said the man speaking with very broken English. "Ostello della Moda..." he continued in rapid Italian. A few minutes later, he had negotiated with a few more customer service agents to get a free taxi ride to the hostel. The driver said he worker for "Ostello" and would bring him there immediately. But after an hour of winding through the grimier streets of Milan, Tyler wasn't so sure he trusted the man. The taxi drove past what looked like the red carpet to a fashion show or celebrity event. A few meters later, the cab pulled into a gated courtyard.

"Ostello della Moda," said the driver.

"Are you sure?" said Tyler. "This doesn't look like the picture I remember." The driver opened the trunk, jumped out and grabbed his backpack. Before Tyler could open his door, the driver ran into the courtyard with his backpack.

"Shit!" Tyler shouted as he struggled with the door, stumbled out of the cab, and raced after the man. The man turned into a dark door and Tyler followed him. He needed to get his backpack! Otherwise, he was lost in Italy with no phone, no IDs, and no money! He burst into the dark room and was knocked out cold by a stranger hiding inside.

"No ... please ... I don't have anything ..." Tyler mumbled as a pair of men pinned him down. His cab driver had opened his backpack and found his money and ID. "Let me go ... please ..." But the men had him trapped. One of them put a cloth over his mouth that had a fragrant chemical -- almost cologne like. He gagged a little, but then relaxed. He drifted off to sleep...

When he woke up, he could faintly hear electronic dance music through the walls. He had expected to be tied up in a dark room somewhere, but was just sitting on a chair in what looked like a dressing room. He blinked in the bright lights and saw that he had been stripped except for pair of tight athletic shorts. He looked down at his body in shock. His dark tan skin was covered in short curly hairs. His torso and abs were chiseled. His arms had small veins popping out toned muscle. He looked in the mirror and saw dark eyes looking back, a sexy stubbled jaw, and a thin dark mustache and goatee.

"Merda, che ora è?" he thought to himself, realizing a second later, than he had thought the phrase in Italian, not English. His head was pounding and the music seemed to be getting louder.

A short aggressive woman burst into the room and shouted at him. "Christo! Mossa! Tu sei il prossimo!" He jumped up and raced after her. He was backstage of a theatre that was filled with smoke, bright lights, and upbeat electronic music. Dozens of other men were crowded around him, each surrounded by crew members adjusting their clothes, fixing their makeup, and pushing them towards the door onto the stage. One of the crew dangled some necklaces over his neck and placed a neon baseball cap on his head. They adjusted a few bracelets on his arms. A young man wearing a headset pointed at him as the crew finished by oiling his chest so he looked sweaty and rugged. In a second, he followed the man in front of him onto the runway.

It was an exhilarating experience. Dozens of cameras flashed as he walked down the runway, making his turns, and modeling his body and clothes. He felt empowered as they gazed on his nearly naked body. It was a primal and raw feeling. He turned back towards the entrance -- a completely changed man! He had become Christofano -- one of hundreds of male models working in fashion district of Milan. With every new outfit, every camera flash, and every trip down the runway, he was embracing his new life.

After the show, he found was given a backpack with a set of clothes. He assumed they were his, so his way back to the courtyard where the taxi had dropped him off. The driver was waiting there. He handed him a cell phone and passport, which he said that Christofano had left behind accidentally in the cab. He thanked him and they drove off to the "Ostello della Moda." He saw a message from the airport and the hostel on his phone. His bag had been transferred to the hostel, he was in Bunk C. He texted his friend, who he hoped would meet him at the bar for a night of celebration.

In his mind, the thoughts of the airport, the missing luggage, the mysterious taxi driver, reminded him of something -- it was odd! But, then he remembered that he had done a photo shoot in Oslo recently ... or had he? Was he meeting some American friends at the hostel? But, who did he know from America? And wasn't his career based in Milan? Was he living in a hostel? Didn't he have an apartment that he shared with his friends ... what were there names? He couldn't remember, but figured it was probably fatigue from the show.

He walked into the hostel and the host greeted him. He explained the whole situation with the luggage -- two of his friends had arrived, but he should just wait at the bar. He drained his first beer, still a little lost about why he was spending the night at this hostel. Suddenly, someone shouted out his name.

"Christo!"

He turned to the man, a wave of recognition passing over him. "Antonio!"

They talked about how tonight they were celebrating with friends. First, they needed to drink! Then, they had a surprise for Bruno ... their friend waiting upstairs!

Ostello della Moda: Antonio

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

Walter climbed out of the stairs of the metro and squinted at the bright Milanese sunshine. He had been planning this trip with some friends for several months and was finally excited to begin backpacking through the Mediterranean. He was meeting his friends at a nearby hostel called "Ostello della moda" because they were all flying in separately. But once, they were all there, the real vacation would begin. They wanted to start in Milan, than off to Turin, through Tuscany, Florence, Rome, Naples, and if they had time, they might backtrack and go to Spain or Greece. Except for a few reservations, most of their trip would be planned as they went.

Walter walked past store fronts selling men's clothing. The fashions were brightly colored, trim and lean, and a blend of leisure and luxury. Toned men with beautiful men stared back from the images. He saw his reflection in the glass, with his backback pulling against his flabby man-boobs, and his untucked shirt with pit stains, and his undershirt and pants struggling to contain his bulging belly. He was wearing shorts and saw how pale his skin was. He kept walking and started to breathe heavily as the sun beat down on him. He wiped his forehead and wondered if his pale skin would get sunburnt this early in the trip. He walked past a group of young people chatting happily in Italian. They ignored him. Walter told himself that he would have to learn to love Italy. It was beautiful, but he just wondered how he would ever fit in. He looked like a tourist and knew almost know Italian.

He walked past more shops and restaurants and then finally saw the hostel. He rang the doorbell and the door opened with a short buzz. He stepped inside and saw that he was in a dining room filled with guests and with Italian pop music playing from the bar.

"Ciao!" said an athletic Italian man with a tight polo and tattoos on his tan forearms. The confused look that Walter returned indicated that he didn't understand Italian, so he continued in English. "Welcome ... checking in?"

"Yes," said Walter hoarsely. "Walter ... um ... it's under a friend's name..."

"Si, si" replied the man. "I am Nico. Please, set down your bag. Do you have your passport?" he asked.

"Yeah ... um ... it's in here." Walter fumbled through his bag and pulled out his American passport.

"Okay," Nico said. "I make scan and bring papers, you sit. Beer? Wine?"

"What?" Walter asked.

"Do you want beer or wine? It is included in the included. And food too. Please, relax, eat."

Walter's stomach growled at the mention of food, so he left his bags at the front desk and found the buffet line. He loaded up on some delicious looking pasta, appetizers, and little squares of pizza. He sat down and the bartender brought him tall glass of beer. Everyone in the bar was watching a soccer match on the TV, which Walter was glad of, because he didn't want anyone to take notice of him. After a few minutes, Nico came back with a few sheets of paper.

"Okay," he said, "Your room is ready. Just fill out and sign." Walter nodded. "And here is name tag," said Nico, handing him one of those stickers. "Antonio?" Walter said, "But my name is ..."

Nico interrupted, "For fun. Italian name for when you are here. Also, WIFI username."

"Oh," said Walter. He was confused but decided to just roll with whatever policies they had to any avoid trouble. He peeled off the sticker and placed it on his shirt.

The paper forms asked for him to write in his "Italian" name, some contact info, and then the terms and conditions. It was written in Italian, and he tried to translate it, but failed to understand some of the paragraphs. He was staying in Room 234, Bunk A -- hence "Antonio." He assumed that his friends were staying in the same room, but there was no mention of them. He was the first to arrive, and was going to meet with Dylan and Tyler tonight, then pickup John and Neil in the morning from the train station.

He signed the papers and finished his beer. It was such a relaxed environment and the atmosphere (and alcohol) seemed to help him relax. He went up and got some more food and tried to connect to the WIFI. He typed in the user name into the WIFI security. It seemed to work, so he texted Dylan and Tyler, asking where they were. He got no answer back. He decided he wanted to check out the room, so he grabbed his backpack and went up to the room. The elevator wasn't working, so he dragged himself up the steps, which started to make him feel light-headed. When he finally made it to the room, he was sweating and panting. In side the room along the left wall were five bunks, labelled A,B,C,D, and E. It looked like bunk C was taken, which was strange because he thought that he would be the first here. He looked at the luggage and it looked like maybe it could be someone from his group, but didn't want to dig through someone else's stuff. He tossed his bag on his bunk and immediately felt drowsy.

"Probably the beer," he said as he walked towards the bathroom. The room was hot and humid, and he felt like his head was swimming. He felt sick to his stomach and dived towards the toilet. He started to throw up, which made him feel better. After a minute or two of emptying himself, he noticed that body seemed tense and shaky. He pulled off his shirt and he felt thinner and lighter. His chest was covered in dark hairs, which were normally light brown like his hair. He walked over to the mirror and saw that his hair had darkened and that his chin had short stubble. He ran to his bag outside, still half-naked to look for his towel and some clothes -- he needed to take a shower after all this sweating. Maybe he was hallucinating and needed to shower and sleep. He opened his bag and pulled out some clothes on top.

"What the fuck?" he said. There was some bright colored tank tops, tight shorts, colored slacks, and accessories in his bag. "These aren't my clothes?" But he had no time to worry about that. He grabbed a few things and felt his gut writhe in pain as he ran back to the bathroom. He wondered if he would throw up again. But instead, his stomach tightened into a six-pack of abs. His arms and torso tensed up and he saw biceps and pecs emerge. He took off his shorts and underwear and saw that his legs and crotch had lost their flabbiness. He turned on the shower and lathered up, using some fragrant shower gel that was by the sink. The water relaxed him, and as it flowed over his body, it felt like his old body was being eroded away and replaced with the lean and swarthy body of someone completely new. He stepped out of the shower and dried off. He slipped on a pair of tight red shorts and a designer tank top. He heard the door to his room open and walked out.

"Hi," said a chubby man with blonde hair, "I'm Dylan ... I mean ... 'Bruno,'" he corrected as he pointed to his name tag.

"Ciao! Antonio," he replied without hesitation. He continued in broken English. "Eh, welcome to room ... eh, I go out ... eh ... downstairs?"

"Sure," said Dylan. "Have you seen someone named Walter?"

"Ooh-alter?" replied Antonio. "No." He grabbed his phone and walked out of the door to give Dylan some privacy. He checked his messages on the stairs. He had texted "I am here at the hostel. Where are you two?" "Is this Walter?" Dylan had replied. "Just arrived," he added. He had another message from someone that used Tyler's cell number, "Room 234, Bunk C -- Cristofano." He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw someone familiar at the bar.

"Cristo!" Antonio shouted as he gave the man a hug. They chatted rapidly in Italian, as if they had known each other for years.

Trash

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

Spring break was almost over. After spending a few days at home with my family, it was time to head back to campus and finish out the year. I was an above average student -- not a complete nerd, but not stupid. In high school, I had always been smart but never really fit in. I didn't try very hard. College was liberating! I made friends that shared my interests and was going to graduate with a journalism degree.

I parked my car and headed towards my apartment. A few dirty snowbanks dotted the streets and the trash from last winter made everything look dirty. Most of the apartments in this area were rented by college kids who didn't really take care of their houses. In one front yard, I saw an old white "wife-beater" shirt scattered around empty beer bottles and red solo cups. The shirt was a little muddy, but otherwise in perfect condition. I figured some jock forgot about it one drunken night or basketball game.

Most people would describe me as a hipster. I often shopped at vintage stores and thrift shops for clothes. This abandoned shirt was a little gross, but if washed a few times would be perfectly wearable this summer. I was a skinny little white boy, but in the right weather, I could pull off a wife beater look like this.

I grabbed the shirt and kept walking, thinking nothing of it.

--

When I made it to my apartment, I tossed the shirt on my bed and unpacked my things. I didn't have much to do that day so I figured it might be a good idea to clean my apartment. I moved a few things around and decided to try on the shirt.

"It's still dirty … but, I'll be sweating anyway and take a shower later," I thought to myself. "Might as well try it on to see if it fits."

I unbuttoned my shirt, stripped down, and pulled the white shirt over my head. Looking down, I noticed how pale my skinny body was. With my skinny jeans, styled hair, and thick rim glasses, the look worked in my opinion. I continued cleaning.

With a minute or two, I noticed a strange taste in my mouth -- a combination of tobacco and stale beer. I had never been a smoker, but suddenly could smell cigarette smoke in my room.

"Must be the neighbors," I thought. But the taste grew stronger. I lifted up my shirt, realizing the smell was in the clothes. When I lifted up my arm, a new odor filled the room, a pungent manly scent seemed to pour out of my armpits, which were knotted with black hair. Instinctively, I scratched away an itch and lifted my fingers to my nose. My hands smelled like sweat and smoke. My fingers grazed my chin and I noticed that dark stubble was covering my jaw and cheeks.

I walked over to the bathroom to see if I was just imagining something. In the mirror, I saw that stubble had formed an even five-o-clock shadow. Between the two straps of the shirt, dark hairs started sprouting even though for years I could never grow chest hair. I felt a sharp pain on my right shoulder and grabbed my arm in pain. When I pulled it away, the skin was swollen and red, revealing a new tattoo on my bicep.

"What is happening," I thought to myself. I tried to pull the shirt off, but it was like it was stuck to my skin. After a minute of struggling with the shirt, I realized how thirsty I was becoming. I opened the refrigerator and cracked open a beer. Strangely, the entire bottom shelf was filled with cans and bottle.

"That's strange," I said out loud. "I never bought these!" But, I was so thirsty that I drained the beer in a few seconds and grabbed a second, then a third. The alcohol started to hit me and I staggered back into the bathroom. The shirt still wouldn't move, but the booze made me a little less worried. I looked at myself in the mirror and noticed that I had put on about twenty pounds of weight. My narrow chest had thickened with two firm pecs and tight abs. Massive shoulders and thick biceps replaced my skinny arms. Even my neck seemed thick with muscle. Before, the shirt hung loose on my body, but now it pressed against my body snugly.

Seeing my upper body bulge with muscle, I realized that my pants were uncomfortably tight. I was wearing a pair of skinny black jeans, but my things and calves were starting to ache. To my relief, I was able to unbutton my pants, but when I tried to pull them down, I noticed that they were not the jeans I remember putting on that morning. The waist line had grown, the cut was loose fitting, and the color was a dark blue. I pulled them down to my knees and realized that I was wearing a different pair of boxers too. Satisfied with these new, more comfortable, clothes, I pulled them back up and buttoned them.

When I looked in the mirror again, I was puzzled by the face looking back. "When did I get a hair cut?" I asked myself, rubbing my cropped black hair. Thick, dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion and combined with the dumb look in my eyes, I realized that I was slowly losing my memory.

"It's just the alcohol," I told myself. "People are always stupider when they drink." But when I walked back into my room, I couldn't remember what I was doing five minutes ago. I opened a dresser drawer and found shirts I couldn't remember ever buying, but looked like they would fit me perfectly. I found a pair of brown steel-toe work boots, a pocket knife, a lighter, a pack of cigarettes. When I saw the package of cigs, my body practically lurched with a craving to light up.

"Don't see why not," I told myself. But deep inside my mind, I remember that I had never liked smoking and that this urge was completely foreign to me.

The smoke filled my lungs and nostrils, and with every breath I felt more and more relaxed. Each puff of smoke was like a cloud of memories leaving me forever, being replaced by new ones. Through the haze, my room seemed to change as well. A baseball cap appeared on the dresser, a poster of a truck covered in mud above my bed, my shelf of college books erased from existence in the same way that my hard earned knowledge was gone from my mind. I walked out onto a small balcony to finish smoking and left the smoldering butt on the railing.

On my bed, I saw a blue shirt stained with grease and oil. The embroidered name patch said "Keith." When I put the shirt on, it was like stepping into a completely new identity. Years of experience working with engines in a mechanic's garage washed over me. I found a pair of keys in one of the pockets. When I stepped outside, a black and chrome motorcycle was parked next to the building. I turned the key and raced off for a day of working, completely unaware that I had never ridden this bike before.

They say that one man's trash is another man's treasure. But in my case, one man's trash transformed me forever into a completely different man. There was no way of turning back, for all I knew, this had always been my life.

Primal Instincts: Men are Dogs

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

Gwen could smell the cigarette smoke wafting from one of the apartment windows as she jogged along the street. She always hated this part of the walk because there was usually someone sitting outside on their apartment balcony and she felt "watched." Gwen was in her mid-twenties, just out of college, but single. She worked downtown at a bank and wore fashionable work clothes, but today on her run she wore simple athletic gear. She had an attractive body, lean and fit, and she hoped to keep it that way. It was on this street in particular that she could feel people "watch" her as she ran and it was unsettling. Today, her cell-phone rang, which threw off her running music, so she stopped to check her phone and get the music going again.

When she stopped, she could smell the cigarette smoke even stronger and felt eyes watching her from above. She glanced up and saw a thirty-something guy leaning over the railing and looking at her. She broke eye contact and paced a few steps, but still felt watched. He heard the man clear his throat and spit.

"Lookin' fine, girl! Don' stop now! Keep on'a runnin' " said the guy with a laugh.

She ignored him and tried to get her phone to start her running mix again. While she fussed with her phone, her water bottle slipped and fell onto the sidewalk. She could feel the man's pervert eyes watching her as she reached down to pick it up.

The man let out a loud whistle, "Nice ass! Come by later and I'll help you keep it in shape!"

She had been cat-called before, but this guy was starting to cross a line. Earlier that week, a friend had told her to download an app called "Men Are Dogs." It was supposedly some way to report incidents of guys acting like jerks or "dogs" so other girls could look them up and feel safer. Her friend had thought it was funny to see what kind of guys made it into the database, but Gwen never thought she would actually have to use it.

In a second, she grabbed her phone, opened up the app, and turned to the guy in the balcony.

"You want a picture! I'll give you more than a picture," he shouted as he grabbed his crotch and gestured vulgarly.

This was the first time she actually had a chance to look at this creep of a guy. He was wearing torn jeans and a white sleeveless t-shirt. He was a broad shouldered guy with a big build, but had a beer gut and flabby arms. He looked pretty strong, but not really in shape. His light blonde hair was cropped tight, almost shaved and he had a tattoo on his shoulder. He threw his cigarette in the bushes and licked his lips and thrust towards her again, laughing.

Her phone snapped a picture and within a few seconds the message read "Strike Three," which must have meant this guy had been reported by two other users. The next screen said "Teach this dog a lesson? Yes or No." She wasn't sure what this actually meant, but the guy was being a real dickhead, so she chose "yes."

The screen buffered with the message "Dog in Training," which had a picture of a muscular man wearing a dog collar and panting stupidly. She looked up and saw the man on the balcony look like he was choking and fall to his knees. She ran closer, hoping it wasn't all some stupid act. He was pawing at something at his neck, which Gwen realized was a leather collar. He made a few choking sounds and then looked at her and stuck his tongue out stupidly. Suddenly, his body started to shape shift into a compact, muscular dog. She saw a leash attached to the collar and the dog pleaded softly and looked up at her.

Her phone vibrated and she read the message, "Say hello to Kurt." She grabbed the leash, not sure what do with this man that she had watched transform into a dog. She was happy that he had stopped harassing her, but thought this was maybe an extreme reaction. The phone continued by asking "Bring Home or Bring to Pound?" She chose "bring home," but just wanted to get out of there before anyone one noticed. Kurt trotted in front on his leash while she finished her run.

As soon as she got home, she texted Amanda, the friend that had shown her the phone app. "No way!" was Amanda's reaction, "send a pic." Gwen snapped a picture of Kurt and sent it. "I'm coming over," Amanda replied.

--

"Oh my god!" Amanda squealed when Gwen explained what had happened. "He's so cute," she said as she pet Kurt on the back while he panted and barked.

"Well, he was saying all this stupid shit, and I just thought I'd take a picture and leave ... but it turned him into this dog ... and now I don't know how to turn him back!" Gwen stammered. "I don't want a dog!"

"But Gwen, look at him," Amanda said as she continued to pet Kurt's head.

"I don't want a dog! Especially one that was some sicko guy from the street!"

Gwen's phone suddenly vibrated again and she pulled up the app. She saw a picture of Kurt before he was a dog and the words "Teach your dog a new trick? Yes or No."

"What should I do," Gwen said in frustration. Amanda grabbed the phone and chose "yes." Kurt whimpered a little and then rolled over on his back. In a few minutes, his dog body had transformed back into the original Kurt, but he stayed motionless on the floor. Thankfully, his clothes had reappeared so they didn't have to see a nude guy "appear" on the living room floor.

"Woah," said Amanda. "So you're not kidding!"

"Of course not!" shouted Gwen. "This is him!"

"Give a command," prompted the phone and Amanda selected "Roll over." Kurt obediently rolled onto his belly. "Stand up," and Kurt stood up. "Try your own," read the phone. "Take off your shirt and flex," shouted Amanda. "Amanda! Stop it!" Gwen tried to say, but Kurt obeyed by taking off his white t-shirt and flexed his muscles. While Amanda gawked about controlling Kurt, Gwen saw her pile of unfolded laundry and had an idea for a command. "Kurt, fold my laundry." Dutifully, he walked over and started folding clothes. "Nice one," Amanda replied. "You've got a live-in butler!"

While Kurt folded clothes, the phone popped up another message. "See grooming options." Amanda and Gwen fiddled with the sliding bars, one for muscle, hair, height, etc., but they couldn't decide so they selected "Suggested grooming." They watched Kurt transform again, this time into a muscular young man with ripped abs, a tight ass with a thin waist. Long legs and arms with lean muscle, broad shoulders and sucked in stomach. His hairy belly and back were smooth, like he was properly groomed. Even his smile and eyes looked more attractive.

"Good lord!" said Amanda. "Take off your pants, Kurt!" and he obeyed. "No, like in a strip show!" Kurt walked over to her and started grinding while slowly unbuttoning his jeans. He had on a pair of tight underwear which showed his massive cock. But Gwen choose, "Kennel" on the app and Kurt stopped, curled up on the living room floor and within a minute was back to dog form.

"Oh come on!" said Amanda. "It was just getting fun."

"It's late, Amanda," said Gwen. "And I have to work. Plus, I just want to go to bed and figure out what to do about this in the morning."

"Fine," said Amanda as she headed towards the door. "But invite me over so I can play with your 'dog' once and awhile."

"Haha," replied Gwen drolly.

--

At 6:00 AM, Gwen heard scratching at her door. "What the?" she said as she staggered. She opened the door and saw Kurt scratching his paws to get her attention.

"Do you have to go outside," she asked and she knew the answer was yes. She grabbed the leash and walked him outside to take a piss on the lawn. She changed into her running gear and thought maybe she could take Kurt running with her.

After the run she started getting ready for work and took a quick shower. She stepped out wearing only her towel and screamed when she saw a man standing in the kitchen. But she realized it was only Kurt, who was busy cooking breakfast. He was wearing only his underwear and was the muscular version of himself from last night.

"What are you doing?" asked Gwen, as if talking to a pet. She was startled when he answered, "Making breakfast for you."

"Wait, you can talk?"

"Of course I can talk!"

The whole time since taking Kurt home, she hadn't heard him speak a word. Also, she noticed that even though she was only wrapped in a towel, Kurt was making perfect eye contact with her, not looking at her body or barely covered breasts, just right into her eyes. She felt a little sad for him, but also a sort of "puppy love" at how cute he was making breakfast for her. She finished changing, ate breakfast, and headed towards the door.

"Kurt, I'll be back around 5. Just don't mess anything them and keep clean, okay. Make yourself lunch."

"Have a good day, Gwen," Kurt answered with excitement as she closed and locked the door.

--

When Gwen opened the door to her house she didn't know what to expect. Would Kurt still be there? Would he be a dog-dog or a man-dog? Would he have run away? Would she keep him? What about Kurt's friends and family?

"Kurt, I'm home," Gwen called out. She heard the shower turn off and Kurt ran towards her, this time completely naked.

"Hi Gwen!" he said enthusiastically. She saw that Kurt's massive cock was swaying, half-erect. "Wanna get some exercise?" said Gwen.

"Yes, of course!" answered Kurt, who loved running. He ran to get the leash and held it out to her.

"Not that type of exercise," said Gwen as she led him towards the bedroom. "You're going to fuck me until I tell you to stop, okay!"

"Okay," he said, hopping up on the bed.

"And you're not going to talk until I tell you," she said. Kurt nodded.

"And go slow. You need to be more man and less dog right now," she added as she dropped her work skirt to the ground and pulled off her blouse.

After there love-making -- the best Gwen had ever had! -- Gwen had a notification on her phone. "Training Complete. All Men Are Dogs!"

She looked over at the muscular man-dog lying in bed next to her, looked at his smooth chest, thin waist, and tight ass, and put down the phone, fully determined to adopt this stray and keep him well-trained.

New Policeman

this is my first story, I hope you like it, if you see any mistake or something to improve don't hesitate to comment it, thanks.

-----

Niko didn't know how he had ended up in this situation.

 Everything was rather confusing.

He was at the Edgewood police station in Florida, in a room with several soundproof panels scattered around, though not so many as to resemble a recording booth, but enough to isolate the noise. The room contained only a two-legged white table and black acrylic conference chairs on either side.

It resembled a movie interrogation scene, with the only difference being the lights. Instead of a table lamp used to shine directly in his face when the officer demanded answers, there was, fortunately for him, a ceiling fan circulating the air in the room.

Niko began to recall everything that had led him to this situation. He had initially been at Fuego Night Club, having a good time. Niko couldn't help but think of Rosalina, although her real name was Anya. The nickname came from her appearance: a woman in her early twenties with blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, a white T-shirt, and black (or dark blue, he couldn't tell due to the nightclub lighting) shorts, fair skin, and star stickers on her cheeks.

He had been sitting on one of the club's sofas, enjoying himself and not thinking about anything in particular (thanks to the incredibly loud music). He took his plastic cup and took a big sip of his Blue Hawaii, sighing with pleasure. He placed the cup on the table and headed to the dance floor.

He walked with confidence but with enthusiasm, feeling the heat rise due to the rum in her drink. He started moving in tune as a remastered version of Onyra's "The Monster" began, moving his shoulders up and down, raising an arm when the music hit the speakers.

Niko closed his eyes when he decided to let the music take control, like a puppet whose master guided its movements but with some self-control to avoid hitting anyone. He felt the other people on the dance floor bump into him and move around him, several people brushed against his back or arms, but only for a few seconds before they pulled away.

When he opened his eyes, he snapped back to reality, feeling the ecstasy of the music recede, along with his fatigue. He weaved and zigzagged his way through the crowd to exit, and after a while, he was out of the crowd.

When he returned to his area, he sat down and let himself sink into the seat. He looked toward the table where he had left his drink and realized it was no longer there. He scanned the area in case someone had accidentally knocked it over, but it wasn't on the floor.

"Perhaps someone took it," he reasoned. Niko turned his head in both directions, looking at the people in the other seats and checking the drinks they held. But there was no trace of his Blue Hawaii.

He let out an annoyed sigh.

He spun on his heels and headed towards the crowd gathered around the drinks bar. After some maneuvering, as there were other people trying to get drinks or staking out their spots for conversations, which he despised, though he couldn't deny he had done the same before.

He observed one of the bartenders behind the bar. He was young, perhaps in his mid-thirties, Latino (he didn't know from exactly where), short hair and a neatly groomed beard, and brown eyes. He wore the standard uniform, consisting of a black T-shirt and pants. He was serving two beers to a group of patrons and briefly glanced up, probably to check for new customers approaching.

Niko raised his hand to get his attention, and the bartender nodded, approaching him. He announced his order, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the music, but it was audible as the bartender nodded and began preparing the drink.

Niko reached into his pocket, searching for his wallet, and paid with a five-dollar bill. When he took the drink, he took a sip. It was refreshing, followed by the warmth of the rum. He moved back to his spot, but now there was no place to sit because a girl, whom he would later learn was named Estela, was sitting but occupying two seats, leaving enough space on either side but not quite enough for someone (unless they were quite skinny) to sit comfortably.

He approached, leaning toward her, taking her by surprise as she instinctively moved her body back in an attempt to create distance. Although it didn't help much as her body hit the backrest of the seat. Seeing her reaction, Niko stepped back to give her space, trying to convey that he had no ill intentions.

Although it seemed the girl didn't see it that way as she appeared nervous. Niko spoke, hoping the music wasn't too loud to convey his message, informing her that he just wanted to sit.

But it seemed the girl was unwilling to respond, just looking at him, trembling. Niko gave up, turning on his heels and heading toward another section of the nightclub.

After another zigzag through the crowd, he found a spot on the other side of the dance floors, at the opposite end of where his seat was, near the speakers. The loud music drowned out any thoughts, and even laughter and conversations were muffled.

He stood there, enjoying the moment, when someone tapped his shoulder. As he turned, he noticed it was an older man in his late forties, pale skin, worn and plump build, wrinkles on his face, pronounced dark circles, and a fairly prominent receding hairline. He was wearing a light brown shirt and beige pants.

There was another person behind him, a man with black hair, in his thirties, maybe a bit older, with a sturdy build, dressed in a black T-shirt. The attire of a security personnel.

The older man said something, but it couldn't be heard. Niko pointed to his ears, annoyed. In response, he took out his phone, pressed a few keys, and turned the phone to show Niko directly in his face. On the screen, against a black background, probably one of those note-taking apps, was written in white letters,

<Come with us.>

Niko was perplexed by the request. Why would they be calling him? He looked at the man, who then turned and started walking. After a few steps, Niko noticed the security guy standing where he was, staring at him with an expression that made it clear he wouldn't hesitate to restrain him if he didn't follow.

Niko didn't want any trouble, so he followed them.

As they exited the club, they were greeted by a gust of cool air, but Niko noticed two police officers present on the premises. One officer was talking to two girls a few meters away, though it was hard to make out exactly what they were saying. Only one of them was visible, gesticulating quite a bit, while the other was mostly obscured by the officer's figure, with only one of her limbs visible on the side.

The other officer remained by the vehicle, leaning against the passenger door, looking toward the entrance, waiting. When the older man exited, he stepped aside and stood upright. He approached when Niko and the security guard continued. The older man stepped aside, leaving the officer face to face with Niko, who was still confused."

The officer grabbed his arm, the grip firm, and shoved him into the patrol car despite Niko's protests. He raised his head to continue protesting, but the officer was already moving to the other side of the car, making way for passersby who wasted no time in pulling out their phones and began recording, blinding him with the flashlights they had presumably activated for better visibility.

The older man turned and entered the building, closing the door behind him, leaving the security guard at the door, staring at him and with the doors closed.

He heard the driver's side door open, and Niko turned to see the officer.

— This is a mistake. — Niko began, but it seemed the officer had heard those words before, as he said nothing.

— You have to listen to me. — Niko persisted.

But the officer snapped, "Be silent."

The tone he used made it clear he wasn't joking, so Niko obeyed. He could hear the voices of people talking on the street and sensed the seconds passing as camera flashes went off. After a while, almost thirty minutes later, they arrived at the station.

They pulled him out of the vehicle when it stopped. Some officers were coming out of the door. They had taken away all his personal items – house keys, cap, wallet, and consequently his ID card, and his cell phone – and placed them in a tray, which was taken by another officer who headed toward the door they had entered through initially.

The officer took him by the shoulder and led him into a waiting room where he could be observed at all times. It appeared he had company, as there were three people sitting in rows of tables scattered throughout the area, serving as a waiting room, with desks arranged in columns, three by six. Several officers sat at their respective desks, typing or answering calls, while others conversed before looking at some papers. It looked more like a scene from a movie set in an office.

The officer sat him in one of the chairs in the makeshift waiting area. Niko watched him walk away, disappearing around the corner. He remained seated, staring in that direction, waiting to see him return.

— Stand up.

"Heard someone calling, which startled him as he was caught off guard. He centered his attention on the person who had called him, and in front of him stood a woman, dressed like the others. Brown hair, tanned skin, perhaps in her thirties, with a serious expression on her face.

Niko simply obeyed. He didn't know how much time had passed, even though he started counting (he had reached five hundred and fifty-six) and only stopped when he began to feel drowsy out of sheer boredom.

Perhaps an hour passed, although it felt like five to Niko. He felt the door open, and a officer in his late forties, white, with a neatly groomed three-day beard and a pronounced mustache, and brown eyes, appeared. He wore the standard uniform and looked at Niko without showing any expression, approaching the table.

— Stand up.

<<Is this some kind of joke? How many more times are you going to make me stand up?>> Niko complained, but he did as ordered and stood up from the chair.

That's when they led him into this new cinematic room. He waited there for about ten minutes before the door opened again. This time, it wasn't a police officer, and the person wasn't even dressed as an officer. He was wearing a light gray tuxedo.

As if he had done this many times before, he approached the table, took the remaining chair and moved it aside, causing it to screech, and then sat down. He remained silent, staring at Niko as if he were a zoo animal.

He sat like this for what seemed to be ten minutes, although Niko was no longer sure.

— ¿Can I know why I’m here? — Niko finally asked.

The man seemed to smile, although the smile was small.

— Of course you can. — the man said, though his voice was higher-pitched than his appearance suggested. "You overstepped with a girl."

The news took Niko by surprise. Overstepped with a girl? But he didn't even try to talk to anyone... Then, as if it were presenting itself in his mind, the image of the girl he had asked for a seat came to his mind.

— I wasn't overstepping with her; I just asked for the seat— Niko stated.

— We know. Estela already confessed it to us.

Happiness welled up in Niko, and it was evident in the smile on his face.

— ¿So, can I go back home then? — Niko didn't hide his happiness.

The man in the suit let out a disappointed sigh.

— It's not as simple as that.

The smile vanished from Niko's face.

— But you said...

— I know what I said. — the man in the suit interrupted. — But did you think about what people saw?

Niko shook his head. Now that he thought about it, he was right. Not only had people seen him in the patrol car, but the officer had also turned to face the onlookers.

— Exactly. — the man in the suit continued, raising his index finger. — The evidence might disappear, but people have probably already shared your face on social media.

Niko hadn't thought about that either.

— Which means. — the man in the suit went on. — anyone who recognizes you, whether they were inside the nightclub or in the waiting room, will spell serious trouble for you.

Niko brought his hands to his head, looking down at the table. It felt like his world was falling apart.

— But don't worry; it's not the end of the world. — the man said reassuringly.

Niko looked up but didn't remove his hands from his head.

— We can give you a new life.

That didn't sound entirely certain, as if he could wave a magic wand and make the incident disappear from people's memories.

— What about the videos? — Niko asked.

— We'll make them disappear. — the stranger replied.

The stranger turned the page on the table without taking his eyes off Niko and then slid it in front of him.

Niko glanced at the paper, not paying much attention as the man took a pen from his pocket and placed it on the table. Written on the sheet was a declaration that Mr. Niko Lingray allowed the Florida Supreme Court to take responsibility for providing him with accommodation and enough money to subsist, in exchange for working a thirty-six-hour weekly schedule for an annual salary of seventy-five thousand dollars.

And below are several clauses, with the first one stating that you cannot engage in a second job. You must fulfill your duties and possess the necessary skills to perform them," the man explained.

— Is any of this legal? — Niko asked.

The man leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together, still smiling.

— Of course, it is. You're applying for a job.

Niko felt that the situation was far from just a job application. But thinking about the situation, he didn't have many options. He could refuse, but just walking down the street and having people stare at him as if he were dangerous, and knowing that he might be hounded by people without any decency asking why he did what he did, wasn't a life worth living.

Niko gave in. He knew he didn't have a better way out of the situation. He picked up the pen from the table and began signing the paper. His signature consisted of his name written in cursive, with the 'N' in uppercase, curving into a serpentine pattern that connected with the 'I'.

The man in the suit took the paper, rose from his chair with a grating noise, and left the room. The door closed behind him. Now alone, Niko began to contemplate the situation he was in. So much had happened in just one day, and fatigue was catching up to him. He just wanted this to be over soon.

Niko waited and felt the room getting warmer. He sensed the gusts of air from the fan, but they had turned warm, adding to the heat. He waved his hand, trying to fan himself, but it didn't seem to work. He wondered if he was getting sick. He planned to ask the man in the suit if they could check on him or give him something for the discomfort.

Niko felt drops of sweat forming on his forehead and removed his cap, tossing it on the table. He wiped his forehead with his hand, not realizing that the area he touched began to take on a bronzed tone.

As he lowered his hand, he felt an itching sensation, as if it had fallen asleep. He began shaking it to get rid of the feeling, but without success. He opened and closed his hand to regain feeling, but that didn't seem to work either. He looked at his hand to see what was happening.

With horror, Niko watched as the veins on his hand bulged and moved as if they were snakes, slithering and extending down his arm.

He felt a tightness in his arm, as if someone were pulling it, as if it were about to be torn off. He raised both hands, placing them in front of his eyes, trying to convince himself that he wasn't seeing what he was seeing.

With horror, he realized that he wasn't hallucinating. It was clear that his right arm had elongated and was now much longer than his left, with his sleeve revealing the extended half of his arm, unlike the other. It was accompanied by a thick mass of black hair.

He looked at both hands, alternating between palm and back, inadvertently hitting the table due to the newfound length of his arms. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, trying to convince himself that it was an illusion, but a part of him knew that wasn't the case, and he needed to call one of the officers.

He glanced at the door, screaming for help, waiting impatiently for someone to hear him. He felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder. He grabbed it tightly in an attempt to alleviate the pain, although Niko didn't notice that his shoulder was expanding and becoming quite prominent.

The burning sensation in his other hand began, and he knew what would happen next. He had to get up and show the officers what was happening. He rose from the chair, letting it drop with a horrible noise. He approached the exit, gripped the doorknob, but it wouldn't open.

Niko looked perplexed at the door, wondering why it was locked when he knew it had no lock. He hadn't heard the sound of a door being locked. He began pounding on it, begging to be let out, resisting the pulling sensation in his arm. He struck it once, twice, thrice... eight times with force, but the door wouldn't budge, and his hand hurt from the impact.

Then, the pain intensified. He thought he might have dislocated a joint in his hand from the pounding. He leaned his head against the door for support, examining his hand to assess the damage. He noticed that the top of his index finger was swollen, doubling in thickness compared to the others.

He cried out for help again, but no one seemed to hear him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled and inhaled again, attempting to manage the pain. It seemed to work, as the pain became more bearable.

Crack.

Crack.

Two more cracks followed. He howled in agony, throwing his head back. He examined his hand, thinking he had broken a finger. But as he looked at it, he saw that there was nothing visibly wrong, oblivious to the fact that the palm of his hand had become wider.

And as if a switch had been flipped, the sound of his fingers breaking became audible. Each finger started to elongate and thicken, resembling sausages, filling and forming a large, fleshy hand. His skin tightened, hardened, and formed calluses. Niko's eyes welled up with tears due to the excruciating pain.

The pain extended up his arm, and his skin began to ripple, resembling boiling water. With each ripple, his arm expanded, filling the muscles and creating strong biceps that burst through his shirt, tearing the fabric apart. Niko felt the weight unbalancing him, and he struggled to hold himself up until he couldn't bear it anymore, collapsing to the floor, his chin and knees hitting the ground with force as he cried out in pain.

Sweat had accumulated on his forehead and began to roll down his face, forming small puddles on the floor. Niko threw his head back in an attempt to suppress the pain, but it only spread to his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his pectoral muscles began to expand, pushing against his shirt. As his back arched and stretched like a candy cane, his shirt and jacket failed to cover his entire body, leaving his stomach exposed.

A tickling sensation in his throat intensified, causing him to cough uncontrollably. With each cough, his voice grew deeper, and the Adam's apple was pushed outward even more than it already was.

Crack.

Another crack echoed through the room, eliciting another scream. Niko brought his hands to his face, attempting to pull at his skin in a futile attempt to relieve the pain, but it was in vain. Unbeknownst to him, his jaw had retracted, making his chin more prominent. A tingling sensation filled his face as the hairs of his beard, especially on his chin, began to pull. As they grew, they tugged at the skin. The same happened with his eyebrows, which, though prominent, grew even thicker. His nose lengthened, and his skin stretched, leaving traces of exhaustion on his face, making him appear more mature.

Niko stumbled, barely managing to hold onto the table as his legs threatened to give way due to the excessive weight of his new body. Amidst the staggering, he observed how his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, with droplets sliding down his body and falling to the floor. He moved his hand, noticing how the sweat glistened in the light.

Sweat continued to slide, depositing itself in his eyes, causing a stinging sensation. He rubbed his eyes desperately, unaware that the bluish color of his eyes was starting to darken, turning them into a dark brown.

Sweat now covered his entire body, leaving clear stains on the remaining clothes. One of the affected areas was his legs, which began to swell with muscle, tearing the fabric as it stretched with each passing second until it finally ripped open, leaving his jeans looking like extremely tight shorts.

He groaned as he felt his feet being constricted, as they had elongated to the point where they pressed against the shoe's rubber and leather. He clenched his fists in a desperate hope that the transformation would stop, fearing that his fingers would break as they were pushed against the sole of his shoes.

It seemed that his wish was granted as he started to hear the fabric tearing. He sighed in relief as each toe punctured through the material, emerging from the shoe's insole, allowing him to feel the coldness of the floor beneath him.

But something Nick didn't know was that with each breath, his memories were beginning to fade, leaving behind traces of his life, family, and studies. They were all melting away, dripping like an ice cream in the sun, sliding down to his balls. Where, upon feeling the extra load, he felt a blow to his testicles. As his thoughts emptied, he felt a sharp pressure as if someone were driving needles into his head. He pressed his forehead with both hands, but to no avail. Amidst several camera flashes, resembling scenes from an old movie, new memories emerged. Yet, upon reflection, he knew they were scenes from his own life.

He remembered being raised by his parents in a house in Silver Spring, completing his studies, and asking his father to enroll him in a gym, explaining his desire to become an officer, much like in the TV series "Blue Bloods." He recalled the time and dedication he had put into the tests, as well as the celebration that followed when his commanding officer handed him the paper stating he would work at the Edgewood police station for 14 years. He could still feel how his boss had called him just twenty minutes ago, informing him that he needed to return to the police station. When he inquired further about the order, his boss had mentioned that a member of the Department of Justice wanted to speak with him.

Niko took deep breaths to alleviate his fatigue, detecting a bitter, acrid sensation in the air. It was his sweat, which surprised him as he used deodorant every day. He raised his arm, wincing due to sore muscles, but as he brought it up, his armpit seemed as usual, with no excess hair. However, the odor was strong, as if even deodorant couldn't conceal it.

His crotch shoots forward, as if someone is pulling on an invisible rope. With each tug it slides down his thigh. Pulling and pulling, growing in size. Sliding down the side of his briefs, getting tight against his thigh like a fishing net.

Nick looked down as he watched his member grow inch by inch, leaving it at 7 inches. He moaned, because the fabric of the briefs was squeezing tightly. Nick arched his back as he felt a squeeze in his lower back, similar to someone squeezing his butt cheeks, contracting them. With each contraction, the buttocks became firmer and firmer, and consequently more prominent. Pulling at the fabric of the briefs, squeezing his member tighter, which elicited a moan. In an act of release, Nick tried to remove his underpants, which already looked like a thong because of how constricted they were. But he couldn't, he couldn't even get his fingertips in, so he pinched them, though also pricking his skin in the process. Stretching the fabric enough to get his fingers in, and in one motion he had removed them.

The heat seemed to subside, leaving him gasping for breath at the bad moment he was experiencing, though it seemed to focus on his crotch.He grabbed the chair that fell to the floor and sat down, grabbed his member and began to grope it.After a few seconds, his body began to spasm, as his member shot its load and with it, everything that represented Niko.

The door opens, and Nick turns to see the man in the suit returning, holding a uniform in one arm against his chest and a set of papers in his hand, presumably to keep the other arm free. Nick gets up from the chair, ignoring the drops still dripping from the tip of his member.

— Welcome aboard, Officer Mayers. — the man comments as he sees Nick standing. He offers a smile and extends the set of clothing.

Nick nods in response and accepts the outfit, laying it on the table. He searches through it until he finds a pair of boxer shorts. But then he remembers.

He looks over his shoulder at the man in the suit, indicating for him to leave the room so he can change. He's relieved to find that the man is standing with his back to him, which he appreciates.

With that, he begins to dress, starting with the boxer shorts.

— While you get ready, — the man in the suit announces, the sound of papers rustling. — I'll inform you of your new workplace and responsibilities.

Nick wanted to tell him that it wouldn't be necessary, as his only missions were to protect civilians and punish criminals. But he can only hope that he won't have to deal with paperwork.

After ten minutes of explanation, the man in the suit left the papers on the table, informing Nick that all the information he needed was there.

— It's a pleasure to begin, sir... — Nick left the sentence hanging as he didn't know the man's name.

— You can call me Vincent. — the man in the suit replied.

Nick nodded, and Vincent gestured towards the door, proceeding to leave the room. He returned to the office area where everyone seemed to be engrossed in their work. However, there were now two new faces in the waiting section.

Meanwhile, Nick continued walking towards the exit. If only he had looked back, he would have noticed that the man in the suit was still in the room, holding the door and then closing it. The door began to vanish, merging with the wall and disappearing as if it had never existed.

The early morning air was refreshing as Nick left the police station, crossing the parking lot to reach his Toyota Tundra. He took out his keys, started the engine, and left the parking lot to head home and rest. He needed to be as well-rested as possible because he had a lot of work to do with the move.

Primal Instincts: Men are Dogs

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

Gwen could smell the cigarette smoke wafting from one of the apartment windows as she jogged along the street. She always hated this part of the walk because there was usually someone sitting outside on their apartment balcony and she felt "watched." Gwen was in her mid-twenties, just out of college, but single. She worked downtown at a bank and wore fashionable work clothes, but today on her run she wore simple athletic gear. She had an attractive body, lean and fit, and she hoped to keep it that way. It was on this street in particular that she could feel people "watch" her as she ran and it was unsettling. Today, her cell-phone rang, which threw off her running music, so she stopped to check her phone and get the music going again.

When she stopped, she could smell the cigarette smoke even stronger and felt eyes watching her from above. She glanced up and saw a thirty-something guy leaning over the railing and looking at her. She broke eye contact and paced a few steps, but still felt watched. He heard the man clear his throat and spit.

"Lookin' fine, girl! Don' stop now! Keep on'a runnin' " said the guy with a laugh.

She ignored him and tried to get her phone to start her running mix again. While she fussed with her phone, her water bottle slipped and fell onto the sidewalk. She could feel the man's pervert eyes watching her as she reached down to pick it up.

The man let out a loud whistle, "Nice ass! Come by later and I'll help you keep it in shape!"

She had been cat-called before, but this guy was starting to cross a line. Earlier that week, a friend had told her to download an app called "Men Are Dogs." It was supposedly some way to report incidents of guys acting like jerks or "dogs" so other girls could look them up and feel safer. Her friend had thought it was funny to see what kind of guys made it into the database, but Gwen never thought she would actually have to use it.

In a second, she grabbed her phone, opened up the app, and turned to the guy in the balcony.

"You want a picture! I'll give you more than a picture," he shouted as he grabbed his crotch and gestured vulgarly.

This was the first time she actually had a chance to look at this creep of a guy. He was wearing torn jeans and a white sleeveless t-shirt. He was a broad shouldered guy with a big build, but had a beer gut and flabby arms. He looked pretty strong, but not really in shape. His light blonde hair was cropped tight, almost shaved and he had a tattoo on his shoulder. He threw his cigarette in the bushes and licked his lips and thrust towards her again, laughing.

Her phone snapped a picture and within a few seconds the message read "Strike Three," which must have meant this guy had been reported by two other users. The next screen said "Teach this dog a lesson? Yes or No." She wasn't sure what this actually meant, but the guy was being a real dickhead, so she chose "yes."

The screen buffered with the message "Dog in Training," which had a picture of a muscular man wearing a dog collar and panting stupidly. She looked up and saw the man on the balcony look like he was choking and fall to his knees. She ran closer, hoping it wasn't all some stupid act. He was pawing at something at his neck, which Gwen realized was a leather collar. He made a few choking sounds and then looked at her and stuck his tongue out stupidly. Suddenly, his body started to shape shift into a compact, muscular dog. She saw a leash attached to the collar and the dog pleaded softly and looked up at her.

Her phone vibrated and she read the message, "Say hello to Kurt." She grabbed the leash, not sure what do with this man that she had watched transform into a dog. She was happy that he had stopped harassing her, but thought this was maybe an extreme reaction. The phone continued by asking "Bring Home or Bring to Pound?" She chose "bring home," but just wanted to get out of there before anyone one noticed. Kurt trotted in front on his leash while she finished her run.

As soon as she got home, she texted Amanda, the friend that had shown her the phone app. "No way!" was Amanda's reaction, "send a pic." Gwen snapped a picture of Kurt and sent it. "I'm coming over," Amanda replied.

--

"Oh my god!" Amanda squealed when Gwen explained what had happened. "He's so cute," she said as she pet Kurt on the back while he panted and barked.

"Well, he was saying all this stupid shit, and I just thought I'd take a picture and leave ... but it turned him into this dog ... and now I don't know how to turn him back!" Gwen stammered. "I don't want a dog!"

"But Gwen, look at him," Amanda said as she continued to pet Kurt's head.

"I don't want a dog! Especially one that was some sicko guy from the street!"

Gwen's phone suddenly vibrated again and she pulled up the app. She saw a picture of Kurt before he was a dog and the words "Teach your dog a new trick? Yes or No."

"What should I do," Gwen said in frustration. Amanda grabbed the phone and chose "yes." Kurt whimpered a little and then rolled over on his back. In a few minutes, his dog body had transformed back into the original Kurt, but he stayed motionless on the floor. Thankfully, his clothes had reappeared so they didn't have to see a nude guy "appear" on the living room floor.

"Woah," said Amanda. "So you're not kidding!"

"Of course not!" shouted Gwen. "This is him!"

"Give a command," prompted the phone and Amanda selected "Roll over." Kurt obediently rolled onto his belly. "Stand up," and Kurt stood up. "Try your own," read the phone. "Take off your shirt and flex," shouted Amanda. "Amanda! Stop it!" Gwen tried to say, but Kurt obeyed by taking off his white t-shirt and flexed his muscles. While Amanda gawked about controlling Kurt, Gwen saw her pile of unfolded laundry and had an idea for a command. "Kurt, fold my laundry." Dutifully, he walked over and started folding clothes. "Nice one," Amanda replied. "You've got a live-in butler!"

While Kurt folded clothes, the phone popped up another message. "See grooming options." Amanda and Gwen fiddled with the sliding bars, one for muscle, hair, height, etc., but they couldn't decide so they selected "Suggested grooming." They watched Kurt transform again, this time into a muscular young man with ripped abs, a tight ass with a thin waist. Long legs and arms with lean muscle, broad shoulders and sucked in stomach. His hairy belly and back were smooth, like he was properly groomed. Even his smile and eyes looked more attractive.

"Good lord!" said Amanda. "Take off your pants, Kurt!" and he obeyed. "No, like in a strip show!" Kurt walked over to her and started grinding while slowly unbuttoning his jeans. He had on a pair of tight underwear which showed his massive cock. But Gwen choose, "Kennel" on the app and Kurt stopped, curled up on the living room floor and within a minute was back to dog form.

"Oh come on!" said Amanda. "It was just getting fun."

"It's late, Amanda," said Gwen. "And I have to work. Plus, I just want to go to bed and figure out what to do about this in the morning."

"Fine," said Amanda as she headed towards the door. "But invite me over so I can play with your 'dog' once and awhile."

"Haha," replied Gwen drolly.

--

At 6:00 AM, Gwen heard scratching at her door. "What the?" she said as she staggered. She opened the door and saw Kurt scratching his paws to get her attention.

"Do you have to go outside," she asked and she knew the answer was yes. She grabbed the leash and walked him outside to take a piss on the lawn. She changed into her running gear and thought maybe she could take Kurt running with her.

After the run she started getting ready for work and took a quick shower. She stepped out wearing only her towel and screamed when she saw a man standing in the kitchen. But she realized it was only Kurt, who was busy cooking breakfast. He was wearing only his underwear and was the muscular version of himself from last night.

"What are you doing?" asked Gwen, as if talking to a pet. She was startled when he answered, "Making breakfast for you."

"Wait, you can talk?"

"Of course I can talk!"

The whole time since taking Kurt home, she hadn't heard him speak a word. Also, she noticed that even though she was only wrapped in a towel, Kurt was making perfect eye contact with her, not looking at her body or barely covered breasts, just right into her eyes. She felt a little sad for him, but also a sort of "puppy love" at how cute he was making breakfast for her. She finished changing, ate breakfast, and headed towards the door.

"Kurt, I'll be back around 5. Just don't mess anything them and keep clean, okay. Make yourself lunch."

"Have a good day, Gwen," Kurt answered with excitement as she closed and locked the door.

--

When Gwen opened the door to her house she didn't know what to expect. Would Kurt still be there? Would he be a dog-dog or a man-dog? Would he have run away? Would she keep him? What about Kurt's friends and family?

"Kurt, I'm home," Gwen called out. She heard the shower turn off and Kurt ran towards her, this time completely naked.

"Hi Gwen!" he said enthusiastically. She saw that Kurt's massive cock was swaying, half-erect. "Wanna get some exercise?" said Gwen.

"Yes, of course!" answered Kurt, who loved running. He ran to get the leash and held it out to her.

"Not that type of exercise," said Gwen as she led him towards the bedroom. "You're going to fuck me until I tell you to stop, okay!"

"Okay," he said, hopping up on the bed.

"And you're not going to talk until I tell you," she said. Kurt nodded.

"And go slow. You need to be more man and less dog right now," she added as she dropped her work skirt to the ground and pulled off her blouse.

After there love-making -- the best Gwen had ever had! -- Gwen had a notification on her phone. "Training Complete. All Men Are Dogs!"

She looked over at the muscular man-dog lying in bed next to her, looked at his smooth chest, thin waist, and tight ass, and put down the phone, fully determined to adopt this stray and keep him well-trained.

Show some love to this new artist in the TF space!

"no fear, no limits, no surrender."

It's been a while since I've published but the truth is that when I found myself in finals, my head seems to have decided that not want to draw so it cost me a lot to finish this drawing. But finally I got it bring you this. I hope you like it

Not In The Exhibit Brochure

It was a hot summer day and the city was filled with people coming to be a part of one of the biggest fantasy conventions in the country. Video games, board games, tabletop RPGs, LARP, movies, TV shows, theater shows, even musicals. If one fancied themselves a fan of a franchise that existed in any of these forms, they could be found spending a sunny August weekend in the convention center.

Mark meandered between countless people in the Second Pavilion, getting tired having spent the last five hours walking around the convention area, being asked for pictures and catching up with his friends. This year he came wearing a full cosplay of one of the characters from his favorite first person shooter. He put on a tactical vest, helmet with a full headset, a tactical belt with a bunch of accessories and camo pants. In his hands he was bearing a perfect replica of the most famous gun from the game.

He spent a long time perfecting the costume, both by searching for just the right gear and by spending hours in the gym. Now his broad and thick shoulders, football-sized biceps and veiny forearms were visible for all attendees, which garnered Mark a lot of attention, which he enjoyed.

It was exhausting, however. The temperature inside the convention center got uncomfortably high at times, so he decided to take a break. He fold the few friends who joined him during the day that he was leaving for a while to take in some relatively fresh air, then pushed his way through the crowds until he got to the exit.

Thanks to the fact that the center was basically in the middle of the city he didn't have to go far to get to a park and relax, then find a place to eat and just take a walk through the city.

Mark was aware that many businesses and institutions had various perks for the convention ticket holders, to keep the attendees in the city for longer and spread the economic effects of the convention. He was reminded of this fact just as he was walking by the giant building of the art museum. His curiosity was piqued and he checked if he would get a discount of a ticket. It turned out he could walk in for free, the only requirement was to show his pass at the entrance.

What Mark saw after getting through a quick but awkward security check truly amazed him. He slowly walked from one part of the building to the next, taking his time to watch every piece, all displayed in a well air-conditioned space, which was a nice bonus. The museum had a bunch of different special exhibits currently open to the public and they were all pretty stunning, each in its own way.

Finally, Mark made his way to a part of the museum furthest away from the entrance where he saw a recent collection of sculptures from a local artist. Each statue was an extremely realistic depiction of a person, and they were supposed to collectively represent modern society. There were athletes mid-run, businessmen in the middle of walking in between offices, chefs tasting their newest creations, it was all incredible to watch, every sculpture most likely taking weeks or months to complete. Mark stood in the middle of the room as he looked around and every time he managed to find a new detail in one of the statues. While his eyes were jumping from one piece to another, inspecting every curve and small detail, he was unaware of just how much time has passed since he entered this space.

And then he tried to move.

Mark heard his phone buzz loudly in his pocket. It was probably one of his friends wanting to check up on him. He tried to move his hand to take the phone and answer the call, but it wouldn't move. Neither would his head. Or any part of his body. He was immediately alarmed. Mark tried as hard as he could to get any element within his human form to move even an inch, but it didn't work. His whole body was suddenly completely stationary and he could not control its movements, because he couldn't cause any movements. He started to panic and hoped someone would notice that he wasn't well. There were a lot of people at the museum so it would be just a matter of time before one of them came to this room and noticed a guy in a military cosplay was standing weirdly still.

Except this did not happen. Visitors just passed by him with no interest in the person standing frozen in the middle of the room. As Mark looked with his unmovable eyes at the tourists wandering around the space right in front of him he felt like he was losing the track of time. Was it a minute ago that he realized he couldn't move? No it mus have been almost an hour by then. Nah, it couldn't be.

Then Mark realized something horrifying. Not only was no one coming up to help him, they began to stop in front of him and just look at him, as if he was just another...

Did he turn into a fucking statue?! That terrifying thought seeped deep into his mind wreaking havoc along the way. How could this have happened? Magic? But magic wasn't real! That was impossible, this was a dream, for sure! He tried to move his body even a little bit, but again he failed every time. He desperately tried to force his hand to move so that he could pinch himself and wake up from this terrifying nightmare. But no part of his arm changed position, not even an inch.

A larger group of tourists, mostly retirees, led by a young woman slowly moved through the exhibition space and passed by Mark, who continued to struggle and try to move.

"Huh, the guide didn't say anything about this one. Did that lovely lady talk about this soldier, Harold?" An elderly couple stopped in front of Mark and they stood there and admired him for a moment.

"No, Mary, I'm pretty sure I'd remember" The man, Harold, took a step closer towards the statue.

"Harold!" The woman shouted at him. "You can't walk up too close to the sculptures dear."

"Oh, calm down" Harold responded, slightly annoyed at his wife's comment. "I'm in an art museum so don't tell me to not look at the art." The older man stood just a few steps away from Mark. "There's no plaque or rope or anything, this is a free country, Mary!" He was a few inches shorter than Mark, so he couldn't clearly see everything but it seemed he was just looking at Mark's gear.

"Look. The artist — that Gary what's-his-name — knew what he was doing with this one. I recognize all that gear this man is wearing. Nice work." Harold's tone of voice suggested he was weirdly pleased with the statue that used to be Mark. "This is what a real man's supposed to look like. Not some sissy sitting behind the desk all day."

"Of course Harold, of course" The woman walked up to her husband and put her arm around him, then started gently pushing him towards the other statues.

Mark's brain struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He had really turned into a statue! People thought he was a part of the exhibit! How could this have happened? He couldn't come up with any even remotely plausible explanation for what he was experiencing. He then thought that his only hope would be his friends - they knew he was downtown, maybe some would guess that he used the opportunity to get into the art museum for free, which would lead them to the place where Mark was currently stranded.

The group of retirees came back, walked next to Mark and was about to leave the room when the tour guide looked at him and murmured to herself.

"This statue was not a part of the exhibit. How did it get here?" She grabbed her phone and quickly led her group towards the rest of the museum.

Mark again realized he couldn't tell how much time had passed since any of the recent events. It was as if his internal clock had stopped working, ran out of batteries. This whole experience was so confusing that he had issues fully registering everything. He tried counting in his head, but got lost after 20, maybe? The only thing he was sure of, for now, was that the day had not yet ended, but he could not tell what part of the day it was, as the whole museum was constantly lit with this slightly weird diffused lighting.

Three people suddenly came into view and stood some distance away from Mark, clearly looking at him. He couldn't hear the conversation they were having because of the noise from surrounding visitors, but he could clearly see that they were all agitated, talking over each other and aggressively pointing at themselves and Mark. As he looked closer he realized they were all museum employees, meaning they were probably debating what to do with a statue which has suddenly appeared within the premises of the musem they worked for, a rather uncommon occurrence.

Not long after they left Mark's view and he was once again stuck in this feeling ot timelessness. Tourists stopped in front of him every now and then, looked at him for a moment and moved on, while he stood still, holding the gun in his hands as if ready to fight, and yet incapable of it because of some indescribable force.

The employees from before came back, one of them holding in their hands a metal stand of come kind. It had something written on it at the top, but Mark couldn't see what it was. What he could see was the employee putting the stand in front of him and them all looking at it.

"That will have to do for now" One of them said. This time they were standing closer and Mark was able to hear what they were saying.

"Yeah, I won't be able to make a proper one until tomorrow."

"Okay, but it has to be there by Monday afternoon, otherwise we're fucked. Jesus Christ, still'can't believe this happened."

"No time for moaning, Jacob. We have work to do." Another one replied. They all nodded their heads, took one last look at the stand and quickly left the scene.

Mark thought about what he had just witnessed, and it took him a moment to understand - this was a stand with information about the statue, which meant him. It was the same kind as dozens more throughout the museum that visitors could look at for further information that was meant to enrich their experiences. This was meant to hide the fact that he was not here just mere hours, or minutes, or days, or-- he was certainly not here when the exhibition was opened. That fact was probably what had made them so angry and confused before - from their perspective a random statue of a soldier randomly appeared in the museum.

His mind immediately asked one question - I wonder what did they write on there? What was his title, his author, his artistic description or statement? Wait, his author? That was a strange line of thought, Mark realized.

I am Uncontrolled Power.

Wait, what was that? Who said that? Where was that deep voice coming from?

I was created by Greg Duchaime Arreman.

Was there someone standing behind him?

I am meant to represent unchecked aggression and power of the Military Industrial Complex.

Wait a second, what this voice inside his head?

I am the physical manifestation of toxic masculinity and bravado.

Holy fuck, this was a voice inside his head. Was this... what they had written about him on this stand?

Fuck yeah, I'm an alpha who follows orders and crushes any sign of disloyalty.

The voice was talking to Mark. Shit, the voice was talking to him! What the fuck?

You scum, get ready to experience the primal, animalistic force of a toxic man! I'm gonna crush you!

Mark wanted to sigh loudly, but of course he couldn't. Great, the museum employees with their great art wisdom made him a stereotypical aggressive soldier. Obedient muscle. The armored tool of American imperialism. And this soldier character seemed to have appeared inside his head.

I am here to blindly follow orders, enforce them and show everyone what masculinity really means!

If Mark could have rolled his eyes, he would. He was stuck, like an NPC frozen mid-frame, standing in the middle of an art museum, possibly forever. And from now on he would represent toxic masculinity, aggression and military prowess.

Whoever stands in my way will be violently crushed with the power of the American Military and my primal force! Toxic and proud, that's who I am!

Super hot story! Great for a first attempt at inanimate TF.

Not In The Exhibit Brochure

It was a hot summer day and the city was filled with people coming to be a part of one of the biggest fantasy conventions in the country. Video games, board games, tabletop RPGs, LARP, movies, TV shows, theater shows, even musicals. If one fancied themselves a fan of a franchise that existed in any of these forms, they could be found spending a sunny August weekend in the convention center.

Mark meandered between countless people in the Second Pavilion, getting tired having spent the last five hours walking around the convention area, being asked for pictures and catching up with his friends. This year he came wearing a full cosplay of one of the characters from his favorite first person shooter. He put on a tactical vest, helmet with a full headset, a tactical belt with a bunch of accessories and camo pants. In his hands he was bearing a perfect replica of the most famous gun from the game.

He spent a long time perfecting the costume, both by searching for just the right gear and by spending hours in the gym. Now his broad and thick shoulders, football-sized biceps and veiny forearms were visible for all attendees, which garnered Mark a lot of attention, which he enjoyed.

It was exhausting, however. The temperature inside the convention center got uncomfortably high at times, so he decided to take a break. He fold the few friends who joined him during the day that he was leaving for a while to take in some relatively fresh air, then pushed his way through the crowds until he got to the exit.

Thanks to the fact that the center was basically in the middle of the city he didn't have to go far to get to a park and relax, then find a place to eat and just take a walk through the city.

Mark was aware that many businesses and institutions had various perks for the convention ticket holders, to keep the attendees in the city for longer and spread the economic effects of the convention. He was reminded of this fact just as he was walking by the giant building of the art museum. His curiosity was piqued and he checked if he would get a discount of a ticket. It turned out he could walk in for free, the only requirement was to show his pass at the entrance.

What Mark saw after getting through a quick but awkward security check truly amazed him. He slowly walked from one part of the building to the next, taking his time to watch every piece, all displayed in a well air-conditioned space, which was a nice bonus. The museum had a bunch of different special exhibits currently open to the public and they were all pretty stunning, each in its own way.

Finally, Mark made his way to a part of the museum furthest away from the entrance where he saw a recent collection of sculptures from a local artist. Each statue was an extremely realistic depiction of a person, and they were supposed to collectively represent modern society. There were athletes mid-run, businessmen in the middle of walking in between offices, chefs tasting their newest creations, it was all incredible to watch, every sculpture most likely taking weeks or months to complete. Mark stood in the middle of the room as he looked around and every time he managed to find a new detail in one of the statues. While his eyes were jumping from one piece to another, inspecting every curve and small detail, he was unaware of just how much time has passed since he entered this space.

And then he tried to move.

Mark heard his phone buzz loudly in his pocket. It was probably one of his friends wanting to check up on him. He tried to move his hand to take the phone and answer the call, but it wouldn't move. Neither would his head. Or any part of his body. He was immediately alarmed. Mark tried as hard as he could to get any element within his human form to move even an inch, but it didn't work. His whole body was suddenly completely stationary and he could not control its movements, because he couldn't cause any movements. He started to panic and hoped someone would notice that he wasn't well. There were a lot of people at the museum so it would be just a matter of time before one of them came to this room and noticed a guy in a military cosplay was standing weirdly still.

Except this did not happen. Visitors just passed by him with no interest in the person standing frozen in the middle of the room. As Mark looked with his unmovable eyes at the tourists wandering around the space right in front of him he felt like he was losing the track of time. Was it a minute ago that he realized he couldn't move? No it mus have been almost an hour by then. Nah, it couldn't be.

Then Mark realized something horrifying. Not only was no one coming up to help him, they began to stop in front of him and just look at him, as if he was just another...

Did he turn into a fucking statue?! That terrifying thought seeped deep into his mind wreaking havoc along the way. How could this have happened? Magic? But magic wasn't real! That was impossible, this was a dream, for sure! He tried to move his body even a little bit, but again he failed every time. He desperately tried to force his hand to move so that he could pinch himself and wake up from this terrifying nightmare. But no part of his arm changed position, not even an inch.

A larger group of tourists, mostly retirees, led by a young woman slowly moved through the exhibition space and passed by Mark, who continued to struggle and try to move.

"Huh, the guide didn't say anything about this one. Did that lovely lady talk about this soldier, Harold?" An elderly couple stopped in front of Mark and they stood there and admired him for a moment.

"No, Mary, I'm pretty sure I'd remember" The man, Harold, took a step closer towards the statue.

"Harold!" The woman shouted at him. "You can't walk up too close to the sculptures dear."

"Oh, calm down" Harold responded, slightly annoyed at his wife's comment. "I'm in an art museum so don't tell me to not look at the art." The older man stood just a few steps away from Mark. "There's no plaque or rope or anything, this is a free country, Mary!" He was a few inches shorter than Mark, so he couldn't clearly see everything but it seemed he was just looking at Mark's gear.

"Look.The artist - that Gary what's-his-name - knew what he was doing with this one. I recognize all that gear this man is wearing. Nice work." Harold's tone of voice suggested he was weirdly pleased with the statue that used to be Mark. "This is what a real man's supposed to look like. Not some sissy sitting behind the desk all day."

"Of course Harold, of course" The woman walked up to her husband and put her arm around him, then started gently pushing him towards the other statues.

Mark's brain struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He had really turned into a statue! People thought he was a part of the exhibit! How could this have happened? He couldn't come up with any even remotely plausible explanation for what he was experiencing. He then thought that his only hope would be his friends - they knew he was downtown, maybe some would guess that he used the opportunity to get into the art museum for free, which would lead them to the place where Mark was currently stranded.

The group of retirees came back, walked next to Mark and was about to leave the room when the tour guide looked at him and murmured to herself.

"This statue was not a part of the exhibit. How did it get here?" She grabbed her phone and quickly led her group towards the rest of the museum.

Mark again realized he couldn't tell how much time had passed since any of the recent events. It was as if his internal clock had stopped working, ran out of batteries. This whole experience was so confusing that he had issues fully registering everything. He tried counting in his head, but got lost after 20, maybe? The only thing he was sure of, for now, was that the day had not yet ended, but he could not tell what part of the day it was, as the whole museum was constantly lit with this slightly weird diffused lighting.

Three people suddenly came into view and stood some distance away from Mark, clearly looking at him. He couldn't hear the conversation they were having because of the noise from surrounding visitors, but he could clearly see that they were all agitated, talking over each other and aggressively pointing at themselves and Mark. As he looked closer he realized they were all museum employees, meaning they were probably debating what to do with a statue which has suddenly appeared within the premises of the musem they worked for, a rather uncommon occurrence.

Not long after they left Mark's view and he was once again stuck in this feeling ot timelessness. Tourists stopped in front of him every now and then, looked at him for a moment and moved on, while he stood still, holding the gun in his hands as if ready to fight, and yet incapable of it because of some indescribable force.

The employees from before came back, one of them holding in their hands a metal stand of come kind. It had something written on it at the top, but Mark couldn't see what it was. What he could see was the employee putting the stand in front of him and them all looking at it.

"That will have to do for now" One of them said. This time they were standing closer and Mark was able to hear what they were saying.

"Yeah, I won't be able to make a proper one until tomorrow."

"Okay, but it has to be there by Monday afternoon, otherwise we're fucked. Jesus Christ, still'can't believe this happened."

"No time for moaning, Jacob. We have work to do." Another one replied. They all nodded their heads, took one last look at the stand and quickly left the scene.

Mark thought about what he had just witnessed, and it took him a moment to understand - this was a stand with information about the statue, which meant him. It was the same kind as dozens more throughout the museum that visitors could look at for further information that was meant to enrich their experiences. This was meant to hide the fact that he was not here just mere hours, or minutes, or days, or-- he was certainly not here when the exhibition was opened. That fact was probably what had made them so angry and confused before - from their perspective a random statue of a soldier randomly appeared in the museum.

His mind immediately asked one question - I wonder what did they write on there? What was his title, his author, his artistic description or statement? Wait, his author? That was a strange line of thought, Mark realized.

I am Uncontrolled Power.

Wait, what was that? Who said that? Where was that deep voice coming from?

I was created by Greg Duchaime Arreman.

Was there someone standing behind him?

I am meant to represent unchecked aggression and power of the Military Industrial Complex.

Wait a second, what this voice inside his head?

I am the physical manifestation of toxic masculinity and bravado.

Holy fuck, this was a voice inside his head. Was this... what they had written about him on this stand?

Fuck yeah, I'm an alpha who follows orders and crushes any sign of disloyalty.

The voice was talking to Mark. Shit, the voice was talking to him! What the fuck?

You scum, get ready to experience the primal, animalistic force of a toxic man! I'm gonna crush you!

Mark wanted to sigh loudly, but of course he couldn't. Great, the museum employees with their great art wisdom made him a stereotypical aggressive soldier. Obedient muscle. The armored tool of American imperialism. And this soldier character seemed to have appeared inside his head.

I am here to blindly follow orders, enforce them and show everyone what masculinity really means!

If Mark could have rolled his eyes, he would. He was stuck, like an NPC frozen mid-frame, standing in the middle of an art museum, possibly forever. And from now on he would represent toxic masculinity, aggression and military prowess.

Whoever stands in my way will be violently crushed with the power of the American Military and my primal force! Toxic and proud, that's who I am!

The Bald Bug

The parasite had gotten to work so quickly you hadn’t known how to react. It had all started with that one lick. That one, stupid, horny, misguided, inappropriate, deliciously perfect lick. Yet that one lick is what had gotten you sick.

“Go on,” the older male purred, maybe 10 years your senior at most. “I know you wanna.”

It was a rumor that had been spreading around the gay world everywhere. This new parasite that–unlike AIDS–actually only affected gay men. They called it the “Bald Bug,” and it spread by any bodily fluid. Apparently, the parasite turned any homosexual into a stereotypical straight man; one that was particularly ripe with a libido beyond control and an urge for semination. This bug wanted to conquer, multiply, and spread. 

“Look at them,” he pushed his feet out further. “These bad boys want some…need some attention.”

But it had only been a rumor online. You didn’t really believe in the conspiracy theories. Some accounts had said it hadn’t reached the news because the government had released it, hoping to repopulate after years of low fertility rates. But again, you didn’t give in to the madness. A lot of facts didn’t line up, and others did too conveniently. Anyway, all you saw in this guy was a closeted hookup. And all you saw right now were his big, sweaty feet that were begging to be loved.

“Size 13.” He crossed his arms, getting tired of waiting for me to engage. “You gonna do it or what?”

I lunged, sending one long swipe of my tongue across his feet in a tantalizing movement. I moaned with delight as I tasted the salt that coated his soles sink into my mouth. I shivered in fear when a fiendish smirk wrapped itself around his bearded jaw.

“That’s right, fag,” he chuckled. “Hope you didn’t care for that pretty quiff of yours. That queerdo haircut will be wiped away in no time.”

That was the last part of the rumor. You could tell who had been infected because the victims all shared a particularly notable outcome: every man was left bald. And because no one was working on a cure (because these were all just rumors after all), the effects were irreversible. Your eyes widened as you lifted yourself up and away from his deliciously odorous toes, their beauty now tarnished. You looked him over; his bald head, his confident aura, his very soft cock in his very straight attire. Only now did you notice all the signs. You grabbed your things and ran, his brutish laugh following from behind. You were infected.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, you could already feel that the bug’s work had begun. Your original twinky frame would’ve never been able to carry you the last part of that run. Locking the door behind you, you dropped your things and ran to your bedroom, frantically investigating your body in your full-sized mirror. The shirt you wore now looked more like a crop top, being that it had lifted above the navel and appeared tighter around your upper chest. Your jeans had a similar problem, now landing partially over your enlarging calves when they should have brushed the tops of your feet. The feet that shouldn’t have looked so monstrously large.

Quickly, you grabbed the collar of your tee shirt and ripped it off your body, hoping to save it from a fate you feared could be possible. The fate your jeans suffered moments later. In moments, your height stretched up to well above 6 feet, stretching out the jeans beyond repair as large rips occurred near your newly bulky thighs and muscled bum. Not knowing what else to do, you tore away at the shredded remains of the denim, every pull becoming easier as the parasite expanded the tissues in your arms with strength more appropriate for holding a woman down in an animalistic fertilization.

Luckily, your underwear had been a little more conforming to the stretching nature of your situation. With your newly-callusing hands, you quickly disrobed and watched as your previously-small dick emerged forward. It piled on inch by inch as it thickened outwards, almost like watching a time lapse video of a tree’s growth. Your balls descended further too, yet the visibility of their drooping was becoming more hindered by plumping of your pecs. 

You couldn’t help but be amazed by the new body the bug had created for you, a true stud of a man. A carpet of hair adorned a good lot of your torso, along with your arms and legs. Even your face had changed. A sharp jaw, thick brow, and permanent beard all reeking of masculinity. And speaking of reeking, your body now gave off an odor like no other. Pits, crotch, feet–if it could make a funk that could attract women, then it did. Your body had been crafted into a machine, one the parasite had designed to work as the perfect contamination device, whether through correcting this generation or creating the next.

Caught off guard, you felt a shock course through your body and down to your larger cock. Rolling your eyes backwards, you moved your naked body onto the bed and spread your legs apart. With your head against the headboard, you grabbed your cock and began stroking like you had hundreds of times before. However, this time around, new images were at the forefront of your fantasies. Women were everywhere. Boobs here, pussies there. Big swollen breasts and puckered lips. The women could be nearing 20 or nearing 40. They could have double D’s in the front and/or packed in the back. But the one thing that brought them all together was their ability to become mothers.

Your engorged dick began to spurt at that, the thought causing you to grunt in ecstasy. You continued pumping, no longer caring about the effects of the bug and just wanting to bust a load. Looking in the mirror across from you, your glossy eyes struggled to focus on the scene being reflected. Just like it had been prophesied, the chestnut-brown quiff you so heavily maintained began to falter. The parasite pushed any forms of homosexuality, personality, and resistance out of your body, purging it all through the follicles of hair it vowed to destroy. 

One by one, you observed as your hairs began to evaporate into dust upon your scalp, thinning out before poofing away. You felt your head emptying as your quiff flattened in height, no longer able to support itself. The classic horseshoe formed first, before eventually the entire top of your head was smooth. Things that made you unique, different, and therefore could bring you on a divergent course than the one now planned for you were eliminated with the hairs that still remained along the sides of your head. If the bug was to survive, then its host would have to be completely committed to its existence. And the promise of impregnating tons of women and contaminating faggots made you so. 

With one last huff of air, you watched as the final follicles on your head disappeared. You felt a cool shiver against your newly-exposed bald head, that shiver crawling its way down to your cock and releasing your long-awaited load.

“Oh fu-”

Your words shifted into a groan as your offspring squirt in their milky substance all over your body. You took a second to collect yourself in that moment of post-ecstasy, licking your lips at the epitome of masculinity looking back at you in the mirror. Grabbing the underwear from before, you wiped up the semen and tossed the tainted garment into a gym bag. You could bring it to the gym, knowing it to be the perfect trap for some helpless little homo. 

Grinning, you rubbed a meaty hand over your Cueball head with pride. You snatched an old pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, ready to head out. The gym could come later; you had bald babies to make now.

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.